Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Hey, I think I got a case, but it’s a bit of a trip,” Dean said from his place at the table, his laptop showing a bunch of news articles, some police reports, and witness statements. 

“How far is ‘a bit of a trip’?” Sam replied with his mouth partially full of lunch. 

“Uh, London.”

Sam’s eyebrows furrow, “like, London London? British ‘ello govne’r wa’er bot’le London?”

Dean looks slightly offended then chuckles, “I would say don’t say that ever again but I was thinking the same thing and just wasn’t going to say it.”

Sam laughs, “Alright, so what the hell is going on there?”

“I’m not sure, there’s this woman who was reported missing by her employer after she seemingly disappeared after a showing. Her name is Alison Thompson, she’s a real estate agent.

“Thing is, the showing was supposed to be canceled because the clients couldn’t make it. But Alison’s car was found at the house; we’ve got multiple neighbors saying they saw her go in but no one able to say she came out.

“On top of that, it doesn’t look like she was the first case of weird house disappearance. I’ve got 3 other missing person cases in the last year in the London metro area that match our weirdo’s M.O. All real estate agents, last seen at houses with canceled showings. We’ve got, uh, Kendra Collins from Stratford, Bree Roberts from Brixton, and Helen Richardson from Chiswick.”

Sam sits across from Dean, processing the possible case he’s proposing. “That does sound like it could be our kind of thing, but why London? How did you even hear about this?”

Dean clears his throat, “Oh, uh, I owe someone a favor.”

“Who do you know in London who you could possibly owe a favor? Who do you know in London, period?” Sam asks, genuinely wracking his brain for possible candidates. Hunters rarely leave their home country, at least US hunters that is. Plus, as far as Sam knew, Dean definitely hadn’t been to the UK. 

Dean had been hoping to avoid this question, since he couldn’t come up with a good lie and could already see how he wasn’t going to live it down. He leans back in his seat, looking down at the ground or his hands or the table, anything other than Sam’s eyes. 

He lets out a kind of strangled chuckle and begins to explain, “so, uh, Cas may or may not be the first guy I ever, uh-”

As he further explains, a shit-eating grin begins to slowly grow across Sam’s face, holding in every single affirming-yet-teasing joke that comes to mind.

Dean continues stumbling his way through the explanation, knowing that -despite never actually coming out to his brother- he thinks no different of Dean for swinging both ways, “His name is Tim, I met him at a bar a couple of years ago, one of the times we weren’t talkin’. I was drunk as hell, and he is one handsome son of a-” 

Dean catches a glimpse of his brother’s gleeful face and feels even more self-conscious, “Ah, ahem, anyway, he saved my hide after my drunk ass stumbled into a vamp nest. So afterwards, we exchanged info in case either of us…needed anything. I owe him. He works at this place called…oh what is it…the Mag-”

Sam excitedly cuts him off and nearly jumps out of his seat, “The Magnus Institute?! Oh my god! Th-that place is like the British version of Men of Letters! It’s a huge collection of people’s alleged experiences with the supernatural, a-and they’ve got a plethora of artifacts that supposedly have magic capabilities.”

“One of the few times I’m grateful for a nerd brother,” Dean chuckles to himself and starts to get up to go start packing when Sam’s anti-pun resolve begins to fail and he blurts “can’t let you go all bi yourself now, can I?” 

He felt really proud of himself for that one, though if only for getting Dean to turn the brightest shade of red. Dean may not admit it, but Sam knows his disaster bisexual brother still has a fair amount of internalized homophobia to work through (courtesy of their father).

“Dude, one: that was terrible, and two: I will punch you if you make another bi pun.” 

Chapter Text

As the boys get off the plane, Sam notices that color has begun to return to his brother’s face. Turns out Dean is still not a good flyer, much to Sam’s amusement.

“Alright, so Tim said he’d pick us up and bring us right over to the Institute to get started on the case.” Dean looked down at this phone to check for a message from the former flame, avoiding his brother’s gaze.

Sam breaks the silence as they wait, “So…how long has it been since you two have talked?”

Dean clears his throat, “Haven’t seen him since the first time, but we’ve messaged each other to share info a few times.” He absentmindedly kicks at the ground, impatiently waiting for their ride. Seemingly on cue, a Ford Focus blasting Queen’s Good Ol’ Fashioned Lover Boy over its speakers comes roaring into the airport parking lot. The car screeches to a halt, a tall man with fluffy cinnamon brown hair and a cocksure grin steps out of the car. He wears an open bright blue and pink Hawaiian shirt with a white undershirt and black cargo shorts.

“Dean, my man!” Tim Stoker shouts, walking over to greet the hunters, taking Dean in for a bear hug. Sam’s shit-eating has returned once again as his brother’s old ‘friend’ turns to him to introduce himself. “And you must be Sam! Pleasure to meet you, the name’s Tim.”

“Nice to meet you too. Didn’t know Dean had friends from across the pond,” Sam gives his brother a mischievous side glance, which he responds to by slapping his younger brother’s arm and a stern glare. 

“Ah, well, Dean can be just full of surprises.” Tim winks at the older Winchester, his cheeks blushing bright red. 

“Alright, alright, enough of the chit chat, let’s do what we came here for.” Dean huffs. “Anything new happened since we last talked?”

“Well, I’ve transferred to the Archives at the Institute, got attacked by worms, continued rescuing hotties of all types-”

“With the case, hot stuff.”

“Oh right, right, the case. Always down to business this one.” Tim this time winks at Sam, who stifles a chuckle, lest he face his brother’s wrath. “Yes, actually, one of the victims, Helen Richardson, came in to give her statement a few days ago. She tried to draw a map, but it was completely nonsensical. As she was leaving, she went through the door.”

The boys share a confused look, “Like the door? The door from the house?” Dean asks. Tim nods. “How is that even possible? Not like a door can grow legs and walk away.”

Tim smirks, “Glad to know that sense of humor hasn’t changed, handsome.” Dean blushes. “But yeah, it’s weird…you guys ready to go check out the house?” As they walk towards Tim’s car, he leans over to Dean and whispers “We’ll have to continue catching up later,” and gets in the driver’s seat before Dean can say a word.

Chapter Text

The boys arrive at the house where the most recent victim disappeared; it’s a white two story, unremarkable and exactly like every other house on the block. Alison’s car still sits in front of the house, indicating she most likely still hasn’t made it out of the house. She's been missing for four days now.

“Alright, so get this, according to Helen Richardson’s statement, she found a strange door on the second floor that had never been there before. Once she entered, she apparently was lost for days.” Sam recounts the statement he and Dean received from Tim. “I think it’s probably safe to assume that something similar happened here with Alison Thompson, as well as the others. Helen was the only one who came out though, at least temporarily…”

Dean looks up at the second floor, “that of course begs the question: what can make architecturally impossible doors that kidnap people?”

“I- I genuinely have no idea.”

“You and I both. Well, no time like the present, let’s get in there and check it out.”

The front door was unlocked so the boys were able to make a quiet entrance, though they had no clue if they could alert their presence to some sort of metaphysical door that went beyond the bounds of common sense architecture.

The boys split off after entering the doorway, Dean heading to the kitchen and Sam climbing the stairs to the second floor. Scanning for anything suspicious or out of place, Dean had his gun in his usual stance, cautiously opening the cupboards in the kitchen. When he found nothing there, he moved on to the living room, then the master bedroom and attached bathroom. Still nothing. I should go join Sam and see if he found anything . 

“Sammy? Find anything?” 

No response. A slight sense of unease begins to creep its way up Dean’s spine, but he forces it down, reasoning that his brother probably just can’t hear him from where he is. He works his way back to the front staircase that Sam had climbed moments before. 

“Sam?” 

Still no response. Gun still drawn, Dean makes it to the second floor landing. He sees no sign of his brother; suddenly, a strange laugh rings out through the hallway, followed by the sound of an old door creaking and clicking shut. 

“Sam! Sammy!” Dean runs down the hallway to the yellow door that does not exist. Or at least shouldn’t exist. Banging on the door, he yells out for his brother. God, of course Sam had to go and get kidnapped by the impossible door, goddamn it. Between the sounds of his banging, that strange laugh that sounds like a headache rings out again. 

“Who’s there? Show yourself!” 

The door swings ajar, where a peculiar figure stands. Dean realizes that the strange laugh seems to come from the figure, with its long, angled fingers, spiraled blonde hair, and 6.5ft frame. It looked…wrong. Like someone’s reflection in a shattered fun house mirror had come to life.

“ Dean Winchester. Oh-ho-ho, I’ve heard about you. And your brother. Wonderful to meet you. ”

“What have you done with my brother? And the others?” Dean tries to stay calm, pointing his gun at the figure, but his voice betrays his sense of urgency and worry for Sam. 

“ Oh I’m afraid your dear Sam belongs to me now. As do the others…Alison, Kendra, Bree, Helen, so many more. You’re welcome to join them if you’d like. ”

“Fat chance. Either give me back my brother willingly or I'll put a bullet between your freaky eyes and find him myself.”

“ Ahahaha, you hunters are adorable. Well, if you change your mind, just find my door. Farewell for now, Dean. ” 

The hunter shoots right at the figure, but the bullet seemingly disappears into nothingness as soon as it makes contact. The door creaks and clicks shut, leaving Dean alone in the house. He blinks and the door is gone. Fuck. I need to call Tim.

Chapter Text

Sam knew, deep down, he shouldn’t have opened the door. He’s been hunting for god knows how long, he knew to trust his gut feeling; he knew the door didn’t exist, but he reached for the handle nonetheless. 

With gun and flashlight ready, the door swings open with an otherworldly creak, revealing a hallway that does not exist. Without even a second thought, Sam crosses the threshold, the door clicking shut behind him. Turning around, he sees there was no door. He questions why he thought there would be one. 

“Dean? Hello?”

Which way was he going? He’s not sure, so he takes a right. Then a right. Then probably another right. Then he finds a door. Before turning the handle, a familiar laugh rang through the strange hall. 

Gun raised, Sam yells out, “Who’s there? How did I get here?” He felt like he couldn’t focus on anything other than the sharpness of the air around him and the spirals that seemed to be spinning at the tips of his vision. Still, his hunter instincts were kicking in and reminding him to keep his gun up.

“ Oh Sam, this is too easy. I was expecting a bit more of a challenge here. ” The figure looks as disjointed and unsettling as it sounds, its voice piercing through Sam’s skull, like catching on fractals. “ You’re in the Distortion, dear Hunter. Though ‘in’ is not necessarily right, it will have to do. ”

“Wha- what is going on?” Sam’s composure begins to fall, if only because of the incessant sensory overstimulation and confusion. “Who even are you?”

The figure lets out that god awful headache of a laugh again, causing Sam to fully lower his gun, fall to his knees and bring his hands to cover his ears for some sort of relief. 

“ I am not a Who, Samuel, rather a What. The way that you perceive me is your feeble little mind attempting to comprehend that which it cannot process. I find little use for names, but I’ve gathered that they are important to you lot. My name, before I was me, was Michael. I have been many other things before I was Michael and Michael was me. Humans, from hunters to academics, have come up with a variety of names for me though; ‘The Twisting Deceit’, ‘Es Mentiras’, ‘The Spiral’. All ways of trying and failing to describe that which you cannot comprehend, that which does not exist. ”

Sam is barely holding it together at this point, feeling like he was trying to look at an angel’s true form. He manages to force himself to look up (at least he thinks up) at the incomprehensible figure, feeling like his eyes are being pierced with a thousand tiny needles. 

“Al-alright then, Michael.” Sam huffs out, “you can either tell me how the hell I get out of your freaky spiral place, or I can shoot you and find my own way out. What do you think?” He manages to bring his gun slowly back up, silently impressed that he was still holding it, knowing his chances for shooting this thing were low, at best. Could this thing even be shot?

“ Ahahahaha, that is absolutely adorable, Sam. I think you misunderstand exactly where you are. ” The figure seemingly walks to the hunter on spindly twig legs, wrapping its hand made of too many bones and ligaments around his throat, slowly squeezing. “ You are in my domain dear. There is no way out, lest I decide that there is. ”

The figure releases Sam from its somehow iron grip, leaving him sputtering and shaking on the ground. Returning back to a semi-normal breathing pattern, Sam realizes that something is missing from his hand. What was it? It was something very important, he knows that. He looks around him, trying to jog his memory, but fully unable to recall whatever it was he had been holding.

The figure watches the hunter struggle for a moment before piping in, “ What are you looking for, there, Sam? It appears you may have lost something. ” 

The hunter just looks on with a face of utter confusion, feeling the fractals pushing out any observations and the spirals washing away any thoughts. He watches as the figure moves to a door -was that there before?- and wraps its hand around the handle, swinging the door open.

“ You should go look for it, Sam. ” 

Without a word, he gets up from where he kneels and enters the door that did not exist; it clicks shut behind him. Then it is not there.

Chapter Text

There was a door. 

A plain yellow door that was not there.

The door answered.

It could not have answered, but it answered all the same. 

This door is new.

I assure you it is not. Though maybe new to you.

How are you here?

Ah, here, there, all the same to me.

This door cannot exist.

And yet it does. Do I not exist? Do you? 

Who's to say what cannot exist?

If this door cannot exist, why am I here and you there?

There cannot be a door here, there is no door.

This door does not exist.

If I do not exist, how are you here?

Walking halls that turn right, then right, then right, and right, and right.

The right and the right and the next right, again and again.

I see the door here, and I see the door there, one and the same.

I am the door and the door is me. I am the door here and I am the door there.

Who is who, what is what, what is who, who is what. 

The door leads me here, the door leads me there, the door leads me here and there.

The door exists, the door, the door.

Door, a door, a yellow door.

A door that does (not) exist.

There was a door. 

A plain yellow door that was not there.

Chapter Text

After receiving a frazzled call from Dean, Tim picks him up from Alison’s house. The ride back to the Institute is a quiet one, with neither of the normally boisterous, chatty men saying anything. Once they arrive, Tim leads Dean through the various halls, past the library, meeting rooms, offices and artifact storage, until they reach the archives. 

Taking it all in, Dean lets out a big sigh, “I wish Sammy was here, he would be nerding out right now.” 

Tim pats his back as a sign of reassurance, “We’ll get him back, Dean-o. We’ve got a good crew here, we’ll find a way to get him back out.” 

Dean clears his throat, “Alright, alright, enough of the chick-flick moments. Let’s go meet that crew of yours and hit the books.”

The pair continue through a maze of shelves before arriving at a single wood door; the sign on it reads Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist . Tim knocks gently a few times, then opens the door without waiting for a response. “Hey boss-man, I’ve brought someone to meet you!”

The head archivist sits at a large wooden desk covered in files, papers, and cassette tapes. He appears to be somewhere in his 30s, though his medium-length black hair has streaks of gray. He wears a black sweater vest atop a white button down, sleeves rolled up, with black slacks; Dean can’t help but notice a smattering of strange circular scars all over the man’s arms. Looking up from the paper in his hands, he looks up at the two men.

“Dean, this is Jon; Jon, this is Dean Winchester. He’s here to help with Helen Richardson and the others’ cases.” Tim says, inserting himself between the two.

Jon gets up from his desk and shakes the hunter’s hand. “Nice to meet you Dean. Tim has told me a bit about you and your brother. Where is he, by the way?” The pleasant air to the room immediately turns sour. 

Tim speaks up as Dean stares at the floor, “Yes, um, about that…I dropped off Sam and Dean this afternoon at the house of the most recent disappearance, Alison Thompson’s, to help with investigating and get a feel of what we’re dealing with. But, uh, Sam…found the door, too.” 

Dean, still looking at the ground, says, “We split up to check the house. I shouldn’t have let him go up by himself, especially when Helen got taken on the second floor at the house she was at…” Dean looks up and examines the archivist’s expression; he’s remarkably stoic, seemingly contemplative, taking in what the two have shared. Before he can reply, Dean adds, “I saw a weird figure too, after the door closed and it took Sam.”

At this, the archivist snaps his eyes up to Dean, his stoic expression replaced with one of worry and almost-curiosity, “What did this figure look like? Did it have a voice that sounds like a…uh,”

“Like a headache?” Dean interjects.

“Yes! Did he- it have long spiral blonde hair and fingers that are too long?” 

Dean nods, realizing that Jon has apparently also met the unsettling figure. 

Jon lets out a huffed laugh, “Seems like you have met Michael as well.”

Confused, Dean looks from Jon to Tim and back, searching for some sort of clue as to what the archivist is talking about. “What do you mean ‘Michael’? What the fuck is its deal?” 

Jon’s hand absentmindedly travels to his shoulder, where Michael’s pointy, boney fingers left their mark. “Him- it and I had a little chat after Helen gave her statement. It took Helen back through the door and wouldn’t give her back, saying it was ‘taking back what is it’s’. I also discovered that its fingers are also rather sharp.” 

Dean falls to sit in the chair behind him, processing the information and trying to think of next steps. After a few moments, he stands back up and asks whether Jon was still recording after Helen’s statement. 

“Y-yes, I was. I can have Martin grab the tape for you to listen to; I’ll introduce you when he does so you can get his help as well. You’re also welcome to the library, to research whatever you may find helpful. We normally do some investigation but are hardly, if ever, very hands-on so I’m unsure how helpful we’ll be in getting your brother back.” 

“Well, my brother and I, saving people, hunting things, it’s the family business. So, we’re going to get him back and figure out what the hell is going on, make sure no more folks get kidnapped by creepy doors. Do you have a spare office where I can get set up?”

Tim pipes up, “Martin, Sasha, and I all share a big office, there are a few extra desks so you can set up there.”

“Perfect, thanks Tim.” He pats his friend on the shoulder. Before leaving, Dean goes to shake Jon’s hand, “It was a pleasure to meet you Jon. Only wish we could meet under better circumstances, but I’m grateful for you and your team. Even if you’ve got this piece of work.” Dean smirks at Tim, who responds by jabbing Dean in the ribs. 

“Oh, trust me, I am well aware of the chaos that Mr. Stoker seems to stir, but he’s an important member of the archives nonetheless.” Jon replies, offering rare praise for his staff, which Tim notes in his mind under ‘rare Jon moments’.

Dean turns to the door and looks to Tim, “Let’s go research some freaky doors and weird spiral figures.”

Chapter Text

4(ish) years ago

Dean was enjoying the time away from his brother, having the Impala all to himself and blasting Metallica and Led Zepplin, sans Sam Bitch Face. He loved his brother, but sometimes the two desperately needed time apart after spending so much time driving in a car together; this was one of those times. 

The hunter had made his way to Twin Falls, Idaho after reading reports of young residents going missing and turning up dead in Shoshone Falls Park. He had been driving for at least 5 hours, so after checking into a motel and dropping off his stuff, he made his way to a local bar. He needed a night of drinkin’ and sleep before jumping into whatever was going on in the small city. 

The place isn’t packed, but it’s got a handful of folks at each table and almost every barstool is taken. Dean makes his way to the remaining empty barstool and asks for a beer from the bartender. He checks his phone to make sure he hasn’t missed any messages (he hadn’t). 

“Hey handsome, what are you drinking tonight?” a boisterous, charming voice speaks up from the barstool next to Dean. 

Now Dean is normally suave and charming himself, but something about getting hit on by a man (or just getting called handsome by one) always throws him off his game. He’s reasonably sure that he swings both ways, but hadn’t done too much self-reflection on his ingrained, internalized homophobia. But maybe he just needed a nudge in the right direction.

Dean clears his throat and looks from the beer in his hand to the man next to him, realizing he is pretty damn handsome himself. Like really handsome. When did he start sweating? “Uh, looks like Family Business, I’ve never had it before. It’s good though. What about you?”

“I’m not much of a beer man myself, I’ve got a Corpse Reviver No. Blue and it is awesome, if I do say so myself.” 

Dean can’t help but smile, both at the man’s charm and his British accent. “Well, shit, that does sound awesome.” Dean signals the bartender for two No. Blues, noticing that the man’s glass is nearly empty. “This one’s on me.” 

“Oh my, so you’re handsome and a gentleman? Whatever am I going to do?” the man laughs. Dean blushes hard at the additional compliments, attempting to tamp down the shame he knows he shouldn’t be feeling. The man seemingly notices the hesitation, a look of gentle apology appearing, “Shit, sorry, too much? I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“No, no! No worries, I’m just not used to getting complimented by hot guys.” Shit, did I say that out loud?? At this, the man lets out a hearty laugh, then extends his hand for Dean to shake. 

“The name’s Tim, how about you?”

Dean extends his hand and accepts the handshake, noticing that the man’s hands are soft to the touch but have a strength to them. “Dean, Dean Winchester. Nice to meet you, Tim.”

The hunter lets go first, but turns his body so it’s facing his new acquaintance. “So Tim, I can’t help but notice that you’re not from around here, by quite aways at that.” His confidence is slowly being restored as he drinks more of the cocktail, allowing himself to enjoy the citrus drink and the man’s company. 

“Yeah, I’m actually here to go kayaking, of all things. I’ve seen gorgeous sights that I wouldn’t get in the UK,” Tim paused a moment to look at the yet again flustered man next to him, “I live in London though, so definitely a long way from home.”

“Wow, what brought you to Twin Falls? I mean the US is pretty damn big, so I’m curious how a small city in the potato state got your attention.”

“To be honest, I just looked up ‘best places to kayak in the United States’ and this was one of the places that came up. So now I’m here! The pictures definitely didn’t do it justice, Shoshone Falls was beautiful. Nature really does some amazing things…” Tim begins to trail off, seemingly lost in thought about the beauty of nature (and a certain someone who’s eyes have not left Tim). Tim notices Dean staring, smirking at him, causing Dean to avert his gaze. Tim leans over to his ear, so that only he can hear, “I also can do some pretty amazing things.” 

Dean chokes on his drink and breaks into a coughing fit. Once he finally catches his breath, he looks over at the cheeky Brit and can’t help but break into a huge smile and laugh. “God, I’m a mess, sorry. That- uh, that really threw me off, wow.”

“I mean, we’re all a bit of a mess in our ways. I like to describe myself as a chaos gremlin bisexual. I also seem to be a master at throwing everyone off their game, no matter who they are.” Tim pats Dean’s back, sharing a caring-yet-mischievous look with his eyes. 

“Well, glad I’m not alone in getting thrown off, that is an impressive achievement.”

The pair manage to get lost in conversation, ordering a few more rounds of No. Blues and slowly making their way closer to each other, the night flying by. Without meaning to, they both found ways of maintaining contact with the other: Dean’s knees against Tim’s thigh, Tim’s arm on Dean’s back. 

“Last call!” the bartender shouts out to the remaining bar patrons. 

Dean checks the time and realizes how late it’s gotten, “Oh shit, I’ve gotta go get some sleep.” He looks at Tim and thinks Man, I hope I see him again. Talking to him feels…right. And good . “Hey Tim, listen man, this was great and I’d really love to keep talking more but I’ve gotta head back to my motel. You gonna be here for the next couple days?”  A spark lights up in Tim’s eyes, “Y-yeah, I’m going to be here for the next two days before heading back home. I’d definitely love to keep chatting with you.” Maybe do more too , he thinks to himself. The pair exchange numbers, just in case, and go their separate ways for the night.

Chapter Text

Without Sam to help with research, Dean is overwhelmed and unsure of where to start. After hours of sitting at his laptop and surrounded by various files and books, he eventually pieces together that it’s most likely a small vamp nest working out of an abandoned building then dumping the bodies in Shoshone Falls Park. 

Alright, enough work for today, no new bodies have turned up. I need a drink…wonder if Tim will be there , Dean thinks to himself, trying not to over analyze why he hopes for that.

Sure enough, the handsome Brit is sitting in the same stool as the night before, drinking the same drink as well. As Dean approaches, he can’t help but notice that Tim’s hair is slightly damp, dripping onto his open short sleeved button up, patterned with pineapples. 

Dean takes the stool next to him, patting a hand on his back, shooting him his signature Flirty Smile. “Well fancy seeing you here!” He quips. “You have a kayaking accident today?” He asks, pointing at Tim’s damp hair. 

Tim laughs, shaking his hair a bit like a wet dog, “Ha, yeah, my paddle got stuck on a log and the force of pulling it out knocked me out of the kayak. Luckily the sun helped dry me off a bit and I was able to change once I got back to my motel room. 

“What about you, what were you up to today?” Tim asks.

Up to this point, Dean had managed to avoid talking about what he does for “work” so to say. But something about the charismatic man made Dean feel (somewhat) safe to share at least part of what he was doing. “Ah, doing some research on the town, looking into some missing person’s cases that have turned up over the last few weeks.”

Tim looks impressed, “Research you say? I’m a bit of a researcher myself, in a way. What’s got you researching missing persons though? You a cop?” Tim glares jokingly.

Dean pauses, trying to figure out how much to tell the man, “Well, no, not a cop. Let’s just say I have an interest in what’s going on.” 

“God you sound as vague as I do when I tell my family where I work.” Tim laughs, staring absentmindedly into his drink.

“Well now I gotta know, what do you do Tim?”

“You’re going to think it’s ridiculous.”

Dean smiles, and thinks to himself I’d never have to do a credit card scam again if I had a dollar for every time I’ve heard that . “Try me. I’m pretty open-minded.”

“I work at this place in London called the Magnus Institute. We study the esoteric and strange things in the world, collect people’s statements. I work in the library, so I mainly help folks who are doing the research, but I dabble.”

Dean can’t help but stare at him, processing the information and trying to remember why the place sounds familiar. He knows he’s heard of it before, but where? He continues sitting in buffering mode when his thoughts are interrupted.

“See I told you it’s weird…” Tim turns his body fully towards the bar, away from Dean. 

“No, no! I mean, yes, but I do weird too!” Dean explains. “That’s actually why I’m here. Uh, my brother and I, we hunt monsters. Though he’s off doing his own thing right now.” That’s where I’ve heard of the Magnus Institute, from Sammy! The nerd. The lightbulb finally lit up in Dean’s head. 

“No way. You’ve got to be shitting me.” Tim turns back to Dean, inspecting his face for a look of deception, but sees that the hunter appears to be telling the truth. 

“I promise I’m not.” Dean looks at Tim, then out of one of the bar’s windows to Baby. “Let me show you something.” He ushers Tim to follow him out to the Impala.

“Wait, this is your car?” Tim says, awestruck. Dear god, he just keeps getting hotter , he thinks to himself. 

“Indeed she is.” Dean winks at the Brit, twisting the keys to open the trunk. “Come take a look.”

Tim joins Dean at the trunk, taking in the devil’s trap on the inside, the plethora of guns, knives, and other weapons. An old jug with intricate designs is what really catches his eye, so he picks it up to inspect it. 

“Now that is holy oil. Use it to trap angels. Or other purposes, should desperate times call for desperate measures.” Dean smirks. 

“I’m sorry, I need to circle back, angels ?!”

“Yup. Angels, demons, werewolves, wendigos, vamps, the list goes on.” Normally the hunter is a bit less blunt with the information, but the combination of knowing what Tim does for work, the undeniable attraction between them, and the alcohol swimming in his system has him spilling. “Pretty sure I’m hunting vamps here in town actually, based on the condition of the bodies and their location within the Park.”

Tim looks dumbfounded from the hunter to the weapons stash and back again, his mind racing at the sudden influx of information. He knew that at least some of what they researched at the Institute had to be real, but this was a bit much. But somehow he knew that Dean was telling the truth and the fear that had begun to bubble tamped itself back down when he looked at the hunter’s gorgeous green eyes.

“Ya know, actually, random question: you wouldn’t happen to have a machete on you?” Dean asks.

“A-am I supposed to?” 

“Ah, I guess you wouldn’t, probably hard to get through customs…” Dean leans into the trunk, searching for one of the spare machetes. “While you’re in town, you should keep one on hand, just in case. Wouldn’t want anything happening to that pretty face.” Dean is impressed with his continued flirting, surprised his shame hasn’t gotten the best of him yet, but trying not to think about it too much. 

***

The two made their way back into the bar and continued chatting with each other, taking turns buying shots in between Corpse Reviver No. Blues. They manage to stay until last call like the night before, getting lost in sharing wild stories; Tim talks about the time he wooed half a police department to get a lore book and some allegedly cursed objects out of evidence, Dean sharing one of his incredible escapades with a set of triplets and a certain demon. 

As the bar is closing, the pair stumble their way out the back to the alleyway, giggling like fools to themselves. Embracing the cold night air, Dean decides to walk back to the motel, reasoning he can come back for Baby in the morning once the alcohol washes out of his system. 

“It was great seeing you again man. I’ll be in town for another day or so, so I’ll see you tomorrow night, right?” Dean pats his new friend’s shoulder, slurring his words a bit. Damn, it is possible for me to get drunk, awesome , he chuckles inwardly. 

“Yeah man for sure. Hopefully I won’t need to use that machete in the meantime!”

“Nah, you should be fine.” 

***

The two part ways down the alleyway, both pleased with the night they’ve had. Tim can’t help but smile to himself. Who knew I would meet such a devilishly handsome son of a bitch on this trip? A fucking badarse one, at that! I wonder if his lips are as soft as they look… He dreamily thought to himself as he rounded the corner. 

A sudden metallic crash pulled Tim from his daydreaming, causing him to turn back around to try to find the source of the sound. At the opposite end of the alleyway, he sees an overturned trash bin rolling on the ground and some shadows moving around. He pushes himself against the wall of the alleyway while slowly working his way to the site of the commotion. As the shadows pass under a streetlamp, Tim realizes in horror that it’s Dean’s unconscious (god he hopes only unconscious) body being dragged by two other figures. Even from his stance in the alley, Tim could see a gash on Dean’s forehead pouring blood down his face. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck! What do those guys want with Dean?! Tim panics to himself. He can’t really ask for help since the bar is now closed, and he doesn’t exactly trust the police (not like they’d believe him anyway, considering how drunk he is). Oh god, what if they're vampires? What if they somehow knew Dean was on to them?

In a split second decision that is definitely encouraged by the copious amounts of alcohol and Tim’s concern for his new friend, he attempts to carefully make his way down the alley and follow the figures to get Dean back. By the time he stumbles his way to the other end, he’s lost sight of them, but hears the clang of an old metallic door closing. Turns out the building right by the bar is abandoned; in the dim light, Tim can see a bunch of long-faded logos on the old building. 

Tim tries to guess which one of the two doors the men had gone through when he sees a glint that catches his eye. When he goes to investigate, he feels like the air gets sucked out of his lungs. Dean’s machete…

The adrenaline of the situation is beginning to override the alcohol; Tim leans down and picks up the weapon, keeping the one Dean gave to him holstered and holding the hunter’s in a defensive position before carefully opening the door. It creaks a bit, causing him to freeze. He tries to open it just enough for him to squeeze through, holding his breath as he crosses the threshold. 

He waits for his eyes to adjust to the darkness of the abandoned building before continuing, the only light filtering in from the street lamps through the huge windows. Listening for any signs of life, Tim makes his way through what appears to be an old factory of some sort. As he works his way through what used to be the main work floor, bits and pieces of an argument filter through.

“What wer-…thinking! Did you ev-...think…check before…!” a gruff, low voice whisper-shouts.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I was hun..y and…aw a chan…” a higher, exasperated voice responds in a full on shout. 

“You grabbed a fucking Winchester you idiot! His tree of a brother has to be in town somewhere too.” Now this Tim could hear clearly, as the low voice seemingly reverberated through the building. Tim also knew that Dean’s brother was, in fact, not in town right now -and that Sam definitely didn’t know that the older Winchester was currently unconscious and in custody of some vamps- but his captors didn’t need to know that right?

“No, no, princess hair ain’t here. It’s just Mr.Lumberjack in town, I swear.” Welp, there goes that.

Tim was now close enough to where the two vamps were speaking that he could get a good look at what was going on, but was careful to not make any noise and stay hidden behind an old machine. The vamp with the gruff voice was a seemingly average white business dude, wearing a light sweater over a white dress shirt with black slacks. The other was more eccentric, draped in various layers of black lace, with a corset and leather pants. Tim’s gaze falls to the body on the ground between. He stifles a gasp, lest he give away his presence. He sees Dean tied up to a metal support beam, seemingly still unconscious, with the gash on his forehead slowly leaking to the rest of his face. 

The two vamps briefly continue arguing about what to do next, deciding to go meet the rest of the nest in another part of the building, leaving (unconscious) Dean behind. 

Tim waits a few moments after the vamps leave to make a move, not wanting to draw their attention. Slowly, he makes his way to Dean, carefully using the machete to cut the rope tying his wrists. He hears a hoarse wheeze come from the hunter as he slowly regains consciousness. 

“Wh-what?” Dean croaks out. He looks up hesitantly, but relaxes upon seeing a kind, familiar face. “T-Tim? What’s going on? Where are we?” He breaks his gaze away towards the rest of the room, taking in the limited light and dingy, empty room. 

“Hey, hey, you’re okay.” Tim gently grabs Dean’s face to look at him. “You’re safe now. We gotta get out of here, okay?” As he begins to help Dean up, Dean grabs Tim’s wrist. 

“N-no, we gotta take out the vamps.” 

Tim looks at him, bewildered but still trying to keep his voice down, “What?! No! We need to get out of here.”

“Look, they’re going to be pissed when they realize that I’m gone, so they’re most likely going to go after some poor sap they find wandering the street.” Dean continues to carefully get up, checking to see what weapons he still has on him. Bastards were smart enough to take all my blades.  

Before he can curse about losing his weapons, Tim interjects, “Lucky for you, I’ve still got that machete you gave me. And I just so happened to find yours on my way in.” Dean smiles proudly at Tim, glad to see that he’s put it to good use.

“Well I couldn’t just let the bastards take you, you twat.” Tim can’t help but blush. “Alright, so if I remember correctly, you’ve got to behead vamps, right?” Dean nods, unholstering his machete and trying (and failing) to hide his own blushing cheeks. 

The two make their way to the entryway that the vamps had left through moments before, Dean leading the way. Assessing the area while hiding behind another old machine that blocks the pair from view, Dean silently counts off five- no, seven vamps. Three are sitting haphazardly on an old couch, two are sipping on blood bags like margaritas, and the two who grabbed him are sitting at a table, nonchalantly talking. 

Dean turns back to Tim, then quietly begins to explain his game plan, “Alright, so I’m going to sneak up to the two sippin’ on Bloody Marys’ and take them out, I want you to circle around to the couch and surprise ‘em there. Then we can take out the fuckers who grabbed me.” 

Dean looks at Tim, who is doing a surprisingly good job at hiding his nervousness, but Dean can still read a bit of apprehension on his face. Placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder, they meet each other’s gaze. Tim takes a deep breath, nods once, and the pair make their way quietly into the room. 

***

Despite never hunting together (or in Tim’s case, at all), the two are incredibly in sync and they manage to take out all seven vamps without much of a problem. There was a brief close call when one of the vamps on the couch sprang for Tim after slicing the other two, but Dean had finished off his first two and swung his machete clean through her neck just as she stood, her blood splattering them both. That meant the only two remaining were the douche businessman and the walking-talking Hot Topic. They hissed and snarled at Dean and Tim, rearing up to attack, but the pair weren’t in the mood for games. With a quick side glance, they both race forward and swing their machetes full force, sending the last two heads rolling. 

Both men stand in silence, with only their heavy breathing and the sound of blood softly trickling off their blades. Dean’s the first to move, using his flannel to wipe off the blade before reholstering it. Then he quietly closes the gap between him and Tim, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. Tim jumps and recoils a bit, but relaxes upon seeing that it’s only Dean. 

“Hey man, let’s get out of here. We both need a shower and sleep.” Dean guides Tim out of the building, each wrapping one arm around the other. Tim stays silent, but appreciates the hunter’s kindness and concern. Once they manage to stumble their way back down the alleyway, back to the Impala, Tim begins to get his bearings a bit, slowly realizing the absolute absurdity of the situation he has found himself in. Dean can feel the other’s shoulders shaking a bit, so he looks over, concerned Tim might be crying (which who could blame him), but is relieved to see a small smile on the Brit’s beautiful, blood-stained face.

Dean chuckles, bringing Tim in closer, “Welcome to the hunter’s club, hot stuff.” Dean leans in and places a light kiss on his forehead before opening the passenger door. Tim’s too tired to make a quip, but he’s got some ideas for after they’re clean and get some sleep.

Chapter Text

Present Day

Tim leads Dean back down the hallway they came from, heading to the Archival Assistants’ office. Tim opens the door for Dean, giving an exaggerated bow with a smirk. 

“Welcome to the Batcave. This is where we work our magic. Let me introduce you to the other two!” 

Dean assesses the room as he walks in: 4 large wooden desks are positioned facing each other in the middle of the room, all but one covered in various papers, folders, and books. There are filing cabinets and bookshelves lining two of the walls, with a comfortable-looking couch and matching chairs in front of another plus two more desks against the remaining wall. There are fluorescent lights in the ceiling, but they aren’t in use; instead, there are a few floor and desk lamps, radiating soft, warm light. Dean’s eyes suddenly see past the clutter on the desks and see what must be the two other archival assistants. 

At one desk sits a very large, teddy bear of a man with strawberry blonde hair, round black glasses, and a smattering of freckles. He wears a sky blue jumper over a white button up with tan dress slacks and is sipping on a cup of tea while clearly enthralled in whatever he is reading. At the other desk sits a short Black woman with her curly hair pulled back, wearing a soft, light yellow cardigan over a sunset orange maxi dress; she seems to be fiddling around with her laptop, when she looks up to see the two men enter the room. 

“Sasha, Martin, this is Dean Winchester; Dean, Sasha and Martin.” Tim points to each person as he says their names, his bright smile breaking through. “Dean is here to help with the disappearing real estate agents, he’s a hunter from the US.” Tim pauses before coyly adding, “And an old buddy of mine.” Dean tries (and fails) to hide his blush, but the other two don’t seem to notice.

Sasha gets up from her desk and walks over to where the pair are standing, reaching out her hand to greet the new guest. “Lovely to meet you Dean. I see you’ve met our Timothy,” she says with a chuckle.

“Fortunately/unfortunately, indeed I have. We met when Tim was on a kayaking trip in Twin Falls a couple years ago. Tim just happened to save my ass while he was there too, so I’m happy to return the favor.” Dean quips, before his face begins to downturn. Tim catches the shift in the hunter’s face, patting his shoulder. 

“We’ll get Sam back, man.”

“No, yeah, I know, I know. Just…” Dean trails off, unable to find the words.

Martin quietly pipes up, “Would you like a cup of tea?” 

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean sees Tim facepalm and he can’t help but chuckle. “Ya know, I’ll pass on the tea, but I’ll take coffee if you have it. Gotta get down to business sooner than later.”

***

For the next several hours, the group spends their time researching in their own ways: Martin is reading through old statements that could have possible connections, Sasha is searching through the Artifact Storage log, Tim is on his laptop searching through police databases for possible related cases, and Dean is pouring over Helen’s statement as well as researching any ‘yellow door’ lore. 

Dean’s attention is ripped away from the online article he’s reading when his phone starts ringing. His heart races, hoping it would be Sam. He deflates a bit when reading the caller ID, but is hit with a wave of comfort upon hearing the other’s voice.

“ Hello, Dean. ” Cas’ voice grumbles out from the phone. 

“Hey, Cas. D-did you get Sam and I’s note?” Dean stands up from his desk and moves to the hallway, so as not to disturb the others.

“ Yes, I did, though I don’t understand why you didn’t call me. But I appreciate the note nonetheless.”

“Yeah, Sammy and I weren’t sure when you’d be back and we didn’t want to pull you from whatever you were doing.” Dean sighs. “I’m kinda wishing we did now, though.”

“ What do you mean, love? Is everything okay? ” Cas's voice takes on notes of concern. Dean also notes the way the angel has increasingly used words like ‘love’, ‘sunshine’, and other terms of endearment with the hunter. It brings a swell of safety that he sorely needs right now. 

“Um…Sam…Sam got taken by the thing we’re hunting. And so far, only one person has made it back out and she was taken again right after giving her statement.” Dean’s stress and exhaustion have come out in full force, remembering that he and Sam had only landed in London earlier that day. 

“ Oh no…okay, I’ll get a ticket and join you out there to help. You’re in London, correct? ” Dean begins to protest, but the angel interjects, “ and don’t say I don’t have to or I should stay in the bunker, because we both know that’s bullshit. Besides, I’ve never flown on a plane before, it will be…a new experience. ” Dean can hear the angel’s smile through the phone and can’t help but be a bit excited at seeing him. Hell, once they solve the case, they can go on a date in the city, do normal people things.

“Yeah, we’re in London, at the Magnus Institute. We’re staying at an old friend of mine’s, so we’ll pick you up once you land. Thanks, Cas.”

“ Of course, Dean. Don’t do anything stupid until I get there. ” Cas half-jokes, knowing full well his human will do as he pleases.

“I make no promises whatsoever.” Dean smirks. “See you soon, Angel.”

***

After talking with his angel, Dean checks the time on his phone only to realize that it’s after 11:30pm. Though he technically gained time by flying out this way, he knows that it’s been a long day and that he should get some rest to properly hit the ground running tomorrow. 

Entering the archival assistant office, he notices that all three assistants had managed to fall asleep at their desks. He pauses for a moment deciding on the best course of action. Deciding he shouldn’t scare/piss off his new acquaintances, he quietly shuts the door and makes his way over to Tim. Dean begins gently shaking his friend’s shoulder in an effort to wake him up; in the lamp light, he notices the same circular scars on Tim’s arms that he saw on Jon. Huh, that’s weird. I’ll have to ask him about those later.  

Tim begins to stir, slowly sitting up and absentmindedly wiping drool from his mouth. He looks around to see his hunter friend standing above him and his coworkers quietly sleeping at their desks. 

“Well hey there handsome, sorry for dozing off on you.” Tim quips. He groggily stretches before asking Dean what time it is.

“Nearly midnight, sleeping beauty. We should head to yours so we can get a full day’s work in tomorrow.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Tim stands up from his desk, quietly making his way to his coworkers to repeat the awakening process. Once the other two are awake, they all pack up their things to head home for the night. 

“It was great working with y’all today. See you tomorrow.” Dean waves to Sasha and Martin as they exit the Institute. He follows Tim to his car and enjoys the short, quiet ride to his house. They both get ready for bed, neither very chatty but not in an uncomfortable way. Before Dean makes his way to his bed (read: Tim’s couch), he remembers his conversation with Cas.

“Hey Tim, real quick, would we be able to pick up Cas from the airport tomorrow? He’s done with the case he was working on and is flying out to help out too.”

“For sure, man. So I finally will get to meet the famed Castiel, huh?” Dean can’t help but blush at Tim’s poorly hidden excitement.

When Tim and Dean first met in Twin Falls, the copious amounts of alcohol, time away from both his brother and the angel, and the Brit’s unwavering, confident comfort in his sexuality allowed Dean to spill his guts about his feelings towards Cas. It still took a while after that meeting for Dean to acknowledge those feelings to Cas himself, but Tim was an important catalyst for that nonetheless. So he is obviously invested in meeting the angel that had the hunter seriously working on accepting his sexuality and made him feel safe; plus he’s an angel , like how could he not.  

“Yes, yes you will. He’s mine, though, Stoker. Hands off.” Dean points a faux-threatening finger at him to emphasize his point. 

Tim raises both of his hands up, “Wouldn’t dream of it man, I know what you do for a living,” he laughs. His face softens and he catches Dean’s gaze, “Go get some sleep, Winchester. Gods know you need it. I’ll make us coffee in the morning.”

Dean says goodnight and gets himself settled on the couch. Despite all of the stress and anxiety coursing through his body, the idea that he has a fair amount of backup this time around offers him enough comfort to drift off to sleep.

Chapter Text

Sam has no clue how much time has passed. His feet were aching after walking neverending halls for so long, so he sat himself against a wall and slumped to the floor in exhaustion. He was pretty sure he could hear other people, shouting out faraway, but he couldn’t pinpoint where they were coming from to find them. After experiencing hallucinations in the past, Sam is entirely unsure whether the shouts he hears are real or not, especially considering he hasn’t come across anyone else roaming the halls. 

Sam sits up from the wall for a moment to stretch his back and legs out, before leaning back and falling onto the floor on his back. He snaps back up, looking around for the wall he was leaning on just moments before. There was no wall, just a seemingly never ending hallway that extended on and on and on. Now fully on his feet, Sam searches for something in his jacket. He pats his pockets, his hip, and checks his ankle. What was I looking for? Shit…

Carefully scanning the expansive hallway, Sam notices a yellow door far off in the distance. He starts running towards it, going as fast as his legs will take him, but he can’t seem to get any closer to the door. He comes to a stop, looks behind him, then looks back to see that whatever he was running towards was gone. Exasperated, Sam sits against a wall and slumps to the floor in exhaustion. He is pretty sure he can hear other people, shouting out faraway, but he can’t pinpoint where they’re coming from to find them.

***

Dean startles awake from his nightmare, sweat beading on his forehead and the blanket he had been using laying abandoned on the floor. Christ, Sam…  

Dean exhales and rubs the sleep off his face, taking in the room around him. His sleep-addled brain takes some time to catch up, slowly remembering that he’s in London to help on a case and had spent the night at Tim’s apartment. And that his brother is gone. 

At that reminder, Dean jumps off the couch and checks the time as he stretches. His phone reads just after 7:30am. Wow, managed to get 5 hours instead of the usual 4, I should sleep on couches more often. Granted, he did have a hard time staying asleep with the nightmares and everything, but he takes what he can get. 

Keeping his word, Tim greets Dean in the kitchen with a freshly-brewed pot of coffee with a subdued smile. “Morning, sunshine. Coffee’s ready and I’m making french toast with bacon if you’d like some.” 

“That all sounds great, thanks Tim. And I want to say thanks again for letting me crash here last night, I’ll make sure to get a room for Cas and I while we’re here so we can get out of your hair.” 

“Not a problem, mate, I haven’t had a sleepover in, like forever!” 

Dean snorts, “Well, shit, we didn’t do any sleepover activities, like watching chick flicks or braiding each other’s hair or gossiping about our coworkers.” Tim rolls his eyes as he turns to check the food on the stovetop. 

“We at least get to have the amazing homemade breakfast, so there’s that.”

“Oh I think I’ll be the judge of how ‘amazing’ this breakfast is, pal. Let’s see if the Brits can cook as good as Americans, huh?” Dean teases.

***

After finishing breakfast (which Dean determines is, in fact, amazing, which he begrudgingly admits, much to his chagrin), the pair get ready for the day, Dean wearing one of his usual flannels with a pair of jeans and Tim wearing a pullover with mismatching patterns. Cas’s flight doesn’t come in until later that evening, so Dean tags along to the Institute with Tim again to continue researching the case. 

On the drive over, Dean catches a glimpse of a group of Tim’s small, circular scars again. “So, when’d you get those circle scars? I don’t remember those from last time,” Dean asks with a lighthearted, curious tone. 

Dean can see Tim hesitate for a moment before loudly exhaling, “Ah, yeah, those. Those are, uh, from worms,” he seemingly still can’t believe the story behind the scars himself, but he knows that of all the people in the world to share it with, Dean Winchester will understand what he’s talking about. “This woman, Jane Prentiss, she was this walking hive-thing, just bugs, bugs, bugs everywhere. She tried invading the Magnus Institute through the tunnels below it with an army of worms. Fuckers really knew how to bury their way into your skin, hence why Martin, Jon, and I all have the matching scars. Not the workplace bonding I was hoping for, I gotta say.” Tim dryly laughs. 

“Christ, Tim, that sounds awful. ‘Invading bugs’ has got to be my absolute least favorite case my brother and I ever worked on, so I can only imagine what that was like.”

“Before the invasion, Jane trapped Martin in his apartment for two weeks. He ended up living in the Archives for a while after that, but was able to move back out a couple days after the attack.” Tim sits silent for a moment, staring off in thought. “Guess there’s no normal for folks like us, huh?”

“No, no there isn’t. But we keep on truckin’, no matter what.” Dean nods his head, as if also saying this to himself. The two stay silent for the rest of the ride and all the way to the Archival Assistants’ office. 

Sasha is standing at her desk, sorting through some files; today, she is wearing a tan cardigan over white t-shirt dress, a bandana holding her hair back. Martin, in a soft yellow pullover, sits on the couch, reading what looks to be a book of poetry while sipping on a cup of tea. 

“Goooood morning, my lovely coworkers!” Tim greets as he bursts in through the office doors. Martin jumps a bit and lets out a yelp at the sudden noise and Sasha just rolls her eyes before waving back. 

“Good morning, Tim. Morning, Dean, nice to see you again.” 

“You too Sasha. Glad to have a space to jump back into things and figure out how to get my brother back.” 

“Oh, Dean, I think I may have found a statement that may be of interest to you.” Martin says as he gets up from the couch and makes his way to his desk. “I-it’s not directly related, but it has to do with a door, so I figured…might be worth a shot?” Martin hands him the file for Statement #0032408, which Dean begins to skim over. He sees it’s from a guy named Paul MacKenzie

“Thank you for this, Martin, I appreciate it. That goes for all three of you, I really appreciate your help.” 

“I mean, I was kind of the one who asked you for help, so only seems fair that we keep at it.” Tim pats Dean’s back as reassurance. “Before I get settled in, I’m going to go make some coffee, anyone want some?” Dean and Sasha both raise their hands while Martin simply raises his cup of tea as a response. 

***

After finishing both reading and listening to Mr. MacKenzie’s statement, Dean can’t help but shake a deeply unsettling feeling in his stomach. He can’t help but feel bad for the guy, he was obviously in a lot of distress, though there’s little he can do now since Paul passed away two months after giving his statement. Dean sighs and sets the file down, leaning on the desk with his head in hands. He takes a couple deep breaths, then picks up one of the lore books Tim helped him find in the library and gets back to it. 

***

The day somehow flew by. However, much to Dean’s dismay, they were no closer to figuring out a way to get Sam and the others back. He looks down at his watch and realizes that Cas’s flight will be arriving within the hour. 

“Hey, Stoker, you ready to head to the airport?” 

Tim slowly breaks his attention from his laptop to his friend, “Y-yeah, just give me a sec…” He trails off, still reading his screen. 

Dean gets up from his desk and walks around to see what Tim’s reading when that unsettling feeling returns to his stomach. 

“Tim, what the hell is that?” 

Tim had an article from an urban legend, myth, and folklore database pulled up; in addition to the text was an image that made their eyes hurt for some reason. It appeared to be an optical illusion of a misproportioned yellow door over multi-color spirals and fractals. 

“I-it’s an artist rendition of the door, though there’s not one credited. Apparently there have been sightings of a strange, nonexistent yellow door going as far back as 2nd Century BC. The page has sources in dozens of languages talking about people seeing their loved ones walking through a yellow door that has never existed before and never coming back out. Of course, there are a few exceptions, like with Helen, but also like her, they only come back out for a short period before being basically re-kidnapped by the door.”

“Son of a bitch…” Dean mutters under his breath. “Okay, okay, we need to go get Cas from the airport, then we can come back to that. Cas knows a lot more languages than I do, so he can help us translate some of the lore. There’s gotta be something we can use to get Sam and the others back.” 

“Yeah, you’re right. I need to take a break from my screen anyway, my head hurts from looking at that for so long. Let’s go get your boy toy.” Tim teases, enjoying the blush of embarrassment on Dean’s face. 

“First off, he’s not my boy toy, he’s my partner; second, he is an angel so he will smite you if you give him a reason to.” 

“Duly noted,” Tim fakes pulling out a notepad, “do not anger angel (or angel’s boyfriend).” Dean jokingly shoves Tim’s shoulder as they make their way out of the office. 

***

Cas is standing in the airport pickup area with only a small bag (doesn’t need much in the way of essentials because of the whole angel thing), watching folks walking by. One thing that he has consistently enjoyed about his time on Earth is the concept that Sam described as ‘people watching’. It was fascinating to watch everyone in their own world of sorts; some obviously in a rush, others taking a more strolling pace, with many people wearing headphones of some sort. He always wondered what they were listening to, knowing that effectively endless media options are available now. 

He’s pulled from his train of thought when he catches sight of Dean and another man pulling up near him. The man, who Cas realizes must be Tim, leans out of the driver's side window and makes eye contact with Cas, a wide cocksure grin across his face. 

“Hey handsome, you need a ride?” 

Before Cas can even reply, he sees Dean smack the back of Tim’s head and can hear a string of expletives coming from the hunter. He can’t help but laugh at the sight: Tim rubbing the back of his head, Dean aggressively getting out of the car, then softening as he makes his way around the car to Cas. 

“Ignore him, he flirts with anything that breathes, even if they are taken.” Dean says, sending a glare to his friend. “I’m glad you made it safe, Cas. You’ll have to tell us about how your first ever airplane ride went on the way to the Institute.” He absentmindedly fixes the collar of the angel’s trench coat before pulling him in for a light kiss. A wolf whistle can be heard coming from the car, causing Cas to break the kiss in a fit of laughter. He knows Dean still has some internalized shame to work through about being in a relationship with a man and gets very uncomfortable when others make comments about the seemingly uncharacteristic affection that the angel brings out from him, but Cas can’t help but appreciate the hunter’s blushing cheeks. 

“Damn it, Stoker!” 

“Dean, it’s okay. You are quite a sight to behold, who can blame him?” Cas teases. There’s those blushing cheeks he loves so much. 

Dean avoids making eye contact and mutters to the ground, “Yeah, yeah, let’s just go already, we’ve got work to do.”

“Whatever you say, love.” Cas places a final peck on Dean’s cheek before getting into the backseat of Tim’s car and they head back to the Institute.

Chapter Text

“It was quite beautiful to see the sun and sky from the plane, it was a new point of view that I had not yet experienced.” Cas shared enthusiastically about his first airplane trip. “Though I will admit that I did not like the seat, it was cramped and uncomfortable. The man next to me also fell asleep shortly after take off and snored. A lot. But that’s not anything I’m not used to,” he says, a smirk sliding onto his face.

“Not my fault that I saw logs in my sleep, angel. You knew that full well before deciding to spend every night in my bed.” Dean retorts, feigning embarrassment. 

Tim laughs, piping in, “I could hear you from my room last night, with the door closed. Sounded like a damn jackhammer!”

Dean waves his hand dismissively as they pull into the Institute, “Alright, enough talk of my snoring. We’ve got work to do.”

***

The trio make their way back to the Archival Assistants’ office; Sasha and Martin have left for the day. Dean glances down at his watch, “It’s time for some caffeine, I’m going to go make some coffee. Cas, you good to stay here with Tim and jump into some of the lore that we found?” 

Cas nods, adding, “Yes, you mentioned some texts needing translating, so I can get started on those.” 

Tim walks over to his desk, opens his laptop to find it still open on the same website from earlier. “Christ, I had finally gotten rid of that headache…” He sighs, rubbing his temples. 

“Are you alright?” Cas looks over at Tim, tilting his head in confusion and concern.

“Oh yeah, yeah, it’s no big deal. Just an occupational hazard I guess,” letting out a dry chuckle. “I’ll be alright, don’t worry about it. You’ve got enough trouble on your hands,” this time genuinely laughing. 

Tim can see a small smile appear across Cas’s face. “So how’d you two get together anyway? Last I knew, he was pining hard but nowhere near making any move.”

Cas laughs, his smile growing. “I believe it took longer than it probably should have. I knew I cared for Dean the moment I raised him from Hell, but…it took me some time to even identify what I was feeling, this new sensation that I hadn’t felt in my millennia of existence. So the pining, as you say, was mutual, but it took years for either of us to realize that. We’ve only become an ‘official couple’ in the last few months. We have Sam to thank for that, he worked hard to nudge us in the right direction. It all seems so obvious now in hindsight, but then, we were both completely oblivious to how the other felt.” Cas’s smile begins to fall as a thought dawns on him, “I-I’ve never thanked Sam for that.”

Tim sits for a moment in silence. He looks over at the angel and meets his gaze, “We’ll get him back. You can thank him then.” He flashes a reassuring smile as Dean re-enters the room, sipping on a small mug of coffee. 

“Alright boys, let’s get down to it.” 

***

Sam doesn’t know where he is. He hasn’t known for a while, however long that may be. He knows he hasn’t eaten or drank anything, the faintest discomfort in what he thinks is his stomach. His thoughts have long since lost coherency, leaving solely mad ramblings about doors and hallways and…and something else…

The door on the right goes nowhere, but the door on the other right goes down a hallway that goes to a door that goes to…nowhere. I’m searching for somewhere…someone …who is someone? They must be important, this someone. I know a someone. Where did they go? Maybe this door goes somewhere so I can get to someone. 

A soft static begins to edge its way into Sam’s ramblings. His mind is too loud at first to take notice, but eventually the static begins to seemingly form words. The voice that speaks them sounds familiar. 

“ Sam…it’s…hear… ” the words slowly puncture his thoughts, as if someone is twisting a radio frequency dial in his mind, searching for a new station.

“Sam, I don’t…hear me…find…you…” Sam is desperately trying to concentrate on the new voice breaking through, he knows he knows it, but he doesn’t know how. Finally, the voice breaks through with resounding clarity, drowning out everything else in Sam’s mind.

“Sam, it’s Castiel. I don’t know if you can hear me but Dean, myself, and the archive team are working on getting you back. If you can, please pray to me so we might be able to find where you are. We will get you back. Just don’t go through any more door-”

The voice is abruptly cut off with a sharp static breaking through before fading away, leaving Sam with his tangled knots of thoughts. 

Cas? I know that name. Dean, too… He said to pray, I-I think I’ve done that before… He said something else, something important. It was about a door. I think. 

Suddenly, Sam feels himself falling, not able to fully piece together that the floor that he had been standing on simply no longer existed. Landing full force into a wall that does not exist and rapidly losing consciousness, a pale set of all-wrong fingers wrap around Sam’s neck.

Before Sam fully loses his train of thought, he shouts what he hopes is a prayer: CAS HELP ME! FIND ME PLEAS-

“ Sorry Sammy, I am afraid that calls to the outside aren’t allowed. Guess I’ll have to pull out all of the stops. Nothing but the best for our special guest.” Michael laughs haughtily as it shoves Sam against the wall that isn’t there. 

Michael’s free hand swipes across Sam’s chest, causing pain to reverberate through every part of him. A door opens in the wall behind Sam, Michael lets go of his neck, dropping him into a hallway that does not end. As his scream fades, the door swings shut and continues being not there.

***

“What if we tried contacting him?” Cas proposes after a few hours of reading and translating various lore books.

“Um, pretty sure they don’t have cell service in non-reality door land.” 

“No, no, I mean what if I tried contacting him?”

“What, you mean, like, pray to him?” 

“In a similar fashion, yes, except it’s more I hijack a frequency that can be heard by the human mind and impose my message upon it-“

“Okay, radiowave, if it’s a way to contact Sam, I’ll take it.”

Cas positions himself to sit upright in his chair, placing his hands in his lap, his face furrowed in concentration. Dean and Tim watch intently, neither breaking their gaze from the angel. They see Cas’s eyes slowly moving behind closed eyelids, before they begin to move more rapidly and sweat beads on his forehead. 

He sends out the message over and over, waiting for a response, calling out for Sam on the frequency that he knows Sam should be able to hear. Suddenly, loud static breaks through, causing Cas to cover his ears in an attempt to dampen the sound, to no avail. Over the static, he hears Sam’s voice, loud and clear: CAS HELP ME! FIND ME PLEAS- before it all cuts out. 

Cas feels a hand on his shoulder, opening his eyes to see Dean hovering over him and Tim crouching in front of him, both looking concerned. “Hey man, you’re okay. W-what just happened? You’re sweating buckets right now.”

“I’m not sure what it was. It felt like the harder I pushed, the harder I tried to get to Sam, the more it pushed back,” Cas tries to explain, unable to find the words for the strange tug-of-war of sorts. “There was a loud static, then I could hear Sam’s voice clear as day, then it all just stopped.”

“What do you mean ‘it just stopped’? You heard Sam? What did he say?” 

Cas wipes his face in exasperation, “It means just that: I heard static, then Sam’s voice, then nothing.”

Dean presses his gaze into the angel, his frustration bubbling to the surface, “What did Sam say, Cas?”

Cas hesitates before meeting Dean’s gaze, knowing the outburst that’s about to come. “He…he called out for help. For us to find him. Then he just cut off and was gone. I–I couldn’t get a location or trace where he is.”

Tim stares off into space, absorbing the information. He looks up at Dean and stands, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder, “We’re going to find him, Dean.”

Dean slaps Tim’s hand away harshly. “How?! How the fuck are going to find him when he’s in some non-reality place made of doors to nowhere, huh? He is alone and who knows what is being done to him by that Michael freak.” 

“Dean-” Cas starts, but Dean cuts him off.

“No, don’t tell me that we’re going to find him, alright? Enough.” Dean sighs, running his hand over his face. “I’m gonna get some air,” he mumbles as he hastily leaves the office. 

Cas turns his attention towards Tim, who’s staring at the ground. “Are you okay? I know Dean can be a lot when he outbursts.”

Tim waves a hand dismissively, trying to bring a lighthearted air back to the room, “Yeah, I’m fine, I get it. I don’t blame him.” Tim looks back to his desk, then checks his watch, noting that they’ve pulled another late night. “Maybe we should just head back to my place and get some rest. You and Dean can have my bed, I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“Oh Tim, you don’t have to do that, I don’t sleep.” 

Tim is definitely taken aback at this before remembering that the man across from him is, in fact, an angel. “Right…well, okay then, let’s get Grumpy and head back to mine then where you can not-sleep.”

***

Dean is still relatively frustrated the following morning, but waking up to his angel bringing him a cup of coffee that his friend made is definitely a good start to the day. They head to the Institute after eating another amazing Stoker breakfast, ready to jump back into finding a way to get to Sam. 

As they get settled at their desks, saying their hellos to the other assistants, Dean turns to Tim, “Hey, would you be able to help me find a book in the library? I’ve seen it mentioned on various lore sites and think it may help us, especially now that we’ve got Cas to translate.” 

Before Tim can respond, there’s a knock on the office door. The trio look up to see Jon peeking his head in the office. 

“Hey boss, what’s up?” Tim says.

Jon lets himself the rest of the way into the office, “I just wanted to check-in on you all, see how things are going.” Jon looks around the room, his gaze resting on Cas. “Wh-who’s this?”

Cas stands and walks over to the archivist, “Hello, I’m Castiel. I’m Dean’s partner and am here to help find Sam and the others.” He shakes Jon’s hand with a grip he probably doesn’t realize is much too tight, but lets go as Jon lets out a squeak. “Apologies, I occasionally forget to curb my strength.”

“N-not a problem.” Jon can’t help but stare inquisitively at Cas, feeling something off about him but not able to place it.

But before he can say anything, Tim circles back to Dean’s request for finding a book. “Oh Dean, what book did you want to find?”

Dean goes to his desk, searching his mess of sticky notes plastered across the computer monitor and his laptop. He finds the one he was searching for, holding it up triumphantly. “Ha! Here it is. Okay, so it’s a Latin text, Flavo Ostium E Spiralibus . I couldn’t find an author, but it looks like it’s from the library of some dude named Leitner.”

Jon and all three of the archival assistants freeze at the mention of Leitner. Cas looks over to Dean, who’s just as confused as he is. “Is…is that an issue?” Dean asks cautiously. 

Jon and Tim are both at a loss for words and Sasha is absentmindedly tapping a pencil against her desk; Martin carefully stands from his desk and walks toward the door. “I-I’m going to go make some tea…”

“Tim, this could be the only shot we have at getting my brother back. This Leitner guy can’t be nearly as bad as half the shit we’ve dealt with.” 

Jon finally breaks his speechlessness and clears his throat. “Leitner himself is not really the issue, it’s the books he kept in his library that present the danger. Dean, you have to understand the power that this book may have, it could be dangerous just to touch or open it, let alone read its contents.” 

Dean can’t help but let out a dry chuckle, “Jon, man, I appreciate the concern, but you quite literally don’t 99% of the shit I’ve been through. Been to hell and back. Fought Lucifer. Been to Purgatory and back. And so, so much more. I am not afraid of what some book has in store for me.” His tone is even, but the pent up anger and irritation with the situation can be heard behind each word. “So, Cas and I are gonna read the damn book and get my brother back.”

Chapter Text

The locked section of the library is basically the book version of artifact storage, holding the especially unruly books. Like, for example, books formerly owned by Jurgen Leitner. Dean scans the shelves as Tim searches for Flavo Ostium E Spiralibus , while Jon talks with Cas back in the office. 

“Was all that stuff that Dean said…was that true?” Jon hesitantly looks at Cas. He had known that Dean and Sam were in a more involved version of what the Institute deals with, hunting down the things they collect statements about, but he had no idea the grand scale of things that they could be facing. 

“Yes, it is. We have faced a great number of dangers over the years. Sam and Dean have to deal with blow after blow, trauma after trauma for nearly their entire lives. But they still keep fighting. And I am proud to do so with them.” 

“Well, I am grateful to have Dean’s and your help. And I truly hope that this book will help us get Sam and the others back. I just hope the price isn’t too high to pay…”

Cas places a reassuring hand on Jon’s shoulder, “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” adding quietly to himself I think that’s how the saying goes .

Martin returns to the office with tea in hand, slightly startled to see Jon and Cas standing right by the door. He scans the room for the others, only finding Sasha still sitting at her desk, deeply invested in whatever she is reading. “Where are Dean and Tim?” he asks, looking back to Jon and Cas. 

Jon clears his throat, “They, uh, went to get a book that may help get Sam and the others back from the Distortion.”

As if on cue, the pair come through the door, laughing at some joke one of them made. Cas notices that Dean seems to be in a better mood compared to when he left to get the book, which is a relief. 

Dean holds up the book triumphantly, grinning from ear to ear. “Cas, man, it’s time to translate.”

***

Cas sits at his desk for hours on end, the other archival staff going about their normal duties for the day. And Dean…well, Dean tries not to hover over Cas and keep himself occupied, but fails spectacularly. Something in his gut tells him that this is their shot, so he can’t sit down to read or focus on anything else, no matter how hard he tries. 

After hour 6, Cas finally sighs and turns to Dean, who is pacing behind him, “You do realize that the translation will not go faster if you are anxiously watching me.” It was more of a statement than a question, the angel knowing Dean well enough to be sure that Dean gets antsy the closer they get to a possible answer to their problems. 

“He’s right, you know?” Tim stands from his desk, making his way over to Dean. “Acting like a helicopter parent over your boyfriend won’t make things go faster.” 

An obvious look of annoyance passes over Dean’s face, but deep down, he does know they’re right. “You’re right, okay? But what the hell am I supposed to do?” 

Tim looks down at his watch and smirks, “Well, it’s 5 o’clock somewhere! How about some drinks?”

“Now that I can get on board with. I’ve yet to go to an English pub, let’s see what the Brits have to offer.” Dean grabs his jacket from his desk chair, checking his pockets to make sure he has everything. “Sasha, Martin, you want to join us while Cas keeps pluggin’ away?”

“Maybe another night boys, my boyfriend and I are going to a museum.” Sasha replies. Dean can’t help but think that’s kinda lame, but doesn’t push. 

Martin, however, does seem to be considering the offer, “I probably won’t stay super late, but I would like to join you, if that’s alright?”

“Martin, buddy, we offered. Yeah, it’s alright.” Tim reassures him. 

Dean walks back over to Cas’s desk and leans down so his face is right next to the angel’s, “You want to take a break and come out with us? Then we can come back and keep at it.”

Cas rolls his eyes at the hunter, “Dean, I don’t drink and you know this. Plus, I’m getting close on the translation, I’ve found what appears to be a summoning spell of some sort,” He turns his head to face Dean and pecks his lips. “So you three go have fun, okay? I’ll be fine here. I’ll text you any updates.” 

***

“I gotta say, I don’t recommend getting high off of fire extinguishers.” Tim shares his infinite wisdom after two shots and a Corpse Reviver No. Blue. Martin and Tim decided to take Dean to The French House in Soho for his first foray into London pubs. 

“God, you’re still drinking those after all these years?” Dean laughs, remembering the drink from the night they met.

“Excuse you, No. Blue is amazing . Or have you forgotten?” Tim retorts, motioning to Dean’s glass of whiskey. 

Martin is simply watching the exchange, sipping on a mixed tea drink (which Dean was astonished to learn is apparently a thing). He’s rarely gone out since Jane Prentiss attacked the Institute, so he’s allowing himself to enjoy the time out, as best as he can.

Dean scoffs, “I have not forgotten, I just wanna avoid a repeat of my last foray if I can help it. I’d prefer not to drunkenly stumble upon a nest of vamps, ya know?”

Tim responds with a smirk, “Well, I’d just have to rescue you again, now, wouldn’t I?” 

Dean laughs and shakes his head, “Don’t you forget, hot stuff, I’ve got an angel on my shoulder now. Your charms ain’t gonna work now.” 

“Ah, old habits, handsome. I am happy for you, though. You’ve really got a good thing with him.” Tim turns with a knowing smirk to Martin, who has remained quiet the entire exchange. “Soooo, Martin. What about you, anyone you’ve got an eye on?”

Dean leans into the table with a playful smile, eager to hear his answer. Martin, on the other hand, shifts awkwardly in his seat and avoids meeting either of their gazes. “N-no, no one. No one at all.”

Tim rolls his head from Martin to Dean then back, “Oh really? Not even a certain archivist?” 

Martin practically jumps out of his seat, knocking over his (thankfully empty) cup as Dean and Tim burst into laughter. “No! No, definitely not! I don’t know what even gave you the impression…”

Dean reaches over the table, placing a reassuring hand on Martin’s shoulder. “Martin, my man, one) you are a terrible liar, and two) take it from me, chances are pretty good he feels the same. So don’t wait too long.” Martin settles back into his chair, all of the flight leaving his system. 

“Thanks, Dean. I appreciate it.” Martin flashes a shy smile at the hunter; even if he doesn’t feel confident now about telling Jon about his feelings, he feels better about telling him in the semi-near future. Definitely not now though.

***

The clock in the bar shows that it is now actually 5pm, so the trio has been at the bar for a couple of hours. Dean checks his phone and sees a text from Cas, sent two minutes ago:

Hello, love. I’ve finished translating the summoning spell. On the way back to the Institute, can you pick up a prism and a spiral ginger plant? 

Dean wasn’t called pet names by others very often, so whenever Cas did, he just melted and felt like a kid on christmas. 

Tim slowly leans over to Martin with a giddy grin, “I think our Dean-o has heard from his angel.” Dean looks up from his phone, sends a glare to Tim, but there’s no malice behind it. He knows how goofy he looks, he is just too damn in love to care. “So what’s the word?”

“Cas finished translating what we needed in order to get where Sam is. We need to make two stops on the way back though, for ingredients.” 

Martin looks over at Dean in confusion, “What do you mean ‘ingredients’? A-are we cooking something?”

Dean chuckles, “No, no man, we’re not cooking anything. It’s for a spell, a summoning spell. Don’t know the details, Cas will catch us up once we’re back.” He pulls out his wallet and puts £50 on the table to cover their food, drinks, and a tip for the bartender. “Let’s go, lads!” he says in his best worst London accent with a cocky grin. 

***

Martin, Tim, and Dean make their needed detours and make it back to the institute shortly before 7:30 pm. As they walk down the hallway back to the office, they can hear Jon and Cas laughing. They open the door to see Jon leaning back in a chair with his feet kicked up while Cas is sitting on top of one of the desks with his legs criss-crossed, both smiling. 

Dean chuckles, “What’ve you two been up to?”

“Jon and I were discussing the history of gender and sexuality norms in various cultures over the centuries. I’ve always found it absurd to assign clothes to one of two gender categories, considering they are simply different configurations of fabric.”

“I had asked Castiel what his favorite clothing item was from the many centuries and he replied-” Jon cuts himself off with a playful smirk and directs a hand to Cas.

“I said any form of flowing skirt, because, as the Internet describes, ‘skirt go spinny’. I’m unsure who came up with the phrase, but I will say that I agree with the sentiment wholeheartedly.” 

Dean makes a mental note for later to get the Angel a skirt, because he’ll be damned if the image of him spinning in a field in flowy dress ain’t doing something for him. Before he gets too carried away, he snaps his attention back to the office. “Well that sounds like an absolutely riveting conversation, my friends, but I do believe we’ve got some work to do.” 

Jon kicks his legs off the desk and brings them back to the ground to stand while Cas climbs off the desktop and grabs the book with his notes bookmarked into a few sections. It’s not a very large book, probably no more than 40 pages, which is why the Angel was able to find and translate what they needed in one day’s work. The cover seems to somehow shift and shimmer in Cas’s hand, as if it’s an illusion or on another plane leaking through, but the angel’s grip is seemingly unaffected by it. 

“The spell should be relatively simple, we should have no problem getting into this Michael’s domain.” Cas begins to explain. “The main issue will be finding the right door to get Sam, Helen, and the other women and getting back here. I’m going to write a sigil on the door we open to hopefully force it to stay open, but we need to be in and out as quickly as possible.”

“So who all is going in?” Tim asks, a hint of apprehension in his voice. As much as he doesn’t want to go into wherever this Michael is, he knows that he’s probably best suited for the tasks out of the other archival assistants. Plus, he knows what it’s like to lose a brother, and he sure as hell doesn’t want to see Dean go through the same loss.

“Tim, you don’t-” Dean starts; Tim may have once saved his ass, but that is far from being a full-time hunter and he’ll be damned if he loses another person that he cares about. 

Tim is having none of this, though, rolling his eyes at the hunter, “I know I don’t have to, Winchester. But hell if I’m going to sit here and twiddle my bloody thumbs while we wait for you to get back. You don’t always have to be the savior, definitely not on your own.”

Before Dean can protest, Cas speaks up, “He’s right, Dean. With the amount of ground we need to cover, we need more than just you and me charging in.” He catches the hunter’s gaze, trying to assess what he’s thinking and hiding behind his stoic look. 

Dean lets out a heavy sigh, uncrossing his arms and letting them fall to his sides, “Fine. So when are we heading in?”

Martin speaks up this time, hesitantly looking around the room to the others, “Shouldn’t we all go home and get some rest? We have everything we need, right? So why not get some rest so you can go in with as clear of a mind as possible in the morning. Then we can make sure we have everything we need, too, and Sasha will be here.” 

Cas and Jon both nod in agreement, while Dean throws his arms up in exasperation. He is slowly going insane imagining all the things, all of the torture his brother could be going through, and now he has to wait another whole night before even trying to get him back. He knows he needs to get rest, but who knows if he’ll actually be able to sleep. 

***

Turns out Dean was able to sleep that night, thanks to Cas. Once they got back to Tim’s flat and got ready for bed, the hunter and the angel cuddled on the couch, and Cas used his Grace to put Dean into a restful, dreamless sleep. In the morning, Dean wakes up for the third day in a row to the smell of a homemade breakfast. He is greeted by the sight of his angel’s eyes staring into his own and the weight of Cas wedged into the couch next to him, something he’ll never get tired of.

“Mornin’, sunshine.” Dean greets in his usual morning gruff. “What time is it?” 

“7:33am. Tim is making breakfast for you both. Once you eat and get dressed, we’ll head to the Institute, finalize the plan for the spell, then-”

Dean cuts him off, adrenaline beginning to pump through his veins, “Then get my goddamn brother back.”

***

Martin and Sasha are already at the office once Dean, Cas, and Tim get there. There’s an obvious anxiety in the air that all of them are doing their best to ignore, but it’s there nonetheless. Cas heads to his desk and begins prepping the few ingredients they need for the spell while Dean preps backpacks for him and Tim. 

It was decided that Jon, Martin, and Sasha would stay behind to guard the door and take care of anyone they were able to send back. Martin, Tim, and Sasha clear the desks against one of the walls to make a space for the door.

Jon enters the office shortly after the others, a cup of warm coffee in hand. “Morning, everyone.” Sasha, Tim, and Martin both offer their hellos, while the other two absentmindedly wave. “So…how are we looking? Are we ready to start soon?” The nervousness dripping off the archivist is palpable; Dean thinks to himself how, for someone whose job it is to learn about the supernatural and weird, he sure is jumpy. 

Cas turns and looks up from his desk, the prism placed in a small bowl, perfectly in the center of the petals of the spiral ginger plant. “Yes, I’m almost done with the ingredients for the spell. I just need one last thing, from you, Jon, and from Dean.”

Turns out the spell needs blood from someone touched by the Distortion, and since Michael had sliced a cut into Jon’s shoulder after he took Helen, it’s just what they need. As for Dean, Cas is hoping that the familial bond between the brothers’ blood will open the door close to where Sam is.

Dean looks across the room and watches as Jon carefully walks over to the bowl and rolls up his sleeve, then grabs a knife from the desk. Dean notices his apprehension, and feels a bit of pity for the man; after so many years of hunting, giving blood for a spell is just another Thursday. Cas must notice as well, as he places a hand on Jon’s shoulder and gives him a reassuring, soft smile. The archivist relaxes a bit, takes a deep breath, and presses the knife into his forearm, allowing the blood to coat the prism and the petals. Once there’s enough, Cas places a hand over the cut and heals it with his grace. 

“I-I’m going to sit down now.” Jon walks awkwardly to an empty chair and slouches into it. 

Dean double checks the bags he’s packed for Tim and himself, slings his over his shoulder, and repeats the process, adding his blood to the bowl. Cas lifts the bowl and places it carefully in front of the wall that had been cleared, then begins to recite the spell as Dean and Tim join him.

Ostium est.

Luteum ostium quod non est.

Ostium nusquam.

Atria velim explorare.

I oportet invenire ostium.

Non est hic ostium flavo.

Insano laetabitur timore.

Ego spiras et fractals restituo.

Habeo ostium invenerunt.

Ego te huc.

Dean lights a match and throws it into the bowl, which explodes into a yellow cloud of smoke. The wall begins to warp and shift, a slight ringing echoing through the room. Suddenly, a plain yellow door appears, as if it had always been there, and the ringing grows slightly louder. Cas takes out his angel blade and cuts his arm, taking the blood to draw an Enochian sigil on the door that will hopefully keep it open and allow them to return. Hopefully.

Once he’s finished, Cas exchanges a glance with Dean, who is fully stoic and staring at the door, and with Tim, who is doing well to mask his nervousness and gives the angel a thumbs up. With that, Cas reaches for the handle and slowly opens the door. Jon, Martin, and Sasha all watch silently as Cas, Dean, and Tim walk through the door, which creaks shut behind them. And now, they wait. 

Chapter Text

After Tim walks through the door, it closes behind them, but doesn’t disappear, the sigil still visible. Tim and Dean snap around to the door, panic washing over them. “It’s supposed to do that right?” Dean asks, leaning towards Cas.

Cas hesitates, then nods slowly, “I think it should be fine. The sigil is still strong and the door hasn’t disappeared, which is a good sign.”

“Well then let’s keep it moving in case the sigil wears off.” Dean huffs. The others nod in agreement, and they slowly walk down a nearly endless hallway before it turns down to the right.

Dean steps in front of Cas and carefully rounds the corner, scanning for any possible threats or other people. He turns back to where Tim and Cas were standing, but instead smacks his forehead against a wall. He takes a step back in confusion to analyze the wall that definitely was not there not even a second ago. 

“Cas? Tim?” Dean calls out, his voice echoing through the hall. “What the hell?” He brings a hand to the wall to feel it; it somehow feels both tangible and non-existent at the same time, which trips him out. A flare of anger spikes up, causing Dean to crash a fist into the wall, where it collides with no damage to the wall and sends a shock of vibrating pain up his arm. “Son of a bitch!” 

Realizing that he won’t be able to get back through the wall, Dean turns back down the hallway that he is now trapped in and continues making his way down. He walks for what he feels like is hours on end without coming across a single turn or door or change of any sort. His mind begins to feel like it’s filled with static, unable to form a coherent thought against the neverending, never changing walls. Through the static, he feels like he can hear a familiar voice, but he can’t quite make out what they’re saying. So he keeps on walking.

***

As Cas and Tim round the corner that Dean had just a moment before, they find an empty hallway, no Winchester in sight. The pair look around the hall frantically, looking for some place that the hunter could’ve disappeared to. 

“Dean?” Cas calls out, urgency penetrating his voice. 

Tim turns to Cas, pure confusion etched across his face. “Where the fuck did he go? We were only a second behind him!” He throws his arms up in agitation. 

“I don’t know…This place is a great deal more powerful than I was expecting, it’s as if it exists in a strange void, between existence and nonexistence, allowing it to bend reality as it so pleases.” 

“What, so it can change into whatever at any second? And we have no way of knowing how the fuck to navigate it. Great, just great.” Tim begins pacing, dragging a hand across his face in exasperation. When he turns back to where the angel was standing, he sees nothing but an empty hallway. “Oh, for god’s sake.” 

Tim sighs and scans both directions of the hallway for more changes and notices a door on the left. For whatever reason, he knows he has to open it and see what’s inside. The gravity seemingly shifts as soon as he does, though, causing him to tumble through the door down a huge hallway, crashing full force into a wall. The impact knocks the wind out of him and the gravity is effectively pinning him to the wall, so he stays put for a while, slowly forgetting why he was there in the first place, his thoughts slipping away.

***

Dean has no clue how long he’s been walking for. He’s been following the sound of the static, trying to pick up whatever is coming through, but it just sounds like a radio between frequencies playing an echo of a station. He’s lost track of how many turns he’s made, losing count somewhere around the low hundreds, before he comes across a yellow door. Upon examination, it looks like any old door, with a handle and hinges and a door frame. He carefully leans in to place an ear against it, listening for anything emanating from the other side. Hearing nothing, he cautiously opens the door, slowly but surely. 

As Dean passes the threshold, the static in his mind picks up, the voice becoming clearer to the point where he finally decipher what is being said, “ Dean! I’m trying to get back to you and Tim, this place is nearly impossible to traverse. I’ve figured out where Sam is, but I can’t get to him yet. ” 

In a moment of clarity, Dean realizes it’s Cas, who must be using the same frequency thing he tried before with Sam. He looks around frantically, finding himself in the middle of a 4-way hall, trying to determine the direction that will get him closer to Cas. Deciding on the one to his right, he turns and walks quickly, but realizes that the static is fading. 

No, no, no, shit, Cas, I’m here! I’m comin’, man. Dean uses every ounce of focus he has to send out his prayer as he turns back down the hall to see only two other hallways instead of three. This time, he leans down them both, listening to the ebb and flow of the static. Cas’s voice becomes clearer down the left hall, so Dean sprints down it, scanning for any change in the walls or a sign of his angel. 

As he rounds a corner, a familiar laugh pierces through the air, sending cuts of pain through Dean’s insides. “ Oh, Dean, really? You’ve made this too easy. ” Michael laughs with such awful amusement that it makes Dean’s stomach lurch. Before he can make a witty reply, Michael slashes a sharp finger across Dean’s chest, opening a huge wound that causes him to cry out. 

He feels Michael’s boney fingers wrap around his neck, the joints cutting into his skin as his circulation gets cut along with it and he gets pushed up against a wall. “ You Winchesters are a stubborn bunch. And, quite frankly, a pain in my arse. So,” Dean feels the wall behind him disappear and finds himself dangling down an open doorway as gravity shifts, “ I guess you’ll get the same treatment as your brother. Thanks for visiting. ” 

Dean tries to shout out as he drops, but his voice gets stuck in his throat. As he falls, he hears Cas’s voice and the static fade until his mind is racing with incoherent thoughts. 

***

Sam finds himself falling down nearly-endless hallways more often than not. Every so often, the falling will suddenly be interrupted by Sam colliding with a wall, knocking all of the air out of his lungs and causing pain to reverberate through every inch of his body. Before he can even catch his breath, he’s falling through a door that wasn’t there before, down yet another hallway. 

He’s long since lost track of how many times he’s dropped, stopped, then started all again. Occasionally he’ll hear the shouts and pleas of others, even catching glimpses of others through open doors and hallways. After what feels like a particularly long fall, Sam has the wind knocked out of him yet again. He scans the walls around him, seeing a hall to his left that is oriented perpendicular to one he lies in. In the hall, he sees someone walking towards him, seemingly picking up their pace upon seeing Sam.

“Sam?” the voice calls out. Sam knows he’s heard it before, but can’t place where. 

Before he has a chance to respond, he feels hands gripping his shoulders tight, dragging him into the adjacent hall. The change in orientation makes him feel sick to his stomach, causing him to curl into the fetal position on his side, a low groan making its way out of his throat.

“Hey, Sam, can you hear me? You with me?” The voice is frantic, and Sam absentmindedly realizes they have a British accent. His eyes finally are able to focus on the haphazard cinnamon hair and light brown eyes. 

“T-Tim? A-are you real?” Sam croaks out, carefully sitting up to cautiously lean against the wall, silently hoping it doesn’t disappear from behind him. 

“Yeah, man, I’m real. Your brother, Castiel, and I actually came in to save your ass.” Tim lets out a weak chuckle.

“Wait, my brother? Brother, brother, brother…” Confusion clouds Sam’s face, his thoughts a jumbled mess; having a brother sounds familiar, what’s his name? “D-De…Dean? Dean! Where is he?!” Sam looks around frantically, scanning the area for his brother to no avail. 

Tim reaches out to try to calm the younger Winchester, “Hey man, just take a sec, okay? We got separated after we got here. Dean turned a corner and was just gone, then Cas and I got separated. We gotta get out of here, man. Are you okay to walk?”

Sam scrambles to his feet, swaying slightly as he gets used to having his feet planted firmly on the ground after falling for so long. He nods, “Yeah, yeah, I’m good. You got a way outta here?” 

Tim shifts his gaze away from Sam, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck. “Yes, but no. We’ve got to find it first, but there should be a door that will lead back to the Institute, Castiel drew some sort of sigil-”

Before Tim can elaborate further, Sam cuts him off, “Then what are we waiting for? Let’s move!” 

***

Even with his angelic senses, Cas is disoriented and has a hard time navigating the various halls and doors. He’s not sure how he managed to get separated from Tim, but he’s been working to find his way back to the door and locate Tim, Sam, and Dean -without much luck. He tries to heighten his hearing to listen for one of them, but is quickly overtaken by the cacophony of a thousand voices, making it impossible to decipher what any one voice is saying or where it’s coming from. 

Each time that Cas comes across a door, he can’t help but to open it, hoping to find someone behind it. On a few occasions, he can feel the door trying to pull him down into the hallway beyond, but he’s able to keep himself planted where he stands, closing the door and watching as it closes and no longer exists. 

As he traverses through the endless halls, he can’t help but feel as if his vessel is being cut along millions and millions of microscopic sharp fractals. Rounding yet another corner, he feels the fractals change, as if they were vibrating, and the small hairs on his vessel stand on end. 

“ What are you? ” a dizzying voice cuts through the air. 

Cas turns around quickly, scanning to find the source of the voice. He watches, perplexed, as a figure made out of wrong angles and nausea-inducing spirals advances through a door at the end of the hall towards the angel. Its body takes up nearly the entire hallway, with its limbs phasing in and out of the walls. 

The voice slices through the air yet again, edged in a deep anger, “ What are you? ” 

Fingers that more closely resemble knives reach out towards Cas, but he dodges them and steps away from the encroaching figure. 

“What do you mean, what am I?” Cas inquires, his voice hesitant.

“ You’re not human, nor are you of this realm. So, that presents the question: what are you? ” 

“What makes you think I would want to answer that?” 

The figure, which Cas believes is the Michael that Dean had told him about, lets out some sort of laugh, “ Oh, I believe I can be rather persuasive. ” It waves its sharp hand at the wall to Cas’s right, revealing yet another door. Michael reaches through it, though it remains closed; when the hand returns from the other side, Cas’s heart sinks in horror.

“Dean!” The hunter is firmly within the figure’s grasp, its sharp fingers wrapped tightly around his torso. Cas sees that Dean is slipping in and out of consciousness, completely limp in Michael’s hold.

“ Ah, see, I knew you were with the Winchesters’ and Mr. Stoker. I could feel you all enter my domain and you so rudely left the door open, so I of course had to intervene. I would love to know how you did that, by the way. So, I will ask again: what are you ? ” 

Cas anxiously looks from Michael to Dean, still held firm in its grasp. He remembers that Dean had mentioned guns seemed to have no effect on it when it took Sam, so there’s little chance that the angel blade will fare much better. He begins rapidly examining a variety of attack plans, his former soldier instincts kicking in. There has to be some way I can catch it off guard and get it to release Dean…  

***

Tim and Sam have managed to stay together, keeping a consistent pace through the halls and carefully opening any doors they come across. Having long gotten used to the sprawling sameness of the halls, Sam actually seems semi-confident in navigating them. Eventually, they come to another door, no different than any of the others. Tim edges forward, hesitantly reaching for the doorknob while Sam keeps a firm grasp on the door frame with his left hand and holds Tim’s forearm in his right, in case the door tries to drop him. 

In a swift motion, Tim throws the door open, bracing himself for the fall. But it doesn’t come. Instead, Sam and Tim jump at the sight of a short Black woman, her eyes bloodshot and wide in terror. She begins backing away from the door, shifting her gaze from the two tall men before her. 

“Alison?” Tim asks, his voice tinted with confusion. His jumbled thoughts somehow remember Alison’s picture from her case file and recognizes that the woman standing in front of him is one of their missing real estate agents. 

“Who the hell are you?” She is growing more frantic, her terror sending tremors through her body. 

Sam puts his hands up before speaking, doing his best to keep his voice steady, “I’m Sam, and this is Tim. We’re getting out of here. We can help you, Alison. This place, it messes with your mind, makes you doubt everything you see, touch, hear, and tosses you around like a fuckin’ ragdoll. But I promise you, we are real and we can get you out of here.” 

Alison cautiously crosses the threshold to Sam and Tim, slowly reaching a hand out to touch Tim’s arm to see if it really truly is real. Upon making contact, she promptly dissolves into a puddle of sobs; Tim awkwardly wraps an arm around her shoulders in a gesture of support. 

“We’ve got to keep moving, okay?” Sam gently pipes up, gesturing to the hall in front of them. Alison slowly nods, wiping her face and easing out of Tim’s embrace. But before they can move too far, Sam gets an idea and turns to Tim.

“You mentioned that Cas drew some kind of sigil to act as our way out right?” 

“Yes?” Tim answers hesitantly, not knowing where the question could be leading.

“You wouldn’t happen to remember what the sigil looked like or anything would you?” Sam has a hopeful tint to his voice, the idea fleshing out in his head.

Tim’s look of confusion fades to one of realization and begins frantically digging through his pockets. “I have a copy of it, Cas drew it out beforehand to practice and make sure he got it right and I thought it honestly looked cool as hell- ha!” He grabs a piece of paper from his right front pocket and holds it up triumphantly before handing it to Sam. “You know how to draw one of those?”

Sam chuckles as he looks at the practice drawing, “Yeah, I, uh, have my fair share of experience drawing enochian sigils and other warding symbols.” 

Sam reaches into his jacket pocket (somehow, despite all of the falling, he’s managed to keep it on and most of the contents have stayed inside their respective pockets) and pulls out a small knife. He walks back to the closed door that Alison had just walked through, thankful that it hadn’t disappeared yet. Using the knife to slice his palm, he dips his fingers in the now familiar motion and draws the relatively simple sigil on the door. He takes out a spare bandana from another inside pocket and wraps it around his hand as he stands back to look at his work.

“Alright, let’s see if this thing works.” Sam reaches back for the doorknob and carefully opens the door. Instead of an endless hall, a bright, white light pours from the door. A slight shadow of a smile appears on Sam’s and Tim’s faces, while Alison is just lost in confusion. 

“That’s gotta be good, right?” Tim asks, looking back at Sam, who softly chuckles and nods in response, seemingly lost in thought.

“Hey, Tim, man, I think you should go back with her.” 

“What? No way, dude! We still need to find Dean and Cas!” Tim can’t believe what he’s hearing. Does he seriously think I’ll just leave him here?

Sam must read his mind, because he gives a sympathetic look to his new friend, “Look, man, I know you don’t want to leave me behind. I mean, hell, you came in here looking for me in the first place, which I’m incredibly grateful for. But you gotta get out of here. What happens if we get separated again, huh? I’ll keep searching for Dean and Cas and the other missing women, but you need to go through with Alison in case something happens.” 

Tim is obviously trying to come up with some possible retort or reason why he should stay with Sam, but knows that the hunter is right. He sighs, then looks back at Sam and pulls him into a hug. “You better get those bastards back, you hear me?”

Sam pats Tim’s back, nodding with a small smile, “I promise, man. Now go, before Michael finds us again.” 

As Tim and Alison walk into the blinding light, a slight warbling comes from the door before it then softly closes. Both the sigil and the door remain, much to Sam’s pleasant surprise. Well that’s encouraging, I think. He takes one last look at the door, then turns down the hall with a renewed energy, itching to find his brother and his friend.

Sam continues his seemingly endless searching, walking down dozens of halls, when he feels a familiar buzz in the air. A shiver of terror runs down Sam’s spine, horrified at the thought of running into Michael again. However, as the buzzing grows, he realizes it’s not the headachey static of the strange figure but the ringing of angelic grace.

Chapter Text

Tim and Alison stumble through the doorway, blinking and getting their eyes to adjust after walking through the blinding light. Tim scans the room and his gaze rests on a familiar scrawny, grey-brown haired man, hunched on the couch. 

“Tim?! Alison?” Jon looks up, startled at the sudden appearance of the archival assistant and his plus one. “You’re back! How- where are the others? Are you okay?” He scrambles to his feet to help both Tim and Alison to the couch, placing a blanket around their shoulders. 

Tim frantically turns back around to the door, which is still present with the sigil intact. Rather than answering any of his boss’s questions, he replies with one of his own. “How long have we been gone?”

Finally looking around to properly examine his surroundings, Tim notices that Jon is the only other person in the office besides him and Alison. This deep in the archives, there aren’t any windows, so he has no way of knowing what time it is and his phone is long since dead. He also notes that there’s quite a collection of empty mugs on Martin’s desk.

“Three days…”

“What? Are you serious?” Time really was impossible to assess in that place, but now that he’s out, Tim can feel all of his status effects catching up to him, causing him to crumple back into the couch with a groan. 

A quiet voice speaks up from the other side of the couch, “What the hell is going on? Where am I?” Alison isn’t looking at either Jon or Tim, rather staring at her shaking hands laying in her lap. 

Tim cautiously moves over on the couch towards her, making sure to keep enough space between them to be respectful but close enough to offer comfort. “Alison, what, uh, what’s the last thing that you remember before that place?”

“Um… I-I had an afternoon showing. A-and a strange man came, saying he came on the client’s behalf, which I thought was abnormal, but I didn’t say anything. I started showing him around when I found a door. B-but it shouldn’t -couldn’t- have been there, it wasn’t there before. I went through it and when I looked back, the strange man was gone. I walked for so long. I was all alone…” Alison finally looks up, tears in her eyes as she directs her gaze at Tim. “H-how did you find me?”

“I’m…I’m actually not sure how we did; I was walking around looking for anyone I could find without much luck for what felt like forever. I actually stumbled upon my friend, Sam, before we found you-”

“Where is Sam? And the others?” Jon interrupts. 

Before Tim can reply, the spell door bursts open, spitting out three more bodies before shutting again. Jon leaps to his feet yet again and Tim follows to aid the new arrivals. He sighs in relief upon seeing both Winchester brothers, but it takes a moment to recognize the third person with them: Bree Roberts, another of the missing real estate agents. His relief is quickly replaced with worry and concern as he examines the state of Dean’s face and body; it looks like his entire body is littered with thin cuts and his left arm is cradling a gnarly gash across extending from his collarbone to the bottom of his ribs. Sam is in better shape, but still sporting his fair share of thin cuts scattered across his lanky frame. 

Bree helps herself off the floor and shuffles her way to the couch, bringing her knees to her chest and burying her face between them. Alison scooches closer and wraps her blanket around both their shoulders, neither speaking a word. 

Sam scrambles on his hands and knees to Dean, who has not left the crumpled position that he landed in after emerging from the door, breathing ragged. “Hey Dean, stay with me man. We’re gonna get you patched up, okay?” Sam examines the room around him, finally processing that he’s in some office with Tim and another guy both standing over him. “We need to stop the bleeding and get him cleaned up. Do you have a first aid kit or anything?”

Tim rushes to Martin’s desk, a bit wobbly on his feet due to the starvation, dehydration, and lack of sleep. He opens one of the bottom drawers and pulls out an industrial size first aid kit. “God bless Martin and his ever caring, prepared nature.” He mutters to himself, making his way back to Sam and Dean. He has so many questions -hell, everyone does- but there’s no time when Dean’s fading in and out of consciousness, so he just focuses on Sam’s directions and helps put pressure on the gash. 

After running through a heaping amount of gauze and pads, Sam and Tim are finally able to get the bleeding to stop, allowing Sam to carefully sew the wound shut before applying a clean pad over it. With Jon’s help, they’re able to move Dean to the couch, where he stays unconscious. The chaos of the moment has finally settled, leaving the room in silence, a heavy exhaustion in the air. 

At some point, Tim clears his throat and turns to Sam, “Hey, uh, where is-”

Already knowing what he’s going to ask, Sam cuts him off, “Cas is still in there. He said he had a plan to take down Michael but didn’t want to risk anything else happening,” motioning a tired hand towards his brother, “so he pushed us through. God, Dean’s going to be so pissed when he wakes up…” 

***

Before Sam and Dean Returned to the Archives

Sam could hear Cas before he saw him. He couldn’t make out what Cas was saying, but he focused on following the direction of the angel’s voice. As travels down yet another endless hallway, he can tell that he’s getting close because Cas’s voice gets louder and clearer, but there’s still no sign of him. 

Cas? Sam sends a prayer out to the angel. If he can hear the ring of angelic grace, it’s gotta mean that the angel’s close, right?

Sam! I can sense you’re close, but I need you to stay where you are.

Why? What’s going on?

Sam hears Cas’s voice echo down the hall, talking to someone that Sam still can’t see, “What makes you think I would want to answer that?” 

Sam freezes as he hears a familiar, nausea-inducing laugh, “ Oh, I believe I can be rather persuasive. ” 

Shit, is Cas talking to Michael?  Sam thinks to himself. He still doesn’t have eyes on either Cas or Michael, and there’s a not-so-silent part of his mind telling him that he’s just imagining what he’s hearing and that he’s not going to be able to find them. His train of thought is interrupted, however, by Cas’s voice shouting out his brother’s name. Dean?! Oh god, Michael must have Dean… Sam panics to himself.

“ Ah, see, I knew you were with the Winchesters’ and Mr. Stoker. I could feel you all enter my domain and you so rudely left the door open, so I of course had to intervene. I would love to know how you did that, by the way. So, I will ask again: what are you ? ” 

Sam is now frantically scanning the halls around him, searching for an opening or a door, something, anything that will get him to the angel and his brother, when a door draws his attention. He rushes over to try the handle, and sure enough, it swings open and finds a wide-eyed brunette woman in a cramped room. She rapidly turns to Sam, eyes full of panic. 

“Hey, hey, I’m not going to hurt you.” Sam puts his hands up, repeating the same calm tone and open demeanor he had when he found Alison; he wants to work his way to Cas and Dean, but he also needs to get this woman out. “My name is Sam. What’s yours?” 

“Uh, B-Bree. I’m Bree.” She blinks slowly up at Sam, not fully aware of what’s happening. 

“Alright, Bree, I’m going to get you out of here, but first I’ve gotta find my brother and friend. I’m not going to leave you here, so I need you to stick with me. Can you do that?” 

Bree nods slightly, and edges close to Sam’s right side. Continuing back through the door that Sam pulled Bree from, he listens for the ring of Cas’s grace and scans for any sign of the angel or his brother. 

Sam. The angel’s voice breaks through his thoughts. I have a plan to distract Michael and get your brother, but I need you to get a door ready. 

Yeah, yeah I can do that. I sent Tim and Alison through one before I heard from you, he gave me the sigil you guys used. Sam catches sight of a door down the hall and begins drawing the sigil on the door as the ring of Cas’s grace grows louder and louder. A bright, blinding light flashes, causing Sam and Bree to close and cover their eyes. 

“ No !” a voice like broken glass cries out; Sam realizes it must be Michael, what else could’ve sounded like that?

When Sam opens his eyes, he sees his brother lying unconscious, covered in numerous thin cuts along with a large gash across his chest which is bleeding pretty profusely. But no sign of Cas.

Sam, grab your brother and leave! Get out, I’ll hold off Michael. Even though Cas is speaking through prayer, Sam can hear the drained, weak tone in the angel’s normal timbre. 

We’re not leaving you behind, Cas, I have the door ready-

“ Sam, go! Now! ” Cas demands, his voice ringing out.

Sam turns to Bree and motions for her to help lift up Dean, slinging one arm around her shoulders and wrapping the other around Sam’s torso. They scramble to the door, Sam reaches for the handle and pushes it open, revealing the same blinding light from when Tim and Alison left. WIthout a moment’s hesitation, Sam drags them all through, emerging into an office. 

Sam rushes down to where Dean now lies on the floor, unmoving and breathing ragged, “Hey Dean, stay with me man. We’re gonna get you patched up, okay?”

***

The following morning

It turns out it had been about midnight when Sam, Dean, and Bree came stumbling through the door; Jon had insisted on Martin and Sasha going home while he spent the night (lord knows the man is a bit too attached to the Institute). Tim ended up bringing Bree and Alison to their homes around 1:30am, then went back to his place to crash until morning. Jon helped Sam move Dean to the room that Martin had stayed in and spent the night there while Jon returned to his office (Sam thinks to sleep, but he also gathers that Jon isn’t a pinnacle of self-care, so he could have been working for all he knew). 

The sounds of Dean grunting and shuffling uncomfortably wake Sam up, causing him to shoot up to check on his brother, despite the fact that he was technically the one who had been rescued. While the gash on Dean’s chest wasn’t the worst he’d ever got, it had still cut pretty deep and was definitely going to hurt something fierce, especially without Cas around to heal him.

“Sammy?” Dean’s eyes had slowly fluttered open and were now looking rather intently at the younger Winchester. “What the hell happened? Where’s Cas?” 

Sam took in a sharp inhale of breath at the second question, but decided that could hold off for a moment. “Hey man, you got me out. Cas got us out. It looks like Michael got a hold of you first though and sliced you pretty bad -you lost a lot of blood- but I was able to get you cleaned and sewed up once we got back. We were able to get Bree and Alison out too, Tim took them home last night, so that’s good…” Sam trails off, still avoiding Dean’s second question. 

Dean carefully sat up, with Sam’s help, assessing the gauze across his bare chest and the oversized hoodie he’s wearing (Martin had left it behind and Sam didn’t want to leave Dean in the blood encrusted shirt and flannel). “Yeah, that’s good, glad they’re home safe. Same goes for you.” Dean looks around the small room, scanning for any sign of Cas. “But, uh, where’s Cas man? You said he got us out, right?” 

Sam avoids Dean’s gaze, knowing how his brother is going to react, but he also knows he can’t avoid telling Dean about what happened. He takes a deep breath, staring at his hands, the floor, anywhere but Dean, “Cas, um… Cas didn’t make it out. He’s still in there.”

Dean shoots up to his feet, which he quickly regrets and has to sit back down, but the anger that Sam knows all too well still flaring, “What do you mean he didn’t make it out?! We went in there to get you out, and now he’s gone too!” Before Sam can respond, Dean gets back to his feet, ignoring the wobble to his legs. “I’m going back in there and getting him out.”

Sam responds with bitchface #22, “Dean, no-” 

“Sam, I’m not just going to let Michael trade you for him! Especially not when he got us out.”

“Okay, but Dean, let’s at least be smart about this, okay? Cas stayed behind to stop Michael, he sent us through the door without him. So maybe we just wait a sec, see if we hear from him or maybe he’ll come back on his own. You are in no shape to go anywhere, man.”

Dean deflates at his brother’s words; he knows that Sam’s right, but it doesn’t hurt any less. He sighs, then flinches as the pain across his chest makes itself known and sits himself back down on the cot. “Fine, fine.” He clears his throat and closes his eyes, “Cas? I, uh, hope you can hear me, man. You better get back to me, o-or I’m goin’ back in there to kick your feathery ass, right after I gank Michael.” 

Dean opens his eyes and sees an expectant Sam and an otherwise empty room. Sam places a reassuring hand on his brother’s shoulder, “He used a lot of his grace, man, it might take him a while to charge back up and get back. Let’s go get breakfast, alright?” Dean nods and walks with Sam out of their makeshift room back towards the archival assistants’ office.

As Dean walks through the threshold, he could swear he hears the ringing of angel grace and radio static, but it fades just as fast. He shakes his head and continues towards breakfast, his stomach growling loudly.

Chapter Text

Back in the Distortion, the previous day

After distracting Michael long enough to get Dean to Sam and for them to make their escape, Cas managed to channel every ounce of his grace into the blast against Michael. It definitely did a good amount of damage but not before the Distortion managed to slice a fractal-pointed hand through the angel in this dimension and the next one, causing him to cry out in agony. Somehow, Michael was able to reach Cas’s already damaged wings even though they aren’t physically manifested. He can only imagine the damage that’s been done considering the amount of pain that he’s in.

Michael’s voice has lost much of the headache-inducing edge and is considerably weaker, but it still drips with anger and added annoyance, “ What. The hell. Are you?! ” While it had all the wrong proportions before, the figure’s face is now nothing more than mangled features, its limbs sticking out in a multitude of anatomically impossible ways, looking like nothing more than a shambling mound of shapes, fractals, and spirals. 

Continuing to ignore its question, Cas picks himself up and attempts to work his way towards a door, any door. Problem is that they are in a seemingly ever-expanding room with no doors in sight. It also doesn’t help that he’s finding it nearly impossible to heal after expending so much grace. 

He starts trying to think of a plan, some way to get away from Michael, but is torn from his frantic thoughts by a now-familiar disfigured hand wrapping around his torso. It slams him against a wall that wasn’t there before and squeezes. Michael’s voice rings out again, still weak, but now laced with triumph, “ The only door you’ll be going through is the one I throw you through, leaving you to fall endlessly like those Winchesters should’ve. ”

The moment before Michael drops him down an infinite hallway, Cas tries to send a message back to Dean, with no way of knowing if his grace is strong enough to carry through: I will come back to you, Dean. Before he can say anything else, the facsimile of a hand holding him tightens its grip, shoving its pointed fingers through the length of Cas’s vessel, tearing open gaping wounds along his torso, back, and legs. The hand then loosens its grip, sending Cas falling in a bloody mess. 

 ***

When Sam and Dean make their way back to the archival assistants’ office, they’re surprised to see all three assistants chatting and working at their desks. Tim hears the door open and turns to greet the boys, “Oh good, you’re awake! How are you lads doing?”

Dean just groans and winces from the pain still throbbing in his chest; Sam speaks up and gives Tim a small smile, “Glad to be on solid ground. Also starving.”

Tim nods while sending a concerned glance towards Dean, but covers it back up with his natural charm. “Right! Of course. Well, we don’t have a full kitchen here so I can’t make breakfast like I had been for Dean, but there’s a cafe just across the street with tons of breakfast pastries.” 

“Coffee?” Dean grunts out.

“Yes, Mr.Grumpy, they have coffee.” Tim jabs, eliciting a major eye roll from Dean. 

“Oh! I almost forgot, in all the chaos of everything…” Tim turns to Sasha and Martin, gesturing towards Sam, “Sasha, Martin, this is Sam Winchester. Sam, this is Martin and Sasha.” Sam waves and says hi, with Sasha nodding and saying it was nice to meet him, while Martin says that he was glad Sam made it back safe. 

“Great, can we get coffee now?” Dean isn’t even trying to hide his dickishness; his boyfriend is stuck in a weird door dimension, he’s beaten up, and he hasn’t even had his morning coffee or an actual meal in days. 

***

Dean’s mood makes a moderate improvement once he’s drained the contents of his coffee and scarfed down a plate of croissants, crumpets, and pastries. Sam gets himself a croissant along with a small fruit bowl -despite being gone for longer, he still paces himself, unlike his toddler of a brother. Tim drinks his coffee and munches away at a pastry, making conversation with Sam as Dean makes the occasional nod or sound of vague interest. 

Once they return to the Institute, Tim falls back into his daily routine alongside his coworkers, checking statements that Jon has recorded, contacting the statement givers and others involved for follow up, flirting his way through getting privileged police information. Sam starts doing his own research on his experience, exploring ‘door lore’ throughout the centuries and reading the Leitner book they pulled the spell from. Without Cas to translate though, it’s slow going, so he doesn’t get past the first page and switches to other readings before eventually coming back to it. 

Dean, for his part, does try to do something productive. He’s leaning back in a chair facing the spell door, his feet propped on a chair across from him, laptop pulled up to one of the sites that he and Tim were reading before. He doesn’t get much reading done though; over the course of the work day, he stares at the door, waiting for it to open. It’s not until Tim is leaving for the day that Dean even really moves. 

“Hey, you’re not, uh… you’re not just going to sit in front of the door until he gets back, are you?” Tim asks gently, placing a hand on Dean’s shoulder, causing him to jump a bit. 

“Huh? Wh- oh, um, probably should get up and eat, or whatever…” Dean replies, dragging a hand across his face then rubbing it on his neck almost nervously. As he gets up, he swears he hears that ringing again, so he pauses to listen but it's already gone when he does. He reasons to himself that he’s only imagining Cas’s voice breaking through, calling out to him.

The next three days are more of the same, with Dean gradually getting more and more withdrawn into himself, the painful, involuntary separation of him and his angel slowly eating away at him. Partway through day 2 without Cas, Dean grabs the Letiner from Sam and starts pouring over Cas’s notes, unsure of what he’s even looking for. Sam didn’t even protest, just let his brother take the book, knowing it was not a fight that he would even come close to winning right now. Tim, Sam, and even Martin were making futile attempts at getting Dean to eat or drink, but he was too deep into translating whatever he could to even notice. He got up on occasion to use the bathroom, refill his coffee, or get another random source book to aid his translating, but other than that, he did not move from his current station at one of the extra archival assistant desks, surrounded by old Latin texts and sticky notes. 

Sam even ends up bringing in a sleeping bag for Dean and sets it up adjacent to the spell door so his brother can easily get to Cas once he comes through. Because Sam knows that he’ll come through the door. Whether it's on his own or with his brother after a half-cocked stupid rescue mission, he doesn’t know yet. He doesn’t want it to be the second option. But the longer that Cas is stuck in there, the more time Dean has to come up with said half-cocked stupid rescue mission plan. 

The only thing that signals to Sam that Dean is utilizing the sleeping bag is that it is in a slightly different position each morning, the zipper undone. Sam resolves to continue staying in the spare room at the institute so he can be close to Dean in case he tries to enact some plan to get Cas back, plus he doesn’t want to encroach on Tim’s space. 

Dean ignores the voice that occasionally breaks through his thoughts and tells him to not go looking for Cas. Yeah, sure, the voice sounds like Cas and comes through in radio static and ringing angel grace, and Dean can hear the pleading in his angel’s voice as he begs Dean to not come looking for him, to wait for him to come back. But the hunter continues reading and translating Flavo Ostium in the hopes of finding some sort of direct path to wherever Cas is. 

***

Every time Cas finally, blessedly lands on a door, he tries to gather enough strength and blood from his still open wounds to quickly draw a sigil, but he can never finish it in time before he’s dropped down another hall. Sometimes, he can’t even start the sigil before the door is opening yet again; others, he’s tossed just as he needs to place the final line. But he keeps trying. And whether or not he realizes it, he’s praying. Small snippets, in the reprieves between, he sends a prayer to Dean. And he hopes beyond anything that Dean can hear him. 

***

The fifth day Cas is missing is a Saturday, meaning Sam and Dean are the only ones in the archival assistants office. Tim offered to come in to keep them company, but Sam insisted that he fully took advantage of his time off after what they experienced, and Dean…well Dean hasn’t actually talked since day 3 without Cas. It’s not that he’s trying to prove something or is ignoring the others, Sam knows. He remembers Dean mentioning he wouldn’t talk after their mom died and how he got after losing Cas all those times. 

So he’s more than a little startled when Dean exclaims “I got it!” early Saturday afternoon as he scrambles out of his chair holding a piece of paper. Taking a moment to recover and clean up the tea he spilled because of the sudden outburst, Sam turns cautiously to his older brother and asks “What’ve you got, man?” 

“I’ve got a way to get Cas out.” Dean says breathlessly, staring intently at the paper, his eyes flitting over the words he’s written. 

Sam immediately starts to protest, considering he knew this was coming, but Dean of course hears none of it. He’s already breaking out his switchblade and getting ready to make a cut for another sigil, Sam can only assume, so Sam reaches out to grip Dean’s wrist to stop him. 

“The hell are you doing man? You’re just going to go charging in there, no plan, no backup, no communication? I know you need Cas back, but c’mon man, you gotta talk to me here.” Sam continues his grip on his brother’s wrist even as Dean tries to pull away. 

“Sammy, just let me go, it’ll be a quick thing. This spell is supposed to be able to locate someone within this ‘Distortion’ or whatever, and open a door right where they are. So we do that, we pull him through, then we’re done! We get to go home!” There’s an edge of sleep-deprived crazy in his tone and in his eyes that only makes Sam more worried for his brother. 

“Dude, when has anything ever been that easy for us? You really believe that you can just find Cas in the untraceable-unnavigable-alternate-reality-door-land and pull him out after you got lost for three days while searching for me?”

Dean lets out a combination of a sigh and a groan at his brother’s words, “And what would suggest instead, Sam? We continue sitting around twirling our goddamn thumbs and sitting on our asses for days while Cas is trapped, having who knows what done to him? We don’t know if he can heal in there! Michael could be torturing him worse than we got.”

Tears have begun to gather in his eyes and his voice wobbles, as much as he doesn’t want it to, “I can hear him. I can fucking hear him, calling out to me, using whatever weird mind frequency thing he used with you. He keeps telling me to not come for him, that he’ll get a way back. But… it’s getting weaker, man. Everyday, his voice is getting weaker and quieter and farther away, and I- I can’t lose him, Sammy. 

“I never would’ve thought that it would’ve been him, ya know? Never would’ve thought I could have had a semblance of a stable love life, let alone with some weird, goofy angel. But he sees me. He seems every fucked up, mangled, shitty piece of me, and he loves me anyway. Somehow, that weird, goofy little angel loves me and I love him, and I can’t lose him. So, yeah, I’m going back in there after him.” The tears are fully streaming down his face now, new ones replacing any he tries to wipe away. 

Sam had released his grip on Dean’s wrist pretty early on in his impromptu speech, his hand now awkwardly hanging in the air. He finally moves, absentmindedly running his hand through his hair then lets out a heavy sigh. He turns his gaze to the ceiling for a moment, then turns back to his older brother, “So what’s this spell we’ve gotta do?”

Chapter Text

It takes them the rest of the day to prepare everything they need for the spell. While the ingredients for the door into the Distortion had been relatively simple, the locator spell that Dean found required a few more ingredients, uncommon ones at that. 

“Where the hell did you manage to find a kaleidoscope?”

“There’s a kitschy gift shop across from that magic herb store you sent me to. Figured if I was going to find a weird kid’s toy, it was a good bet. And I was right.” Dean says triumphantly, proudly gesturing at the small toy in Sam’s hand. 

“I assume then that’s where you got the prism, too?” 

“Nah, that was some witchy crystal store next to the gift shop. The lady recognized me from before, too. She said I looked worse than last time, like I got hit by a bus.”

“I mean, she’s not wrong, Dean.” 

“Oh whatever. You got everything set up?” 

Sam looks down at the table with the supplies and double checks that they have everything. “Yeah, I think so… though we don’t have anything of Cas’s to add to the spell to help strengthen it. So there’s a chance this might not even work. That place, the Distortion or whatever, it’s massive.” It’s not that Sam doesn’t want the spell to work, he just doesn’t want to get Dean’s hopes up only for them to be crushed if they don’t get Cas back with the spell. 

Dean gives Sam an almost weary look as he reaches into his jacket and pulls something out. It takes Sam a moment to process what it is: an oil black feather with a shining iridescence. “How the hell did you get one of his feathers?” Sam asks in awe and curiosity.

A slight smirk grows on Dean’s face as he looks down at the feather, “By asking nicely.” The smirk fades as he gently places the feather in the bowl. “This better work…” He lights a match and tosses it into the bowl, reciting the surprisingly short spell:  ignotum revelare ostium .

The spell door begins to fade in and out, gradually shifting from yellow to pink. Eventually the door becomes as solid as before. The brothers exchange a look, and Sam is the first to speak up. “It did something, so that’s a good sign. So do we just… open it?”

“I guess so?” Dean says with a shrug, cautiously moving to reach for the door handle. He slowly turns the handle, and pulls the door open. The bright white light from before shines through the doorway. But no sign of Cas.

***

Cas isn’t sure how long he’s been lying on the door, anticipating the next drop. His hands have grown too tired to try drawing a sigil, so he just lays limply on the door. 

“Excuse me?” A polite, warm voice with a London accent echoes down the hall. Next thing Cas knows, an olive skinned woman with brunette curly hair is standing above him. She looks human for the most part, but her nose seems to be pointier than normal and limbs are all longer than they should be. She reaches a hand out to help Cas sit up, which he cautiously takes. 

“You- you’re Helen Richardson.” Cas’s voice is rough and dry from disuse and exhaustion. 

“Mostly,” Helen looks at Cas in a mixture of surprise and curiosity. “And who might you be?”

“Castiel. What do you mean mostly?”

“Oh, you’re Castiel! Michael has not been pleased about the havoc you and those Winchesters have been wreaking, though I personally am all for it. They’re actually working to get a door open right now, to bring you back.” Helen lifts and tilts her head, as if she’s sensing something. “We need to move you off the door so they’ll be able to open it properly.” 

“Wha- agh!” Cas exclaims as Helen quickly drags him off the door to the side. He looks to the door and begins to panic as it begins to fade, but as he looks closer, he realizes it’s fading in and out, slowly changing from yellow to pink before becoming solid yet again. 

“There we are!” Helen clasps her hands together excitedly, her toothy smile extending ear to ear. 

“What the hell is going on?” 

“Bloody hell, you ask a lot of questions. If you don’t get a move on, Michael is going to notice- oh, goddamn it.” Helen rolls her eyes and turns to face down the long expansive hallway. They hear a low rumbling from far down, but it’s gradually getting closer. “Look, as much as I would like to answer your questions, we’re in a bit of a rush here.” 

Helen snaps her fingers and the pink door slowly opens. “Lovely chatting with you, but I do believe your ride is here. Tell Jon I said hello and that I’ll be seeing him soon.” Before Cas can further protest, Helen shoves him through the door. 

***

Dean examines the doorway, frustration bubbling up to the surface at the thought of failing yet again. Just as he goes to turn back to Sam, he gets the wind knocked out of him by something crashing into him. He falls to the ground with an oomph , unable to move with the weight on top of him.

“Holy shit,” Sam says breathlessly.

Dean finally looks down to see the angel lying on his chest, his blue eyes squinting up at Dean, his face covered in gashes, blood, and bruises. Relief floods over him and he wraps his arms in a tight grip around Cas, lest he lose him again. 

“Heya, Cas.” 

“Hello, Dean.”

***

“Wait, you saw Helen? And she… helped you?” 

Once Cas had got back, Sam helped Dean move him to the couch then called Tim to update him while Dean worked to clean the angel up and bandage up his wounds. He’d taken quite the beating, worse than Sam or Dean got, and his grace was too low to heal on his own. 

Word of Castiel’s return got round to the rest of the archival team, and they ended up coming into the office to hear what happened. Jon had perked up at the mention of Helen and was now asking Cas about what she said. 

“Yes. She somehow knew who I was, who we were; she knew that Michael was after us. It was strange, it appeared like she was in tune with the Distortion like Michael was, but not quite to the same degree.”

“What, like she’s turning into whatever Michael is?” Dean asks, a bit intrigued, if also a bit worried. 

“It would appear so. But she wasn’t malicious or cruel like Michael, though. She actually pushed me through the door before Michael could stop us, she could sense it coming.”

“So, Helen, she’s… she’s alright?” Jon asks hesitantly. 

“That is hard to say, considering where she is. But she didn’t seem to be in any distress at all. She actually said to tell you hello and that she’ll be seeing you soon.” 

Jon’s face scrunches up in confusion, “Wh- what the hell does that mean?” 

“I’m sorry, that’s all she said. She didn’t elaborate before shoving me through the door.” Cas gives Jon an understanding look, the frustration of not having all of the answers being something he is well acquainted with.

“So, what now? Is Michael going to continue to be an issue or…?” Tim chimes in, purposely trailing off waiting for someone else to respond. 

“I think Michael won’t be an issue for some time, I wounded it pretty significantly and it seemed to be struggling to maintain a conceivable physical form. It will probably resurface later, so that is something to be aware of.” 

“Well that’s both concerning and reassuring.” Tim half chuckles. “So what’s your plan now, lads?”

Sam, Dean, and Cas all look at each other, considering what they’ll do next. Their trip lasted a fair bit longer than expected considering they had to go after Sam and then get Cas back. If Dean was honest with himself, he’d admit that he wanted nothing more than to go back home and sleep on his memory foam mattress with his angel by his side. But there’s the slight issue that they’re an ocean away from home. 

“Guess we’ll figure out a flight home, and try to make the most of London in the meantime.” Dean says with a sigh and shrug. He adds, with a smirk, “Besides, Cas and I have some catching up to do.”

Sam groans and rolls his eyes in disgust, while Tim laughs and claps Dean on the back, then turns to the younger Winchester. “Sam, you’re welcome to crash at my place while the lovebirds have some alone time.”

“I am definitely taking you up on that, I deal with them enough at home.”

***

The trio end up getting a flight out of London the following evening, so after getting the first proper night of rest in a while, they spend some time exploring the city. Begrudgingly, Dean goes on the London Eye with Cas, who was positively enamored with the view of the city from above. As they walk around, Sam points out different spots that were featured in Doctor Who , to which Dean repeatedly calls him a nerd. 

When it’s time for their flight, Dean is incredibly relieved to have his angel by his side this time around. Still sucks ass and Cas is still too low on grace to put him to sleep, but Dean is content to hold on to his partner in a deathgrip for nearly the whole flight. Cas doesn’t mind. 

As they get back into the swing of things at the Bunker, Sam gets into the habit of leaving doors open after his experience, only shutting a door if he absolutely has to. Dean only makes fun of him a little bit, which he’s grateful for. When Dean notices some of the doors could use a paint touch up and suggests painting them yellow, Sam momentarily wishes looks could kill. 

Tim and Dean do their best to stay in touch, but life catches up to them. Last Tim hears, Dean says something about trying to hunt Castiel and a woman named Kelly Kline down, something about a Nephilim about to be birthed. Last Dean hears, Tim is heading off to the House of Wax Museum in Great Yarmouth, something about an Unknowing.