Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Gabe walked into the empty warehouse, coming to stand before his corpse, framed by the outline of wings, scorched straight into the concrete.

Well, maybe not his corpse, corpse.

He hadn't been entirely sure the copy would be good enough to fool his older brother.

A part of him had hoped he'd never need to find out.

But millennia spent locked in the cage had changed the brother Gabe remembered, just as Lucifer and Michael's fight had changed their family, and even Heaven itself.

He'd pulled out of the politics thousands of years ago, after their father had disappeared.

He'd known what his siblings were up to, their plotting and planning, their back-handed ways of helping the demons free his older brother, simply to fulfill a bedtime story their father had told them to lessen the sting of Lucifer's descent.

He'd vowed never to take part in this battle, to never choose sides, to harm his siblings on either side.

To let the cards fall where they would.

And yet...

He'd been to one sent to Joseph, when Mary was pregnant with Jesus.

He'd watched over that child, the only one of his kind to ever be born.

He'd watched him struggle and strive.

He'd watched him be sacrificed to try and save this world that Michael and Lucifer seemed determined to destroy, simply to prove which one was right, when it the end, their battle would simply prove who was left.

And now it was happening all over again, with Sam Winchester as the star of the Apocalypse Games.

Sam's choices would either save the world, or break it, but Gabe wondered if there really was a choice.

For all Sam and Dean's arguments to the contrary, Sam had the deck stacked against him pretty high.

It was obvious Gabe couldn't take on Lucifer directly.

Was he willing to take more drastic measures?

Lucifer was unfortunately powerful in his second choice vessel, how much more powerful would he be if Sam said yes to him?

Anna had tried destroying Sam, but she had made the mistake of going too far back.

Time travel was tricky, even for an angel. Some events were so pivotal they became fixed. Sam Winchester had to be born, as did his brother Dean.

These things could not be changed.

Furthermore, Gabe was fairly certain he could not change the fact that no matter what actions he took, Sam Winchester was destined to be infected with Demon Blood.

He was born to be the one to make the decision that would save the world.

Or he'd be the one to end it.

But everything in between was just small change, on a universal level, at least.

Destiny didn't give a crap what happened to him between the time he was infected and the time he had to decide whether to say yes to Lucifer.

That was why all the other demons and angels were able to interfere with the Winchesters lives as much as they already had.

It wasn't much, but the wriggle room was there.

Only an inch, but really, did Gabe need any more than that?

He was the trickster, after all.

Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural 

Dean looked over at Sam worriedly. He'd been silent since they'd dropped Kali off (and wasn't that too bizarre to even think about), since they'd stopped and played Gabriel's message.

"Talk to me, Sam. Tell me what's going on in that freakishly large head of yours." He ordered gruffly.

"How the hell can we win?" Sam said, the words dropping like small bombs in the silence of the cab.

"No. No. You can't think like that, Sam. You and me, we are in this together, and we will figure it out. You saw the video. All we have to do is get the rings-"

Sam interrupted him then, "You mean steal the rings, from the two remaining horseman, one of whom is death, so I'm not sure how that works, then use them to create a key, and then ask Satan to kindly return to hell. Yeah, I saw the video too, Dean."

"We can't think like that, Sam. We gotta keep our heads in the game. We have a plan, and we will find a way to make it work, Sam. You and me. Just like it always should have been-" Dean turned to gauge Sam's expression.

What he saw instead had him slamming on the brakes, the Impala's tires screeching as the car fishtailed to a halt.

"Sam! Sam! SAMMY!" He cried, looking around frantically.

Sam was gone.

Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural

Gabe slouched at his desk, idly watching the security cameras. The gig at the animal testing facility had been fun at first, but now he was getting bored.

It was time to move on, find a new project.

"About that..." A familiar voice said, and Gabe looked up in surprise as he watched himself walk into the room.

"Damn, I look good." He said, smiling. "But I'm pretty sure massive time-travel isn't a part of our witness protection agenda. Care to clue yourself in?"

The other Gabe cocked his head at him. "I hope your ready for this..." He said, reaching out an laying a hand on his past-self's forehead.

Gabe squeezed his eyes shut under the onslaught of images, thoughts, memories and ideas. The memory melding spell was so powerful it threatened to shred his vessel's mind, but finally, the torrent slowed.

He breathed deeply, opening his eyes.

His future self had disappeared, which meant his plan had worked.

Or would work, anyway.

Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural

Azazel stood over the crib of Sam Winchester, grinning in dark triumph as his blood dripped into the infant's mouth.

He had a good feeling about this one, oh yes.

With the sweet older brother sleeping just down the hall, Sam Winchester was just...perfect.

The culmination of two of the strongest bloodlines in the human world, Dean's body would be the perfect host for Michael.

And now, thanks to Azazel's little deal with Mary coming to fruition, Sam was all set to grow up and say yes to Lucifer.

Of course, he'd need a little nudging in the proper direction.

The child had been silent this whole time, staring at Azazel with wide eyes.

No matter.

An infant's cries were easy enough to fake.

He flicked his fingers over at the baby monitor.

Soon enough, he heard the soft pad of feet come into the bedroom.

"John, is he hungry?"

Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural

Dean was frightened.

He'd heard Mommy scream, and then Daddy.

He could still hear Daddy screaming, and now Sammy was crying too.

Thick smoke was filling the hall from Sammy's room as Dean ran towards Sammy's room, and Dean knew what that meant too, he'd learned it from the fire fighters who'd come to visit his preschool.

Their house was one fire, and they needed to get out.

"Daddy!" He cried, as his father appeared in the doorway of Sammy's nursery.

"Dean! Take your brother and go outside, as fast as you can. Don't look back. GO, NOW!" John commanded, but Dean was scared.

He wanted Mommy.

John pushed Sammy into Dean's arms, and they wrapped around the bundle protectively.

Dean wasn't supposed to carry Sammy by himself, Mommy had said so, and now he understood why, as Sam's weight almost overbalanced him.

But Daddy had already disappeared again, and Sammy was still crying, and now Dean could feel the heat of the fire.

Dean ran.

He ran so fast the he and Sam nearly tumbled down the stairs. He had to set Sam down to use both hands to turn the lock on the front door. Picking his still crying brother up, he ran outside to the big tree, just like Mommy had said to if there was ever an emergency.

Mommy had told Dean to run to the tree, and she and Daddy would come to get him.

He looked down at his soot-stained brother. Sam's eyes were wide, his bottom lip quivering.

"It's okay, Sammy. I got you." He whispered.

A shadowed moved in front of him then, blocking the light from the fire.

Dean looked up, startled as the man came towards him.

"It's okay, Dean. I'm here to help." The man said reassuringly.

Dean hugged Sam tighter to his chest as the man reached out and touched two fingers to Dean's forehead.

Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural

John ran outside, heart pounding, not even noticing the tears running down his cheeks.

Mary.

Mary was dead.

But not just dead, she had been killed.

Something had killed his wife and hung her on the ceiling, and then his son's room had burst into flames.

Sam.

Dean.

Was that thing, whatever it was, outside with his children, right now?

He spied Dean under the tree, exactly where he should be, and his heart eased a little, only to resume it's frantic pounding when he spied Sammy's blanket, lying crumpled on the ground at Dean's feet.

"Dean! Where's your brother? Where's Sammy." He cried, coming to kneel before his son, large hands gripping tiny shoulders. Dean's wide, uncomprehending eyes met his.

"Where's Mommy?" Dean cried, tears slipping down his cheeks.

John shook him a little, looking around in a panic.

"Dammit, Dean, answer me! Where's your brother? Where's Sammy?"

Dean looked up at his father, confusion evident on his face.

"Who's Sammy?"

Chapter Text

"Familiar Stranger"

Gabriel studied the tiny child in front of him and sighed. When he'd come up with his plan originally, he'd had some very definite ideas as for the raising of Sam Winchester. Gabe would make sure Sam received an adequate education, so that Sam's natural intelligence would be fostered. He'd see that he received the best training possible (for a human) in regards to self defense, strategy, and hand to hand combat. He'd learn the old stories ( and not from some King's version of the so-called Bible).

He'd used his powers (And his little brother's idea from the alternate time line) to mark the infants ribcage with both anti-possession wards and angel wards. The child was effectively invisible.

And when the time came, Sam Winchester would be ready to stop the apocalypse.

Of course, of Gabriel's plans for Sam Winchester had started (in Gabe's head, anyway) when the child was old enough to be properly trained.

The youngest years had always been a vague outline in Gabe's mind. He knew humans took several years to get on their feet, so to speak.

He was also aware that human infants were much more high maintenance than their animal counterparts. However, Gabe had observed (both in real life and on TV) enough children and their caregivers to feel confident that he could use his powers to recreate an adequate approximation to care for the child until he was old enough to be interesting.

He looked down again at the insistent tugging on his pant's leg.

"Book." The boy's wide eyes looked up at Gabe pleadingly, tears already starting to tumble from long, dark lashes. The child had only been with Gabe for a few months, and already he was forcing Gabe to re-evaluate his plans.

What he hadn't counted was that Sam Winchester was no ordinary child.

The product of two rather incredible bloodlines (for humans, anyway), Sam Winchester had been brilliant even before Azazel's interference. Add in a healthy dose of demon blood, and the fact that Sam had become what amounted to the fixed starting point in a whole new reality/time line, and Gabe could no longer be sure what aspect's of Sam's unusual personality were natural or simply the natural evolution of the child who would either save the world-or break it.

At nine months, Sam could already say more than a dozen words. While he wasn't walking yet, Gabe was certain it would happen at any time. He seemed more aware than any infant had a right to be.

And he saw right through Gabe's creations.

Most of the time, the fairly content child would allow Gabe's facsimiles to care for him, feed him and bath him and such the like.

But when he was hurt or sick or tired or bored, he would have nothing to do with them.

Instead, the stubborn little duck had latched onto him, imprinting on Gabe with a ferocious tenacity.

"BOOK!" The child insisted again,and Gabe sighed, scooping him up in his arms.

"Okay. One more time, kid." Gabe settled into a chair that materialized almost as soon as he thought of it.

"Book." The child sighed happily.

"Perhaps that's what I should call you." He said musingly, brushing the child's dark hair out of his eyes. He couldn't really go around calling him Sam. While a common enough name, Witpro worked because you didn't take stupid chances.

"Book." The child repeated, shoving the board book up into Gabe's face.

Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural

"Book." The childhood nickname fell easily from the her lips as Anna sighed heavily into the other end of the phone line. "Are you sure you really want to do this? After everything Gabe did...I mean, once you set this in motion, you can't undo it.

"I have to, Anna. If I don't, he'll die." The tall young man replied from where he stood in the parking lot outside the rough-looking bar.

"You know I have your back, Book. Hell or high water. I'll keep my ears open, I'm betting the chatter get's hella loud after this." She sighed again, chewing her bottom lip. "Does Gabe know?"

"Yeah, Anna. That's what we fought over a few weeks back. He wants me to keep hiding, but the demons have upped their game. Innocent people are going to start dying because of me."

"Look, just be careful. I'll be around, and, you know, he'd come if you just call." Anna said resignedly.

"I'll be careful, Anna. I mean, as careful as we know how to be." The young man said wryly.

"Promises, promises."

Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural

The blonde stood, wiping down the counter as she studied the hunter from across the bar.

The man looked up, across the pool table, calculating green eyes locked on his opponent as he grinned a devil-may-care grin.

For all his good looks and talents, for all his charm and abilities, something about Dean Winchester was just...off.

It wasn't the first time she'd pondered the problem. They'd practically grown up in each others pockets after a demon had killed his mother and a black dog had killed her father. Their surviving parents had never gotten over the loss of their spouses, but neither had they been able to pull away from the hunter lifestyle.

Dean and Jo had been thrown together for several months out of every year as his father, John had alternated between using her mother's bar, the Roadhouse, as a home base of sorts, along with Singer Salvage, a salvage yard run by a hunter named Bobby Singer up in South Dakota. Bobby's place was a known safe house for hunters, and Dean had spent his childhood mainly at one place or the other.

So she'd literally known Dean since she'd been in diapers, could tell you what drink he'd order, call the shot's at the pool table before he'd even lined them up. She knew what kind of grades he got in school (when he bothered to go), where most of the scars on his body came from, even what kind of food he preferred.

But for all that, she often felt like he was nothing more than familiar stranger.

There was a distance in his eyes, a coolness, like he was looking at you and finding you lacking. He had a way of looking at your with his sarcastic charm smile, and you felt like he was seeing through you, like you were lacking, somehow.

He went through things quickly, hunts, booze, women. He was like a shark, always moving forward, always looking for whoever or whatever came next.

He wasn't a bad person, far from it, though he could be a first class asshole. He'd help anyone, had saved numerous lives in his career as a hunter. But sometimes she wondered if he even understood why he was doing it, like he was reading a script and acting a part.

It was as if, for all his bravado and loud personality, somewhere inside, Dean Winchester was...empty.

Like he was searching for something, like maybe he had been searching for something his entire life.

She glanced up as a customer she'd never seen before came in.

He was tall, she'd give him that. Young, too, though she'd seen younger. He had a boyish face, but they way he moved, like he was comfortable in his own skin, convinced her that he knew exactly what he was doing.

He sat down by himself at a table, slouching a little and pulling a worn paperback out of his back pocket.

She saw some of the older men eying him and hoped the other hunters wouldn't give him trouble. Sometimes the more seasoned hunters liked to heckle the younger ones, but she had a feeling this one wouldn't play ball. Something about him gave the impression that he was the mountain that ignored the monsoon, to quote her mother.

She walked over with her order pad, tugging a piece of blonde hair behind her ear as she walked.

"What can I getcha?" She asked, taking the opportunity to study the guy a little closer. She guessed he was just a few years older than her, with shaggy brown hair and eyes that were truly hazel, blue and brown and green and gray all at once. Unless she missed her guess, he was also packing a least three blades, but she couldn't discern where he was carrying his gun.

Weird, for a hunter.

He looked up and smiled, and Jo had a sudden flashback to the time she'd found a puppy in the ditch outside the bar as a child. She felt the need to run and ask Ellen if she could please keep him.

"Whiskey, neat. And a glass of water, please." The boy said politely.

"Sure. Anything to eat?" She said.

"No, thank you." The boy answered again with a politeness that should have made him seem younger, but somehow managed not to diminish hes presence at all.

"You got it." She said, snapping her order pad shut as the boy resumed reading. She was turning to walk back to the bar for his drink when she saw Harold, one of the older (and not very good, in her opinion) hunters approach.

"Jo, baby doll" Harold sniggered and she gritted her teeth. "You better card the kid before you serve him. Hate to see him spill good whiskey on his bedtime story."

"Take the drama back to your table, Harold." She said curtly.

The young man had chosen to studiously ignore Harold, not the tense, 'I'm ignoring you' kind of ignoring, more like 'I genuinely aren't even paying enough attention to you to realize I should bother to ignore you,' ignoring, and while it was impressive, Jo could tell it irritated Harold, and she sighed.

She was going to end up shooting his ass full of buckshot tonight, she just knew it.

"Hey!" Harold had come to stand in front of the young man, who had continued to read his book. "I'm talking to you!"

The young man sighed, folding down a corner to mark his page.

Closing his book, he looked up patiently. "No, you were talking about me, which actually didn't require my input at all. Now, you are talking to me, so I am replying. How may I assist you, sir?" He said the 'sir' in a way that had Jo biting her lip to keep from grinning even as she started backing nearer to the rack where they kept the shotgun.

"You can't talk to me like that!" Harold pulled himself up to his full height ( which wasn't all that impressive, but again, just Jo's personal opinion).

The young man sighed again. "Well, everyone is entitled to their own opinion." He offered diplomatically.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Harold slammed his beer on the table, and the young man pulled back to avoid the back splash.

He stood, and Jo watched as Harold pulled back upon realizing just how tall the kid was.

"Ma'am, I think I'll take my drink at the bar." He said, looking at Jo.

"Don't walk away from me." Harold blustered, hand reaching an arm out for the young man, and Jo braced herself, because no hunter, no matter how young or how laid back, would allow another man to man handle him in a bar and something told her that this kid was no exception.

Harold's hand never made it, however, as another hand intercepted.

"Problem here, Jo?" Dean said easily, eyes flicking back in forth from the tall kid to Harold and back to the tall kid. From the way he was looking at the kid, Jo wondered if maybe he'd met him before.

The kid was staring back with equal intensity, and perhaps that was why he didn't notice Harold swing for him with the arm Dean hadn't caught.

Dean did, though, and Jo was reminded once again of just how fast his reflexes were. Within seconds, he hand Harold on his knees, arm wrenched behind his back.

"Back. Down." Dean said the words slowly, enunciating carefully.

The young man watched everything with eagle sharp-eyes. Pulling a twenty out of his wallet, he handed it to Jo.

"I think I'll just move along." He said with a quiet smile, and was out the door before Dean had even finished immobilizing Harold.

Dean looked up then, directly at Jo.

"Where'd the kid go?" He asked, and she pulled back, startled a little by the intensity of Dean's question.

She waved the twenty at him. "Out the door. Guess he didn't feel like drinking amongst assholes."

Dean scowled, wrenching Harold's arm up once more for good measure as the man howled.

"Stop causing shit on Jo's shifts." He muttered in the man's ear while Harold's cronies watched from their table, leery enough of Dean's temper to stay out the way.

With a muttered curse, Dean let go of Harold's arm, stalking out the front doors. Curious, Jo followed him outside.

The parking lot was already empty, and Dean turned to look at her.

"What was he driving?" He asked, looking around again.

She shrugged. "How would I know? Why do you even care?" She said, confused. It wasn't like Dean to get involved, and even though he had warned Harold about causing her problems, they both knew she could more than handle herself.

He shrugged, looking slightly uncomfortable. "Asshole shouldn't have been giving him shit. He wasn't hurting anyone." He mumbled, and she shot him a measuring look.

Interesting.

Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural

Dean Winchester didn't do a lot of things.

He didn't do commitments. He didn't do roots. He didn't do long term relationships, or relationships of any sort other then the strictly carnal, strictly one-night sort.

He didn't particularly do friends. There was Bobby and Ellen, but they were more like an Uncle and an Aunt. And there was Jo, but she was more like a cousin. He cared about them, quite a bit in fact, but they weren't his friends.

Dean Winchester didn't have friends. In his line of work, he ended up lying to practically every person that he met, and the ones he told the truth to wished he hadn't.

Cassie had proven that.

No, Dean Winchester didn't do friends or relationships or holidays or home cooked meals. He didn't need it, either. He always had at least one foot out the door, and he liked it that way.

When he needed to ground himself, he'd head over to the Roadhouse. If Ellen couldn't kick his ass into shape, no one could. If he needed a respite, he'd head up to Singer Salvage. If he needed help on a hunt, he had dozens of hunters he could call on, just like they'd call him, the Winchesters had a reputation, after all.

Sometimes he even had a father, though John was distant even on his good days. Dean was used to John being gone for weeks, sometimes months. It wasn't that John didn't care, it was that John had that same driving need that Dean had to keep going, keep moving, keep hunting, only times about a thousand.

So Dean didn't sweat it.

Much.

But this time, John had gone dark over two months ago, with no calls to check in, and that was pushing it even for him. Dean had been down in New Orleans on his last hunt, and he'd decided to swing up through the Roadhouse, to check on Jo and Ellen and see if they'd heard from John either.

They hadn't, and though Dean was reluctant to admit it, he was starting to get worried.

Bobby and Pastor Jim hadn't heard from him either, though Bobby had said that the last he'd heard, John was in St. Paul, so Dean was toying with the idea of driving up that way to check on him as he lined up his next pool shot.

The Hunter he was playing was a fool if he thought Dean was drunk enough to lose this game, but a fool's money was as good as the next. At least at the Roadhouse, he didn't have to worry about getting jumped over a well played hustle, no one at the Roadhouse would hassle him, unlike the kid who'd come in a few minutes earlier and who was now making a valiant effort to ignore that idiot, Harold.

Personally, Dean would like nothing more than to see the moron Harold get eaten by a werewolf, but he didn't normally get involved in other hunters business. Anyone in the Roadhouse was likely to be a hunter, and anyone in the hunting business better be able to hold their own.

But something about this kid tugged at Dean's attention, though he wasn't sure why. The kid was tall, that was for sure. At six foot one, Dean could hardly be considered tiny, but this kid had an easy three inches one him. He was lanky, too, but Dean could tell he was in shape nonetheless.

He looked young, almost too young for the Roadhouse, but Dean knew better than anyone how deceiving appearances could be, besides, he'd met twelve year olds who could put a bullet in a werewolf's heart.

Hell, he'd been one.

Still.

Something about this kid. He had an open face and closed eyes, and Dean watched as Jo practically melted when he smiled at her awkwardly. He'd bet that smile got the kid laid more than any lines he could throw at a girl. Still, he didn't appear to be making a move on her, which was unusual in itself, as Jo was gorgeous.

Dean knew she had a crush on him, but he also knew better than to rock that boat.

He watched as the kid placed his order, and instinctively, his mind started cataloging the kid's features, trying to place his face, because Christ, the kid looked familiar and Dean couldn't figure out why for the life of him.

Dean shook his head again as his concentration faltered and he nearly missed his shot. When he looked up again, he could tell from the look on Jo's face that she was considering shooting someone, and his guess was Harold. The man was obviously drunk, nearly swaying as he did his best to antagonize the kid.

The kid remained unruffled, though Dean watched as he adjusted his stance minutely, and Dean's eyes narrowed as he realized that not only did this kid know how to fight, he was probably pretty damn good at it, too.

Jo was looking uncomfortable too, which meant she was feeling off her game, as she could usually handle a herd of wild buffalo.

Dean didn't even realize he'd walked over until he'd spoken out loud to Jo.

He tried to keep eyes on everyone, but again and again his eyes were drawn to the tall kid.

Dean had never seen eyes like that, every color and none, but his mind continued to insist that he did, indeed recognize the kid.

Maybe he was another hunter's son? Had he passed through the Roadhouse or Singer Salvage when he was younger, and that was why Dean though he remembered him? Children were unusual in the hunting community, but not unheard of, Dean and Jo were proof of that.

The kid watched Dean back just as intently, and Dean could've sworn that he was trying to place Dean's face also, the way he was studying him, feature by feature. Dean felt naked, like the kid had stripped away all the bullshit Dean wrapped himself up in and simply looked at him.

Dean hated it, and yet he couldn't look away from the kid either.

Dean's reaction was instinctive when Harold moved to jump the kid. Harold only even tried it because Ellen was out for the night, and not everyone there respected Jo the way they should.

By the time he had Harold on the floor crying for his mom, the kid was gone, as if he'd never been there at all. His feet moved out the door as Dean's eyes searched the lot. He looked over to Jo, but she was no help either, and Dean felt a curious sense of...something.

Disappointment, maybe? Unease, certainly, though he didn't know why. Try as he might, he couldn't place the kid, and neither could Jo, which was a good indicator that he didn't know him.

Reluctantly, he went back inside, but he couldn't settle back in. He couldn't keep his mind on his pool game, and in his opinion, there was no reason to play if you were going to play badly.

He considered hitting one of the bars closer to town and seeing if he could find some company for the night, but he felt to restless, like a caged wolf. Finally, as the last of the customer's trickled out, he called out to Jo.

"Jo, I'm heading out."

She stuck her head out the swing doors, frowning. "Thought you were staying the night, You find a hunt?"

He shook his head, frowning. "Nah. I think I'm gonna head north."

"St. Paul?" She guessed knowingly, and he shrugged.

If it turned out to be nothing, John would be furious, but Dean's gut told him to move, that he needed to be out, be gone, to drive...somewhere.

Anywhere.

It was time to move, and St. Paul was as good as anywhere else. John was probably fine, but Dean could think of no other reason why he felt so anxious unless it was worry for John, so he might as well bite the bullet and check on him.

He called out farewell's to Ash and shot Ellen a text that he was heading out. No one was particularly surprised, Dean never lingered long anyway.

Dean climbed into his baby, the gleaming black Impala shining in the light of the full moon. Dean usually tried to time the full moon with a werewolf hunt, since that was the only time he could catch one, but this month, no one had word on any, so he had headed to the Roadhouse.

Now, as he headed out onto the highway, he waited for his muscles to start relaxing, for the magic of the road to work it's way into the knots in his shoulders and stomach, the ones that grew over time, like clockwork, any time he stayed in one place for too long.

Tonight, though, even the road held no magic for him. Instead of relaxing, he became more and more tense with every mile. The kid from earlier kept flashing through his mind, his eyes and the way he'd looked the one time he'd smiled at Jo, and Dean wished like hell he knew why he felt like he should remember him.

Dean never even saw the eighteen wheeler, lights off as it seemingly drove out of no where, sending the Impala flying forward.

Dean had only a moment to be glad he'd worn his seat belt for once, before his head smacked into the driver's side window. The glass held up, but the impact sent pain slamming down Dean's head and neck.

The truck and the Impala came to a slow, screeching halt, and Dean blinked, trying to clear the blood out of his eyes.

He had a vague sense that this was bad, the truck hadn't just seemed to come out of nowhere, it really had, intersecting the road where Dean's car was to from the shoulder of the road, meaning it must have been driving off-road at the time.

That meant it was intentional, but his brain was foggy, his limbs heavy and leaden. His fingers worked clumsily at his belt, and he managed to open it after only a few tries. The door was next, and that was harder, but the driver of the truck was getting out now, and every one of Dean's hunter instincts was screaming at him to fight of flee.

The door opened suddenly, and he tumbled out, barely catching himself to ease his fall. His leg was throbbing, but he reached for his piece and gripped it nonetheless.

The older man walked towards Dean with a completely blank expression, and the hairs on Dean's arms stood at attention, because Dean knew a possession when he saw one.

Dean hadn't worked a demon case in months, though, so the attack made little sense.

It also meant he was royally screwed, because he knee was wrenched badly, and he was fairly certain he had a concussion.

And Demons were mean ass motherfuckers on a good day.

"Been looking for you for a while, Winchester." The man said matter-of-factly.

"Good to see you to." Dean muttered, trying to push himself up against the car and failing as his knee screamed in pain again.

"Hey!" The voice came from behind the trucker, and both his and Dean's eyes flew over to where it had come from.

It was the kid from earlier.

He stood on the hill, the moonlight behind him casting his face in shadow, but Dean recognized him anyway. He held a sliver blade in each hand, and Dean was now certain his earlier guess was right.

This kid knew his way around a weapon.

"Why don't you give me a try?" He asked, strolling forward, lightly, walking on the balls of his feet, an impressive feet for a person of his size.

"Stay out of this, trickster." The demon snarled, and Dean blinked in confusion.

Trickster?

"Where's the fun in that?" The boy asked, and then he sprang, silver blades glinting in the moonlight.

Dean struggled against unconsciousness as his vision faded, black stars dancing across his vision, growing larger and larger as he slid further down. He didn't realize he was losing time until suddenly the kid was kneeling in front of him.

"You okay?" The kid asked as he started a cursory field examination of Dean's injuries, his hands moving knowledgeably along Dean's limbs, checking for breaks and wounds.

"Guess you won." Dean mumbled.

The kid grinned a one-sided smile. "I'd say it was a draw. When he realized I wasn't such an easy target, he smoked out of there pretty quick.

"Owe you, one." Dean mumbled, eyes falling closed again.

"Think of it as a thank you for earlier." The kid said gently. Remotely, from what felt like a million miles away, Dean felt his fingers being closed over something smooth.

"What's that?" He said, blinking.

"I'm gonna loan this to you." The kid said again, and Dean raised his hand to stare at the shiny silver blade he now held.

"What is it?" He asked, looking back at the kid.

The kid half-smiled again. "Let's just say Demons aren't such a big fan of knives like this. Keep a good eye on it, they're hard to replace. The ambulance is on it's way. I gotta go, you'll be okay."

"Wait, what's your name?" Dean asked, tired of simply calling him 'the kid."

The kid looked at him. "My sister calls me Book." He offered finally.

Dean frowned. "What kind of crappy name is that?" He asked blearily.

Book shrugged. "It's kinda a long story."

Dean's eyes fell closed again, for only a moment, but when he opened them again, Book was gone.

"It's a stupid name." He muttered into the night, shoving the knife under the seat of his car as the wail of the ambulance's sirens grew closer.

Chapter Text

"The Things We Lost In The Fire"

John felt like he was going insane.

Sammy was gone. Not just vanished, not just taken.

Gone.

Gone, as if he had never been there in the first place, had never existed, never been born.

John could still remember with stomach wrenching fear and pain the way the firefighters had looked at him after they had put out the fire in the house.

He had been shell shocked, mind reeling, full of thoughts of Mary-Sammy-Mary-Sammy and for some reason, the part of his brain in charge of walking and talking speaking to other adults as if he had a clue as to what was going on had said, out of the blue "What shape is the nursery in?"

The two fire fighters had glanced at each other worriedly, before one of them kindly said, "Sir, I know this much have been a great shock. We found your wife's body in the study."

In disbelief, John had run up the stairs, not even heeding the shouted warnings from the fire fighters.

Sam's nursery, with it's white curtains and Noah's ark pictures were gone, as were his clothes, and his crib. His stuffed animals were gone, and so was the play pen from the living room.

Instead, the room which only hours ago had been his youngest son's bedroom was a study, just as the fire fighters had said, with a standard oak desk, and a handful of bookshelves. A framed family portrait hung on the wall by the door, miraculously having survived the flames, and John's legs had actually started to give out on him when he recognized it.

Mary had hung it up only two days ago. The picture had been taken at the local pumpkin patch, and John could still remember posing for it, as he had held up a laughing Dean, triumphant with his miniature pumpkin, and Mary had smiled as she shaded Sammy's eyes from the bright sunlight.

But in this picture, John and Mary were standing, both leaning in towards a grinning Dean.

Sammy was no where to be seen.

It was as if Sammy had never even lived their at all.

That was really the first glimpse John had of just how drastically his life had changed in those few moments, as his wife burned along with his house, and someone, or something had stolen his child. He had looked, bewildered, at the two soot stained men, clutching Dean in one arm, and the soot stained blue blanket in the other.

And Sammy was just...gone.

Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural

Book got off the bus at the Lily Dale terminal, hitching his pack up higher on his shoulders. He could have driven, he supposed, he certainly knew how to steal a car.

Or he could have hustled some cash through means of his own. Anna probably had money on her too, Gabe always kept her well supplied and she wouldn't hesitate to wire it to him.

But Book had taken up wandering a few years back, and found it suited him, drifting from place to place, or library to library as Anna would say.

Gabe had made sure that Book was a savvy traveler, and Book had been all over the world. Perhaps that was the problem. Perhaps the constant running and moving had instilled a restless wander lust in Book that made it hard to keep still, even when Gabe deemed it safe to stay for a while.

Or perhaps it was Book's memories of the other time line, his other life with Dean and John that drove him forward, much the way they had lived out of the Impala that Book had stared at for a long moment in the Roadhouse parking lot a few nights back.

SBook's memories of that other life were incomplete, fragmented and a little disjointed, distant in a way, as if they belonged to someone else, which Gabe said was for the best.

Even Gabe, with all the powers inherent in an arch angel, had limited ability to remember the other time line. Gabe explained that it was a protective measure, designed to protect Book's mind against the damage having lived two entirely separate lives could inflict on a human brain, even one as extraordinary as Book's.

What Book mostly remembered were people, Dean and John and Bobby and a few others. He'd remembered the green of Dean's eyes, and the way he smelled of gun powder and leather. And he'd remembered John's voice, the deep, authoritative timber that had somehow always equated safety in other Book's mind.

He remembered events too, good and bad, though sometimes he was hard pressed to tell the order the other events had happened in. Going to school, which he'd certainly never done in this life time, and hunting, of course. Stanford, bright and dim and fractured, interspersed with memories of a laughing blonde girl that his memory called 'Jess.'

And sometimes, he remembered stupid little things, like the scent of the Impala's leather interior, the sound of her engine as they drove late at night, or the way Dean's amulet had shone in the sunlight against the black t-shirts Dean had always favored.

Combined with Book's well honed psychic ability, and Book was easily playing the game five or six moves ahead of just about everyone on the board, which was exactly what Gabe had always intended.

Until Gabe decided he cared more about Book than stopping Lucifer.

A part of Book had agreed with Gabe. The wanderlust was already instilled in him deeply, and most days nothing made him happier than wandering town to town, reading good books and meeting interesting people. He hunted, on occasion, when he saw the need, but until now he'd always been careful to avoid other hunters.

Then, several months back, Book had had a powerful vision, of Dean being killed by a demon. The vision had returned, over and over until Book practically saw it every time he closed his eyes.

He knew he had to stop it.

A part of him, the part that had started remembering Dean years ago, when he was too young to realize that not every child had two lives and imaginary playmates made real by a magical guardian, had always wanted to seek Dean out, to see him, here him talk, see if Dean recognized him.

Another part of Book had held back however, afraid Dean wouldn't recognize him, wouldn't care about him. He knew Gabe had made Dean forget for his own good, and from he remembered from his other life, that might have been the best thing for Dean, since Book was pretty sure that his other self had pretty much ruined other Dean's life.

Becuase, unfortunately, Book remembered as much of the dark things as he did the good. He knew he had been an addict, and a piss poor hunter. He knew he had allowed Dean to go to hell for him, and that he had unintentionally let Lucifer out of the cage.

Other Sam hadn't just been selfish and foolish, he'd been dangerous, so dangerous that Gabe had been forced to undo an entire time line to prevent Book from destroying the world.

Gabe had never said this to Book in so many words, on the contrary, he was always adamant that Sam had been well intentioned, simply used and misled, but Book remembered the truth.

Sam had broken the world.

So he had locked away the urge to seek Dean out, choosing to believe Gabe when Gabe said that this was the only way to protect Dean from the angels and the demons. ook was the master key to the whole plan, and Dean was useless to them without him. Keeping hidden had kept Dean safe.

Until now.

However well he had hid it, Book had been a wreck when he entered the Roadhouse. Dean had been there, playing pool, and the sight of him had brought forth a flood of memories from a life that had now never happened. A part of Book had been desperate to go over and hug Dean, to hear his voice and find out once and for all if he really smelled like Sam remembered in his dreams. He had been wanting to do that very thing for twenty two years, but he had known he couldn't.

He had come to save his brother's life, and then get the hell out of it, before he ruined it all over again.

He stepped into the cafe on the pretty main street of Lily Dale, reaching out psychically, curious to see how many others in the famed town of psychics were shooting with loaded guns, so to speak.

Quite a few had a low buzz of power to them, but honestly, Book could have said the same about the Roadhouse, as hunters often developed keen instincts nearly as good as psychic ability.

Well, at least no one here was a danger to him. He read a few interesting articles about some deaths here, and he knew that hunters usually avoided the town like the plague.

This should be a good way to take his mind off the brother who wasn't his brother anymore.

Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural

"And he said his name was what?" Bobby asked doubtfully as he watched Dean work through the stretches the physical therapist had assigned him upon release from the hospital yesterday morning.

Dean was almost back to one hundred percent, not counting his knee, and had refused to remain at the hospital any longer.

"Book." Dean said, looking up from the floor, where he was stretching out his good leg.

The Doctor had said it was important to make sure his other leg didn't get overtaxed while it was compensating for the injured one, and the last thing Dean needed was two bum legs.

"Book. What the hell kinda name is that?" Bobby asked incredulously.

Dean shrugged. "He said it was a long story."

Bobby rolled his eyes. "He said it was a...and was this before or after he took on the crazy, demon possessed trucker?"

"Definitely after." Dean asserted, heaving himself up.

"And then he just...gave you that shiny new party favor, a knife that just happens to scare off demons?" Bobby shook his head. "Sounds crazy to me, boy."

"Dingo ate my baby crazy." Dean agreed, drawing the blade from the small of his back, where he'd adjusted his holster to hold it also.

"But I didn't exactly imagine this, did I?" He said, giving it over to Bobby to examine.

Bobby turned the dagger over in his hands, looking at it appraisingly.

It was surprisingly light, made entirely out of a solid, bright silver metal that as far as Dean could tell, looked an awful lot like platinum. It bore no markings, and was keenly sharp. When it lay against his back in his holster, it seemed to warm to the temperature of his skin, and he tended to forget about it unless he wanted it for some purpose, like now.

"Could be a trick of some sort, a trap maybe." Bobby offered.

"No. No way." Dean said firmly, no realizing how definite his voice had gotten until Bobby had glanced up at him with narrowed eyes and a questioning brow.

Dean squirmed, unsure of how to frame his thoughts into words without sounding insane to the older hunter.

"The kid seemed genuine, that's all. He's obviously a hunter, that's why he was at the Roadhouse." Dean finally offered lamely.

"And why was he at the site of your attack?" Bobby asked pointedly.

"The demon was tracking me, that's what it said, anyway. Maybe the kid was tracking it. Maybe his family specializes in demons, maybe they make those knives themselves." Dean added defensively, unsure of why he was so protective of Book and his motivations. He'd never met the kid before, after all.

He was almost a hundred percent sure.

Almost.

He had just genuinely seemed like...he had cared that Dean was okay.

And three days later, Dean still hadn't shaken that nagging sense of familiarity he'd had whenever he'd looked at the kid.

Weird as it was, Dean was just sure the kid was...good.

And wasn't that about as Hallmark as an anniversary card?

Bobby snorted. "And maybe I'm Mother Teresa. Think what you want, Dean, but it's shady as hell, and Ellen or your Daddy would tell you the same thing."

"Yeah, well, Dad can say whatever the hell he wants when he starts bothering to answer the phone." Dean snapped, then closed his eyes, forcing himself to take a calming breath.

"Sorry Bobby." He said wryly.

Bobby just shook his head. "Idjit. You got enough on your plate with your Daddy and the demon fan club you've suddenly acquired. I wouldn't worry about this 'Book' character. If your lucky, you'll never see him again."

Dean frowned at the surprising sense of loss he felt at Bobby's words. "Yeah. Probably. So, you think it's useless to head up to St. Paul?"

Bobby nodded. "Caleb and Pastor Jim already checked it out. Your daddy's room was cleaned out, he was long gone. But..." Bobby walked over to his desk and rummaged through it until he pulled out a clipped news article. "I hear Florida is nice this time of year."

Dean took the article, skimming through it quickly, frowning when he realized what town it mentioned.

"Oh come on, Bobby, Lily Dale? That town has more fruit loops than the cereal aisle at the grocery store. None of those psychics are real!"

"You don't gotta tell me, boy. But so far, what they do have is two very real bodies, and some very freaked out witnesses that saw some strange things." Bobby said with a frown.

"I still got work to do on the Impala." Dean pointed out hopefully, but Bobby just raised an unamused brow.

"Boy, the frame on that old girl is twisted like a pretzel. I know your devoted, and I promised to help, but you can't even start on the body work until I get the frame straightened out, and the new parts come in. Here." Bobby tossed Dean a set of keys, that Dean caught easily.

"Take my other pick up. She ain't as pretty as your ride, but she's solid." Bobby said with laughing eyes as Dean grimaced.

"Leave that knife here, and I'll hit the books, see if I can find any info on a demon killing blade." Bobby offered.

Dean hesitated, surprisingly unwilling to part with the blade Bobby was holding.

"Uh, if it's all the same, Bobby, I think I'll take it. Say what you want about the kid, but he knew what he was doing, and nothing I have works on demons." He said, reaching out for the knife, grasping it quickly and tucking it back into it's holster.

Almost immediately, he began to feel a little better.

"Suit yourself, Dean. Go get your stuff then. Dead fake psychics are just as much a problem as dead real ones." Bobby replied, watching Dean with concerned eyes.

"This blows." Dean muttered as headed to his room for his duffel.

Freaking Lily Dale, of all places. If there was one real psychic in that whole damn town, Dean would give up pie for a freaking month.

Chapter Text

"Cracks In The Wall"

Book was a natural linguist. Perhaps it was because Gabe provided him with caretakers who spoke various languages, and because they traveled so much, by both choice and necessity. Six weeks in a villa in Tuscany, three months in Venice, a fortnight in Tokyo.

To some degree, it was also because of Sam's alternate memories. English was obviously his milk tongue, but he picked up both Latin and Spanish with an almost frightening ease. Italian and French soon followed, and perhaps that made sense also, as many of the romance languages shared base linguistic roots and syntax.

It was when they were spending a month in West Africa that Gabe realized that two year old Book was already picking up the local dialect, not just repeating nouns and verbs, but beginning to structure actual sentences. It had been a game of sorts, until then, as Gabe had a working knowledge of practically every language ever spoken by man, and Book always seemed to love when Gabe would give him new, interesting words to say.

But now Gabe had to step outside of that mindset, and take a hard look at the situation. Was this who Sam would have become in the other time line, had he been offered the same educational oppurtunities that Gabe provided Book with? Was this brilliant intelligence natural, or the result of the demon blood, and Sam's original upbringing had simply been so slipshod that it had never truly been fostered?

Or was this a result of Gabe altering the time lines? Either answer was frightening, in a way.

If this was who Book was always destined to be, than he would be a dangerous weapon in the hands of the demons, as language was obviously only the tip of the iceberg.

Book was already demonstrating an advanced understanding of scientific and mathematical concepts. Again, some of this was perhaps on Gabe, as he would do rather desperate things to keep the child occupied, and really, there were no other children in the history of mankind who had been raised by an archangel, so there wasn't exactly a handbook.

If Book thought the Pythagorean Theorem made for interesting dinner conversation, who was Gabe to complain, as long as he ate his food? (Gabe was now fairly confident that human toddlers needed to eat at least a couple of times a day, so what was the problem with drawing figures in mashed potatoes, as long as they got eaten?)

But that meant that, were the demons to ever get their hands on the child, they could easily mold the child into a dangerous weapon.

Intelligence without kindness was a deadly combination.

But the other alternative was still more frightening, the possibility that whatever Book would have been had he been allowed to remain Sam had been literally thrown out the window when Gabe changed the timelines, that Book was now in a state of both freefall and flux, the center of two converging time lines and that Book had become a singularity, that he could become almost anything or everything, growing into unexpected shapes and strengths as the forces of two conflicting realities came to bear on one little boy.

If that were the case, Gabe might look up one day to realize that Book had grown wings, or that the skyline of London had changed overnight, because, to Gabe's knowledge, nothing and no one like Book had ever existed, and if it was that fact which was changing Book's abilities, than quite literally anything could happen.

Anything at all.

And as long as parts of those two conflicting realities existed, there was always the chance that this timeline would attempt to re-structure itself back to it's original shape, that events could 'echo' from one timeline to another.

The universe had a nagging habit of bringing certain things to bear, for events to happen, for people to meet, for choices to have to be made.

And in the original time line, it was always meant to be Sam.

Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural

Book smiled as he looked around the small street fair, though, in reality, it wasn't that small at all.

Lily Dale was gearing up for it's annual Psychic Showcase (two of the murdered psychics had, in fact, been headliners, a fact Book hadn't overlooked.) The Showcase was still over a week away, but tourists had already started trickling in, and for the next several days, Lily Dale would be hosting a series of street fairs to keep the tourists entertained.

Vendors selling charms and amulets (most of which didn't work), tarot card readers, crystal ball gazers, spoon benders, even a few belly dancers and fire eaters. Tables and booths dotted the streets and sidewalks, and of course, carts selling carnival fare, everything from funnel cake and curly fries to sushi and vegan meals.

It was exactly the kind of place Gabe would have gleefully taken Anna and Book to visit, and as Book walked down the sidewalks, his mind moved wistfully over memories of his surrogate brother/father/guardian, and their last, almost bitter fight.

Book was pretty sure Gabe had never meant to come to care for him, but care he had.

It wasn't a crazy notion, as Gabe had always had a soft spot for little lost things, and the archangel had been alone for centuries until Book, and then Anna had entered his life.

Book had only been an infant when Gabe had intervened, entirely dependent on Gabe for everything, and the interaction between the two of them was probably more than Gabe had encountered since he went into hiding. Angels were no more solitary by nature than humans, and just like a human caretaker, Gabe had come to care for his charge.

When Book grew old enough to start facing the difficult choices that came from being who he was, Gabe had faltered at the idea of Book facing off with the other angels and the demons.

Gabe's entire master plan had always hinged on the idea that a knowledgeable and well-trained Sam Winchester could take on Azazel, stopping the entire plan in its infancy.

After all, no one but Gabe and Book remembered just how well the plan had worked before. It had taken hundreds of years of planning for the angels and demons to arrange for a pair of brothers like Sam and Dean to be born, and if Book just made the right choices, the entire plan would hopefully unravel.

But the older Book got, the more hesitant Gabe became to put the plan in action. Instead, he began to lean towards the idea of Book simply continuing to hide, not wanting to risk Book's life in a possible showdown with Azazel, Michael, or worse yet, Lucifer.

Book had agreed, on several levels. Even though he knew now that he had enough information to make better choices, he was frightened of what he had become, a blood addict, a monster, who had sprung the cage of Satan, leading to hundreds upon hundreds, perhaps thousands of deaths.

A part of him still remembered the pain of watching Dean die for him, of watching Joe and Ellen die because of him, remembering the crawling, insidious craving for demon's blood, and the endless pain, blood, gore and darkness that was a hunter's entire existence.

Had he not begun to have the visions of Dean being killed by the demon, perhaps he would have simply gone along with Gabe's plan, remained Book, the trickster's adopted child, as most of the supernatural community viewed him.

He might have let Sam Winchester, with his guilt and pain and yearning simply fade away, a little lost thing in a world that too easily forgot people anyway.

But nothing is ever really forgotten.

Little bits and pieces remain, echos, like cracks in the wall that let in light, letting you know that beyond the walls you build up to protect yourself, there's another entire world out there. And sometimes, there are things beyond the wall that want in.

Book paused as he came to a booth with an agitated young woman inside it, phone held to her ear with one shoulder as she bounced a crying toddler on her other side. Reaching out with his senses just a little, he quickly ascertained the child had an inner ear infection. He needed to go to the doctor, as it was already well established.

Pushing out with his abilities just slightly, he did his best to calm the child, to dim the awareness of the pain. Book often lamented that he was unable to actually heal, the way Gabe could, but his gifts worked more subtly. In this case, he was able to blur the child's sense of pain and fear, so that he didn't suffer quite so much, but the actual problem still existed. Like a metaphysical pain killer, Book was able to mask the pain for the child slightly until his mother could get him help.

"Hey, Jenny, it's Lena." The woman was saying on the phone. "I need help. Casey has a doctor's appointment in twenty minutes, I swear it's another ear infection. But I'm scheduled to have a booth here on Second Street until the carnival closes. You can keep anything you make, just as long as you man the booth. The city charges me $200.00 dollars an hour for a closed booth once I'm registered, empty booths look back to the tourists. You can't? Your grandmother? Okay, no, sure, I understand. It's fine, I'll try Marla." The woman hung up dispiritedly, and Book guessed that she had tried Marla first, and had just said that so Jenny wouldn't feel so bad.

Some people were kind like that.

"Okay, baby. Okay. Mommy just has to break down her tent." The woman said, and Book could tell she was near tears.

Sam glanced up at her sign. 'Magdalena, Palm Reader Extraordianire'. He shrugged to himself.

Why the hell not?

"I might be able to help." He said, and the woman glanced up sharply.

Book smiled disarmingly. "I have a bit of a...knack with this kind of thing. You just need a body in the booth, right, so the city doesn't charge you?"

"Um, well yeah. Have we met?" She said slowly.

Book shook his head. "I'm new in town, and honestly, I'm a little low on cash. You take your own cash box with you. I'll man your booth and give readings. When you come back in a few hours, you can take back over. I'll take my money, and you don't get charged. What do you say?"

The woman chewed her lip, but then nodded quickly. "Anything's better than paying those assholes on the city council $600.00 dollars. That's my rent."

"No problem. Honestly, you're doing me a favor."

Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural

Dean dodged and weaved through the crowded streets, looking for the address of the antique shop one of the murdered psychics had bequeathed her belongings to.

Unfortunately, Second Street was hosting a street fair, and the street was so crowded he could barely see where he was going.

Fake psychic...fake psychic...fake crystal ball reader...fake tarot card reader...

Dean freaking hated Lily Dale.

A woman at a nearby booth was talking loudly on her cell phone.

"I'm telling you Susie, you have to check out the eye-candy Lena has manning her booth while she's taking Casey to the doctor. He's gorgeous. Well, I mean, he's practically twelve or something, but god, he's gorgeous. And tall, I swear, he looks like a six foot four puppy dog, he has these big eyes. His name? I didn't ask, how awkward would that have been? Maybe he's a cousin or something, he has high cheek bones like she does. What's he doing? Reading palms, and he's not half bad, if his tip jar's any indication. That's right, he just put a jar on the table, and people pay him after if they think he did a good job. It's pissing Tracy off, I can tell you that, she's charging twenty bucks a customer..."

Dean had stopped in his tracks at her description of the palm reader, mind mentally flashing back to Book, the way it had repeatedly over the last few days. Starting to walk again before his bad knee could stiffen up, he continued up the street.

Not a moment later, he passed a gaggle of giggling teenagers.

"I can't believe he knew Brad was going to ask you to homecoming, and then, like, Brad totally called three minutes later. And he said the admissions counselor was going to call me about the news anchor internship I submitted an application for, I am so totally psyched!" One girl practically shrieked and Dean grimaced.

"Did you see those dimples?" Another girl said, and the other three all nodded in unison.

"The shaggy hair was kind of cute on him." A third one added, leading to another round of giggles.

Dean shook his head and pushed on.

As he passed another booth, he heard yet another woman talking on her cell phone angrily. "I am going to give Lena a piece of my mind. That kid in her booth has a line half a mile long, I haven't had a customer in forty five minutes, and not only is he undercharging, but I think he's actually a little psychic. Lena's about as telepathic as a tea cup, what is she thinking, hiring an actual Talent to work her booth, it's unfair to the rest of us."

This time, Dean was forced to re-evaluate his plan. The deaths he was here to investigate were hinky, to say the least, and the witnesses swore they were paranormal.

An actual psychic (not that Dean could think of a single reason why an actual psychic would be in Lily Dale) might have the mojo to pull something like that off, or at least they might be able to point Dean in the right direction. Dean had been thinking along the lines of 'cursed object', and most real psychics knew enough about the supernatural world to help out a hunter.

Bobby had a friend, Pamela, who helped on occasion, when she wasn't traveling for her work.

He began to scan the signs on the various booths, before realizing that if the kid was a fill-in, the booth's sign would be a little use.

Hadn't the woman said there was a line half a mile long? Lowering his eyes, he soon spotted a relatively plain booth with an impressive line winding in front of it.

Pushing through the crowd, he fought for a spot that would allow him to observe the pan handler for a few moments, in order to judge whether or not he really was legit. But when he finally saw the man sitting behind the table, he felt like he'd been punched in the stomach.

It was the kid from the bar, the kid who'd saved him.

It was Book.

Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural

Book forced himself to remain calm as he felt Dean's presence coming closer. The crowd and the presence of a few other genuine talents on the street had masked his presence at first, and Book hadn't felt him until Dean was nearly on top of him.

A part of him wanted to jump up and flee, just head for the hills.

He'd come to see whether or not this was a hunt, because he hadn't thought a regular hunter would, but Dean being here obviously disproved that theory. That meant there wasn't really anything holding him in Lily Dale, now.

Nothing but his decision to help Lena and Casey.

Book made it a point to keep his promises, and so he forced himself to remain sitting, doing his best to give genuine, upbeat readings to the remaining customers.

The afternoon was winding to a close, and as he graciously accepted the ten dollar bill from an old lady, he felt the stare of the older hunter, who had taken up watch at the corner of a building across the street. He hadn't come any closer, but Book knew it was only a matter of time.

His last customer came up to him, and he looked at her in the fading light. She looked a little battered and worse for the wear, and as Sam took her hand, he caught a glimpse of her in his mind, frightened, as she ran out of a small apartment, a drunken man yelling obscenities at her as she went. Sam guessed she was younger than him even, barely nineteen, perhaps, and she was obviously on the run.

She held out a few crumpled bills with her other hand. "I only have three dollars, is that okay?"

Book smiled gently at her. "Let's see what we can do. What's your name?"

"Ellie." She replied softly.

Book nodded. "Okay, Ellie. I take it you need a little direction, and...a job, a place to stay?"

She gasped softly, and nodded.

Book closed his eyes, reaching further than he had all evening.

It was hard to describe, what he was doing, what he was looking for. If you were willing to work with the universe, though, sometimes it...opened doors.

Book was looking for a place. A safe place, with an Ellie shaped space inside, where Ellie could plant herself and grow.

Book believed that people should get help if they asked for it.

There.

He opened his eyes. "Okay, Ellie. Here's the plan. Now listen closely. Keep this." He gently closed her hand around her last few dollars. "And take this..." He reached into his own jar, drawing out several tens and twenties.

"This..." He held up three tens "You are going to use to buy another bus ticket. I know, you're sick of buses, but I promise, this is the last. You're going to go south, and get off at the third town the bus stops in. Whatever town that is, that's where you get off. Look for a cafe with red geraniums in a big, blue pot. Take this..." He held up another twenty, "And buy yourself a decent breakfast, and when the waitress offers you a second cup of coffee, you take it. And then you wait."

"Wait for what?" She asked, wide eyed.

He grinned, dimples flashing and she smiled back reflexively. "For the universe to line up one hell of a shot for you. And when it does, say yes, Ellie. Say yes, and then use these..." He counted out three more twenties, "To rent the apartment you will see advertised on the bulletin board."

"This is insane." She whispered, eyes locked on him. "I can't take all your money."

Book glanced down at the money he'd laid out, one hundred and ten dollars in all, and shrugged. "Money's just money, Ellie. But some chances don't come twice. Some day, someone will come into your work, and they'll look scared, and broke, and they're going to need help. And then you're going to take some money out of your own pocket, and pay it forward."

She looked at him questioningly. "Did someone help you once?"

Book shook his head. "I've been given more chances than anyone deserves."

After a moment's hesitation, she gathered up the money and left, with a last, curious look at Book.

A moment later, Dean had come to stand before him.

"Funny, I never figured you for a 'Magdalena'. No wonder you go by Book."

Book stood, stretching. "Lena should be here any second. Just let me start breaking down the tent for her. Her kid's sick, and she's going to have her hands full."

He moved his tip jar to the side, quickly counting out the remaining money. A little over three hundred dollars remained in the jar, and Sam pursed his lips in thought. Snagging out two twenties, he folded the rest neatly, putting it in a different pocket than the other forty.

He quickly starting breaking down the tent and table, and after a moment, Dean joined in.

Only a few moments after that, Lena and Casey rushed up.

Chapter Text

" Unfamiliar Memories"

It wasn't just their house, John would come to find out. Sam had seemingly been erased from the entire world.

Birth records, shot and medical records, all gone.

His pediatrician had no recollection of him, nor did the Doctor who delivered him. None of Mary's friends even recalled a second pregnancy.

None of their other photo albums contained any photos with Sammy in them, despite John distinctly remembering fourth of July, and going to the lake to swim, could remember Sam laughing as John held him in his lap as he tried to eat the sand, the way the fireworks had startled him, but instead of crying, he'd only laughed more.

And of course, there was Dean, who continued to have no memories of the little brother he had adored, no matter how many times John questioned him.

John eventually cut a corner of the blue baby blanket, taking to carrying it around in his pocket, where he could rub his fingers over it reassuringly any time he started to wonder if he was actually losing his mind.

Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural

"So..." Dean studied the younger man over his menu. "Are you a hunter that just happens to be psychic, or a psychic that just happens to hunt?"

Dean had decided against going to the antique store that night, figuring it could wait until the morning.

The cursed object idea was a long shot at best anyway, and the odds of him ever stumbling across Book again were somewhere between slim and never-the-fuck-going-to-happen-again .

And Dean had questions.

The younger man chewed his lip, seeming to choose his words with care. 

"I'm a...wanderer." He said finally. "Sometimes I stumble across a hunt, and if there doesn't seem to be anyone who can take care of it, I will."

Dean raised a brow. "You carry some pretty nice artillery for someone who hunts for a hobby. And the psychic thing?"

Again, Book seemed to pick his answer carefully. "I have a...knack, I guess you can say. Sometimes it's a little more spot on than others. It comes in handy, at times."

Dean looked at him carefully. "Back there, with that Ellie girl, that seemed like a little more than a 'knack'. That was some heavy-duty mojo you were swinging back there. And I'm guessing she wasn't the first customer you surprised today, if those tips you stuffed into Lena's bag when she wasn't looking were indication. You pocketed, what, forty bucks for yourself? You must have tucked a couple hundred in her bag. I make more on a decent game of pool."

Book shifted a little self-consciously. "Money's just money." He repeated his earlier words to Ellie. "I have enough. Money's...not really an issue."

Dean studied him a little more.

His dark hair was over-long, and Book seemed to have a habit of using it to hide his eyes. His jeans were good quality, as were his shoes, but both were rather worn, to the point where comfortable segued into ready-to-replace . His duffel, likewise, had seemed sturdy enough, though it had obviously seen better days.

"How old are you?" The question surprised Dean, slipping past his lips without his intentions.

He was genuinely curious, but he'd first encountered Book in a hunter's bar, and the hunter code of ethics was firmly etched into Dean's morals, the first rule of which was- "Don't dig into another hunters business."

After all, no one hunted for the fun of it. Every hunter Dean had ever met had come into the business on a wave of tragedy.

Book grinned at him wryly, as if he were aware that Dean was breaking taboo.

"Twenty-two." He finally answered with a crooked smile.

"Are your family hunters? Is that where you got the blade you lent me?" Dean asked, leaning forward in order to lower his voice.

Legacy hunter's weren't unheard of, though the high mortality rate in the field often meant hunters never had a chance to start families. Still, there were a few, as Dean and Jo proved.

"My family is...unusual." Book said, a shuttered look coming over his eyes.

Dean found himself wishing Book's earlier openness would return. "The blades are old, and my...brother got them for me when I started traveling."

"Your brother?" Dean asked, with a curious, sinking feeling settling in his stomach. "Does...he hunt also?"

Book pursed his lips and shrugged. "Like I said, it's complicated. But the important thing is, those blades are old , and meant to hunt things even more dangerous than demons, but they'll kill demons too. Don't lose it, Dean. I wouldn't have a way to replace it."

Dean nodded, knowing Book's evasion on the matter of his brother meant the discussion was closed. But what exactly did the kid consider more dangerous than demons? Then a thought struck him. "How'd you know what my name was?"

Book tilted his head at him, smiling a little again. "Today, just now, or the other night, at the Roadhouse?"

"Either." Dean said quickly, trying once again to shake off that overwhelming sense of familiarity he had every time Book made a face, or tilted his head, or even some of the ways he spoke certain words.

Book tapped his temple. "Psychic, remember? The waitress at the bar, Jo, right?"

Dean nodded, shoulders tensing when Book brought up the woman he considered almost a sister. Dean felt protective of her in his own way, though it drove her crazy.

"She's a little bit of a...projector?" Book said, wrinkling his nose as he tried to think of a way to explain. "Some people are a little louder than others, psychically, I mean. Most hunters aren't, they tend to develop mental shields of sorts, comes with the business, I guess, but she's pretty young, or else she's just a natural projector."

Dean chuckled. "Oh, Jo's nothing, you should meet her mother. That's why you came to the Roadhouse, then? Peace and quiet? Are place's like this too...loud?" Dean asked, looking away at the new-agey cafe.

Book shrugged, looking down as he played with a couple of sugar packets. "It doesn't bother me, usually. But yeah, hunters tend to be more...quiet, mentally. A lot of supernatural creatures are mildly psychic, and the hunters that have better natural shields tend to survive better."

Dean frowned in concern. "So, what, you're saying Jo's some kind of...beacon?"

Book shook his head. "I wouldn't worry, she's nothing alarming. I just meant that's how I picked up on your name and stuff, when you came over that night. Thanks for that, by the way."

Dean lifted a brow. "In the scheme of things, I think we're even. So, am I a natural projector, because we didn't even touch that night, but you managed to be there when the demon attacked me. So you were either following me or the demon." Dean's voice had hardened a little, as much as he liked the kid, he needed to know what had happened.

Book shifted again. "I had a...vision." He admitted. "I wasn't one hundred percent on the details, but once I saw you, more of them made sense, so I was able to zero in on the demon."

"What do you mean, zero in?" Dean asked suspiciously. Visions? 

Book raised his hand and let it fall again, and Dean suspected he was one of those people who talked with their hands. Neither Dean nor John did that, but Dean had dim memories of his mother, Mary, in animated conversations with her friends, gesturing wildly as she talked.

"Sort of like, with a pendulum or a Ouija board, except I don't normally need one of those. If I get close enough, I can usually zero in on something like a demon, if I have a general idea of where to look. Once I saw you, enough of the pieces fell into place for the vision to make sense, and I just...took it from there." He shifted around, obviously uncomfortable with the conversation.

"You mean you have some sort of mental demon-finding compass in your head?" Dean asked skeptically.

Book shrugged again and Dean could tell he was becoming more agitated, more upset. "Um, something like that. Uh, listen, I should go..." He started to rise from the table and instinctively, Dean did also.

"We haven't even eaten yet." He said, trying to shift the conversation in a way that would allow him to get the information he needed without alarming the kid.

"Hey, I didn't mean to jump your ass. You saved mine, and I won't forget it, it's just a freaky situation..."

Book nodded, swallowing. "No, it's fine. I get it. Hunter's survive by asking the right questions. It's just...I'm sort of a loner, you know? What I can do is sort of hard to explain to someone who can't do it, and usually I don't have too."

"I get it, I'm sorry." Dean said, waving his hand at their table. The idea of Book leaving already rubbed him the wrong way. "Sit down and eat something, man. You're skinnier than hell for your height, dude. Jo's mom Ellen would have been chasing you around with a cheese burger if she'd been there the other night. That woman's the only reason half of those monster-obsessed morons haven't starved to death."

Book chuckled a little, and Dean smiled, glad his gambit had worked. Still, Book stood by the table, wavering just a little, like he might bolt at any moment, and Dean felt a little like he was trying to coax a feral cat to eat from his palm.

"It's cool. Actually, I should probably hit the road, since you're here. I only stopped in Lily Dale because I knew hunters hated the place." Book said, chewing his lip again indecisively.

Dean got the sense that he was torn between wanting to stay and wanting to run away, a sentiment he could understand completely, as it described most of his entire life.

"You didn't think any of us would check it out, huh? Well, my Uncle Bobby had to strong arm me into it." Dean said with a laugh.

A curious look came over Book's face. "Your...Uncle?"

Dean looked at him curiously, attention caught by the slightly hungry look on Book's face, as if Dean were answering a question he hadn't dared to ask.

Normally, Dean was taciturn by nature, particularly about his friends and family, but something (or, if he were honest with himself, practically everything) about Book put him at ease, and he wanted the kid to sit down already. Dean still didn't have all his answers, plus, the idea of the kid on the road without having eaten first actually bugged him, which was a first, since Dean couldn't really remember worrying about that kind of thing with anyone else ever before.

Maybe he was spending too much time with Ellen.

"Well, he's not my uncle by blood, but he's probably better. Bobby Singer." Dean elaborated.

"Singer Salvage, up in Sioux Falls?" Book asked, finally sitting again, though he remained perched on the edge of his seat, like a bird ready to take flight.

"You know him?" Dean asked, surprised, as he was certain Bobby had never heard of Book.

Book shook his head. "By reputation only. All good things though. Clever guy, the go-to in that area, if I'm not mistaken."

Dean nodded. "You're not. Bobby's smarter than hell, though you'd never know it by the way he talks. He's semi-retired now, mans the phones and helps with the trickier research. Still takes hunts, but tries to stay more local unless someone needs back up badly."

Book nodded. "And he's your...sort-of Uncle?"

This time it was Dean's turn to shift uncomfortably. "I don't have any blood relatives, apart from my Dad. Bobby's been around as long as I can remember. Dad traveled a lot, and when he couldn't take me with, I usually stayed with Bobby or Ellen,"

Book looked at Dean intently. "So, you grew up at Singer Salvage, and the Roadhouse?" His voice had a funny tone to it, something that Dean couldn't quite put his finger on. Dean shrugged again.

"Well, Dad couldn't really raise me out of the Impala, could he?" Dean joked.

A pained expression flitted across Book's face, gone almost as soon as it had come, but the sight of it had lit Dean like a punch in the stomach.

"Nah, it's no way for a kid to live." Book said softly.

"Okay, I'm sorry, I gotta ask. We have absolutely never met before, right?" Dean said suddenly, finally unable to ignore the nagging sense of 'this-person-this-person-I-KNOW-THIS-PERSON' that screamed through his mind every time he looked at the kid.

Book looked over at him, wide-eyed. "Um, no. I've never been to the Roadhouse before that night, or Singer Salvage. I've actually spent a lot of my childhood out of the country." He said after a moment.

Dean looked at him appraisingly, not sensing a lie, but not sensing the entire truth either, or it was just that insane voice in his head that refused to believe that Dean hadn't talked to Book a hundred, thousand, million other times before.

Because that was exactly what it felt like, like every word from Book's mouth was another unfamiliar memory,

The waiter returned just then. "Gentlemen, how may I make your evening even more wonderful tonight?"

Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural 

Book bit back a chuckled at the bemused expression on Dean's face when their flaky waiter returned.

"Uh..." Dean stammered for a moment. "Bacon Cheeseburger, fries, chocolate shake?"

The waiter made a pained face, but wrote the order down obediently, turning to get Book's order.Book hesitated, knowing he should leave now, while he still could, and yet...

Dean was the same, and yet so different, a puzzle, made out of the same pieces as the brother he'd once been to Book, in the life they never ended up living, but now formed in an entirely new, surprising shape.

The mix of familiar and unfamiliar was maddening and enticing at the same time, and Book was having a hard time breaking away, even when he knew it was for the best. His hand gestures, his expressions, the way he shaped his words, that faint, faint trace of a Kansas accent, all were familiar.

But at the same time, he was so different, the things he was saying, about Bobby and Ellen, and Book felt like he was discovering the unedited version of his favorite movie, and this was his chance to see the deleted scenes.

Could one meal really hurt?

"What kind of soup do you have?" Book asked finally, and the waiter beamed as he began rattling off the cafe's numerous vegan, organic, locally-sourced options.

Over his shoulder, Book could see Dean making a face, and he choked down another laugh.

"The vegetable soup sounds great, and I'll have a Caesar salad with it, please." He finally said.

Dean was frowning at him. "Dude, you know you're like, six three, right?"

"Six four." Book corrected with a grin, then shrugged. "It'll be fine."

Dean rolled his eyes, then looked back over at the waiter. "Do you have any organic, vegan, locally sourced onion rings back there?"

After the waiter had left, Dean turned back to Book.

"So, I was hoping you could help me." He said casually.

Immediately, everyone of Book's senses went on red alert. "Oh, well, like I said, I'll be headed out of town after dinner." He evaded.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it, that's cool. It's just, we both came here to work the same case, maybe it...I don't know, maybe we should put our heads together, you know? Share notes."

Book hesitated again, panic eating at his insides. He had no memories of working this case before, to his knowledge, in the other timeline, he and Dean had never encountered this job.

Likewise, though he hadn't really had a chance to start investigating, he'd had no visions or anything else of value to add psychically.

This case would literally be a matter of footwork and investigation, and that could take a while...

"I really had just gotten here. You probably know more than I do. Like you said, I was just afraid no one else would show up..." Book began to make his refusal. It was for the best…

"Yeah, yeah, No, I get it. Actually, I have the case file Bobby put together for me right here. Do you want to take a look?" Dean held the folder out to Book.

Book wanted to refuse, wanted to walk away (run away) right then and there, but then he saw the label on the folder, where the words 'Lily Dale' were written in an almost familiar handwriting, and his hand reached out of his own volition.

He opened the folder, mind suddenly swimming with other-life memories of doing this very same thing a dozen, no, a hundred other times. He felt himself go pale, as sweat popped up on his brow, his limbs suddenly heavy and ungainly.

It was almost too much, the conversation with Dean, the folder, familiar and heavy and new all at the same time in Sam's hands.

Added to the effort he'd put into finding a safe haven for Ellie earlier after doing readings all afternoon, and it was probably a good thing he was staying and eating, since using his powers, or even just trying to draw out memories from his other life on purpose was tiring, burning a surprising amount of energy.

Even back when Book still traveled with Gabe, Gabe had always been pushing sweets and candy on Book, because no matter how much he ate, he always seemed to lose weight the moment he wasn't paying attention to it.

In the past two years he'd wandered on his own for the most part, he'd gotten too thin a few times, simply because he'd get caught up in things and forget to eat enough calories to make up for what he was expending.

"Hey, man, you okay? Your face has gone white." Dean said suddenly, and Book looked up, startled out of his reverie.

"Huh? Oh, yeah. I'm cool. Blood sugar gets a little low every once in a while, that's all. So you're thinking it's a cursed object, then?" Book asked, pausing while the waiter brought Dean's shake and Sam's water.

Dean stopped the waiter before he could walk off. "Hey, excuse me. My friend's got low blood sugar, can he get a glass of...what, orange juice?" Dean said, looking over at Sam inquiringly.

Sam opened his mouth to reassure Dean that he'd be fine in a minute, but the waiter was already nodding in sympathy. "Of course, the owner's daughter is a diabetic, so we always keep some on hand. Just give me a minute, and your food will be done soon also."

In less than two minutes, the waiter had placed a glass of orange juice in front of Book, and Book, feeling the heavy weight of two pairs of eyes on him, obediently raised the glass and drank until Dean and the waiter both seemed satisfied.

"Just let me know if you need a refill, and your food will be out shortly." The waiter said, before moving off to greet the next customer.

Ironically, the orange juice did make Book feel a little less shaky, and he wondered how Dean had known to suggest it.

Book didn't remember having low blood sugar in his other life, but perhaps he wasn't remembering everything. Or perhaps Dean knew someone else, and was just applying that knowledge to Book's case.

Gabe had done his best with Book and Anna, but he'd learned on the go, literally, and it had probably never occurred to him to try orange juice instead of candy bars back when Sam had been little.

"Better?" Dean asked, and Book nodded, feeling self-conscious again. "So, cursed object." he began again.

"That's my best guess, though, I admit, it's a weak one. I was going to hit up the store where the last victim's belongings were sent..." Dean trailed off suddenly.

Book lifted a wry brow. "Before you encountered the street fair?" He supplied.

Dean shrugged. "Yeah." He agreed self-deprecatingly.

Book sighed, looking over Bobby's notes again. It did sound like a genuine case, but something about it felt...off.

He wasn't sure why, but he didn't think the cursed object idea was right. He had no idea what was right, though, and it made him uneasy knowing that Dean might not know what he was going up against.

Book had spent years trying not to think about Dean hunting alone, but right now, with the man who was once his brother sitting across the table from him, he was failing miserably.

"Your food, gentleman." Their waiter announced with a flourish as he sat down their plates.

After he left, Book looked over at Dean, making a split-second decision. "I guess I could stay another day. I gotta be honest, I think cursed object is...I don't know. It just doesn't feel right."

Dean nodded knowingly. "I know, that's what my instincts are telling me, but the necklace is the only link between the two women."

"Other than the showcase..." Sam murmured, looking through the file again.

"Huh?" Dean asked, and Book looked up, startled, still not used to having someone around to hear him when he muttered to himself ( a habit Anna teased him about unmercifully).

"The Psychic Showcase. It's a pretty big deal around here, and both victims were set to be headliners." Book explained.

Dean smiled a predatory smile. "Well, that sounds like a motive to me."

Chapter Text

" Nowhere Far Enough"

Book was only two when Gabe realized that he remembered. Not everything, thankfully.

But enough.

It was funny how the human mind worked, how it endangered and protected himself at the same time. Book seemed to remember things from his other life, but they were a child's memories. He didn't remember Lucifer or demons, at least not yet, though Gabe suspected that in time it would come.

No, what Book remembered a first was, naturally-

" DEAN!" Book said, giggling as he held up his drawing of their 'family'.

" Me." Book said, pointing to the shortest figure, "You." Book added, pointing to the blond figure, that was apparently Gabe.

" And...DEAN!" Book jumped up and down, pleased with himself as he pointed to the last man, standing on the other side of Book from the Gabriel figure.

" That's good, Book. You did a good job. You know what I was thinking? We've never been to China! You want to go shoot fireworks off the Great Wall of China?"

Book nodded happily, already adding fireworks to the skyline of his masterpiece.

Gabe swallowed uneasily. China probably wasn't far enough.

Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural 

The rest of their meal passed in a kind of casual tension, as each man tried to get the answers they wanted without alarming the other one.

"So, you didn't grow up stateside, then?" Dean asked.

Book shook his head. "My older...brother traveled for work quite often, we didn't stay at any one place for too long. What about you, how often did you move back and forth between the Road House and your Uncle's?"

Dean shrugged, taking a drink of his shake. "Just depended. Dad would work one part of the country, and then move me wherever was more convenient when he was ready to move on. Then, when I was fourteen, I was able to start hunting with him."

"Fourteen..." Book said softly. "That's young."

Dean grinned. "I wanted to start when I was twelve, but Dad wouldn't let me. How about you? Your family obviously knows the business, but are you actually hunters?"

Book shook his head. "No, my brother tends to work wherever catches his fancy. But yeah, his family has always known about...well, everything. My being psychic was just icing on the cake after that."

Dean looked at him carefully. "You said ' his family '. Don't you mean your family?"

Book's mouth went dry. He eyed the door longingly. The space between them across the table suddenly didn't seem far enough.

Dean seemed to sense his agitation. "It's cool, sorry. I know better. It's just, those blades, you know? I'm wondering why your family knew about them when no one else did."

Sam swallowed, hard. "Uh, well." He picked his words with care. He hated lying to Dean, every word felt heavy on his tongue, and he did his best to phrase the truth as discreetly as he could whenever possible.

"I'm... adopted. So's my sister, Anna. Gabe's family...knew of ours, knew about my...ability. He took me in, made sure I understood what I was." Book said finally, forcing down the urge to bolt.

Dean blinked. "Oh, I'm sorry. It must have been hard, losing your family. Is Anna your real sister, then?"

Book shook his head. "No, she joined the family later, when her birth family died. It's been the three of us for...well, forever, it seems like."

They paid their tabs, Dean insisting on paying for Book's even though Book tried to convince him it was unnecessary.

"I have money, Dean. I'm a wanderer, not indigent." Book said with a smile as he reached for his wallet.

Dean looked at him, an odd expression in his eyes as he waved Book's money away. "Nah, I got it. I cornered you at the fair and practically dragged you in here. Plus, you saved my hide the other night, and then you apparently loaned me a one-of-a-kind ancient weapon. I think I can swing dinner."

After a moment, Book smiled. "Well, it's not one of a kind, there are several others, but the people who have them tend to keep tight hold of them."

"Who made them?" Dean asked curiously, hoping the blades were a safer topic than Book's family.

Book seemed apprehensive now, skittish, though with the people at the street fair he'd been easy going, confident, even. Had he had a bad experience with another hunter before? Other than the asshole at the Roadhouse the other night, of course.

Book could obviously handle himself, but Dean knew that while most hunters were respectful of any genuine psychics who they encountered, some were so single minded that they didn't care if they endangered the people helping them.

Dean always made a point not to get anyone involved in his case unless he was willing to give priority attention to keeping them safe. He had no interest in seeing someone hurt because of him, but he knew some hunters who didn't care as much about collateral damage. Had Book encountered someone like that, and that was why he was so reluctant? But then, why go to a Hunter's bar?

Perhaps it really just was like he said, he was used to wandering by himself, and any kind of attention unnerved him.

Dean could certainly understand that. He wondered where Book's brother and sister were. He had a hard time understanding their being okay with him just...wandering, like some kind of vagabond. If Dean had ever had a brother, he certainly wouldn't have just let him wander off, especially knowing what he knew about the real world.

Ellen certainly never let Jo stray like that, and even John, until now, had checked in with Dean routinely, making sure Dean had cash and cards and insurance. When Dean had been Book's age, he had usually hunted with John or Bobby.

Didn't Book's family worry about him?

As they approached the car, Dean looked at Book in realization. "You don't have a car, do you?"

Book shrugged. "I could, I guess. My sister drives sometimes. My brother would get me one, if I wanted. I like it better without, though."

Dean looked at him in consternation, thinking of all the gear he had stored just in his trunk alone.

"How do you get places? Don't tell me you hitch?" Dean asked.

Book smiled a little. "Buses, trains, sometimes I hitch rides, yeah." He admitted.

"Dude, you know how dangerous that is? What if some psycho picked you up?" Dean said sternly.

Book laughed. "Again, psychic, remember? And armed. And my brother made sure I received good training. I can handle myself."

"But...you don't have any back up?" Dean asked again, surprisingly alarmed at the idea of this lanky kid just wandering from town to town.

"Don't need it, usually. I'm not really a hunter, Dean. I wander because I like it. I know enough to see a hunt and recognize it for what it is, but I only get involved if no one else is." Book said.

"So, what do you do?" Dean asked.

Book shrugged again. "Mostly I just...wander. Meet people, see places. Read good books. Sometimes I'm able to help people, like today, with Lena."

Dean just shook his head again. In his opinion, Book's older brother should be shot for not watching out for him better, but he kept his mouth shut.

Book wasn't his brother, after all.

"So, where are you staying tonight, then?" He asked.

Book chewed his lip thoughtfully. "Well, I hadn't been certain I was staying the night, so I guess I'd better grab a room, if I can find one, as full as the town is, with the showcase coming up."

"My motel still had a vacancy light up when I left." Dean offered, and after a long pause, Book nodded cautiously.

Dean waited just inside the office as Book reserved a room for himself. He hadn't wanted to say anything unless it was necessary, but he had been worried about Book having enough money for a motel.

His own room was a double, a habit from traveling with John, and he'd considered offering to share with Book. He'd shared with other hunters, Caleb and John and Bobby and even Jo, with the threat of Ellen's wrath hanging over his head. Money was often tight for hunters, and it was easier to secure one room rather than two.

But, as skittish as Book had seemed, he'd decided against it, afraid Book would think he was some kind of creep, instead making sure he was available to help Book if he'd needed the money to get a room of his own.

He wasn't sure where "a wanderer" would normally sleep, but he had visions of abandoned houses and park benches and old warehouses swimming through his mind. Not that he hadn't ever squatted, or even slept in the Impala when money was tight, but the Impala was easily as good as many motels, it was practically Dean's home.

To his surprise, however, Book pulled a platinum card out of his wallet.

Leaning forward discreetly, Dean read the name.

Daniel N. Lyons.

Huh.

Kid didn't look like a Daniel.

Dean had a sneaking suspicion that that card was as legitimate as the one he had used, with the name Steven Tyler on it.

Curiouser and curiouser.

Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural 

Book hadn't wanted to use the card.

He had two others in his wallet, too, and they were all good. Book was adamant that the accounts Gabe set up for him contained real money, and didn't hurt anyone else via identity fraud. He knew hunters like Dean and John had few other options, but he did, so he made it a point not to involve anyone else in his life, even as a name on a credit card.

Gabe had gone along easily enough, actually having quite a bit of fun with Book's aliases.

The problem was, for a centuries-old arch angel, Gabe was surprisingly tech savvy, and now he knew exactly where Book was. Book didn't think he'd show up, and Book wouldn't change his mind if he did, but he knew Gabe could be...unpredictable when he was upset.

Gabe had little use for Dean, instead focused on Book and Anna. Gabe had opted out of the coming war, and he wanted Book and Anna out of dodge also.

As far as Gabe was concerned, Dean was dangerous.

Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural 

Dean half-expected Book to be gone the next morning when he awoke, vanished into the night like the vagabond he apparently was. But when he opened his motel room door, he saw Book next to the car, kneeling down trying to offer a raggedy alley cat a can of what looked to be tuna.

"Making friends?" He said, amused by Book's efforts to tame the feral, unwashed creature.

Book smiled softly as the cat slowly oozed forward, sniffing the air. "Getting there."

"I get the feeling you have a thing for strays." Dean muttered, as Book stood, coming over to stand beside him.

"Okay, where to?" Book asked.

"Breakfast." Dean said decisively, and Book chuckled, shaking his head as he got into the passenger seat.

Dean glanced over, frowning for a moment. "You got enough room over there, smalls?" He asked.

Book looked over, startled, and Dean got the impression that he was so used to not having enough room that it didn't even register with him any more.

"I'm cool." He said easily, and Dean rolled his eyes, reaching down for the lever that scooted back the passenger side of the bench seat.

Book didn't say anything else, though his eyes seemed to laugh at Dean for a moment, and Dean felt the stupid urge to grin at him.

They returned to the cafe from the night before, and Dean prayed silently that they got a different waiter.

After breakfast (of which Book didn't seem to eat enough of, in Dean's personal opinion, but, whatever), they decided to head over to the antiques shop. Neither one of them still thought it was a matter of a cursed object, but they had no better place to start.

Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural 

Book wrinkled his nose as they entered the antique store, though he doubted it actually contained many real antiques. It did, however, contain copious amounts of incense, and a low level buzz that signaled that something or someone in the store other than Book was hot, so to speak.

"How can I help you gentleman? Antiquers?" The man behind the counter asked. Dean choked back a huff of surprise, and Book started to smile, before his eyes met the eyes of the man behind the counter, and he felt an electric shock trail down his spine.

Another psychic, and a not half bad one, if he had to guess.

Book didn't go out of his way to avoid psychics, but they were a rare breed, most having only low level talents, requiring boards or cards or pendulums to act as a medium between them and the metaphysical world.

But with Dean in the picture, he had to be more careful. One carelessly spoken word could send Book's whole house of cards crashing down, and despite the fact that he knew it was for the best, Book wasn't ready to walk away from Dean just yet.

So he settled for walking away from the other psychic instead, ignoring Dean's startled expression as he quickly let himself out of the store front. Outside, in the fresh air, it was a little easier to breathe, though Book suspected it was less the incense in the store than it was the whole damn situation.

What the hell was he thinking?

What was he playing at, befriending Dean, agreeing to help out on a case. Dean could never know the truth about Book, which meant that practically everything Book said had to be a lie. He knew many things about this Dean were different, but he was certain that Dean's hatred of being lied to wouldn't have changed.

If Dean ever found out the truth, he'd be furious with Book for lying to him, for toying with him like this.

Book didn't mean to tell so many lies, he just found it too hard to walk away from Dean. He waited his whole lifetime (this one, anyway) to meet his brother, and, if Book were honest, Dean was better than he remembered.

This Dean was...strong, tough. He was confident, he didn't seem to need John's praise. He exuded strength and capability...

And he made Book feel safe .

Book hadn't even realized he hadn't felt safe, until the mere presence of Dean seemed to chase away the literal demons that haunted him. Sometimes, when Book was around Dean, he felt himself relaxing into the old memories, memories that made him feel protected, cared for. Memories that made him feel wanted...

Memories this Dean didn't have, would never, could never have.

Book knew he should go.

Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural 

Dean looked up in surprise when Book had bolted out of the store, senses suddenly on red alert for anything that could have threatened the kid, something that could have frightened him.

They were alone however, the store empty except for the proprietor and the junk he was claiming to be "antiques". Dean glanced nervously out the door, suddenly sure that Book was about to vanish any minute, something he'd been waiting for the past hour to happen, if he were honest.

Book seemed genuinely distressed, though whether or not it was because of the case or Dean or both, he didn't know.

But he disliked it nonetheless.

Something about the kid, more than his seeming familiarity, pulled at Dean, fanned to life protective instincts in him he'd honestly had no idea he had.

Now, as he glared at the proprietor into hurrying up with the necklace he was wanting to examine, he glanced over and over again out the glass doors, where he could see Book standing, anxiety clear on his face.

A moment later, cheap necklace in hand, he pushed through the doors, moving quickly to the younger man.

"Book, you okay?" He asked gruffly, feeling awkward, yet also needing to know if the kid was alright.

Book glanced up at him, distress clear in his large hazel eyes, and Dean felt... something .

Panic, anger, distress, fear.

Something .

Something about Book's eyes, the way he looked at Dean like he hoped Dean had the answers.

"Book, talk to me!" He ordered, wondering if the kid's blood sugar was misbehaving again. Maybe he had a candy bar in the car...

"I have to go." Book said anxiously, now looking everywhere but at Dean and Dean frowned, not liking the evasion. Something had obviously spooked the kid.

"Hey, what is it? Did you have a...I don't know, a vision?" Dean asked, moving subtly to block Book's exit.

Book was breathing deeply, raggedly. He shook his head. "I'm fine. Everything's okay." He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

"Sorry, I'm sorry. That guy's a real deal, like me, and it caught me by surprise. It's a little like static shock, I guess, but in my mind." Sam said finally.

Dean glanced back at the man through the windows, frowning. "That guy? How come he seems fine?"

Book shook his head. "I'm more...sensitive, I guess. Look, I'm not sure I can be of much help."

Dean frowned, then nodded. "Sure, I get it. You gotta do what ya gotta do. Can you just take a look at this first?" He held out the necklace that had belonged to both the women.

Book studied it for a moment, an unwilling smile curving across his lips.

"What?" Dean asked, smiling back in reluctant response.

Book's lips twitched once more as he held out the pendant for Dean to see the writing on the back.

'made in china'

"Oh, man, I freaking hate Lily Dale!" Dean groaned, and now Book was laughing.

Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural 

"This case is the worst, Christ! Stupid, stupid psychics!" Dean was really on a roll now and Book laughed harder, because this is exactly how he'd always pictured Dean reacting if he had to deal with a place like Lily Dale.

"Book, man, throw me a bone. Apparently you and Antiquer dude are the only real deals in town. You got nothing, nothing at all?"

Book sighed as his laughter subsided. Dean looked genuinely distressed now, and it pulled at his heartstrings. Why was it okay for him to help strays and runaways but not his brother? Surely he could keep things simple enough, easy enough to work one stupid case.

Didn't Book owe Dean that much?

Book nodded, thinking for a moment. "Well, I think you're just going to have to work this case like a cop, from the ground up. There may not be a whole lot of natural talent in this town, but there are a lot of crystals, books and artifacts. This necklace is phony, but even a ten year old can make mischief with the right spell book. There are simply too many supernatural options to pick our favorite flavor."

Dean was nodding, eyes narrowed in thought. "Yeah, yeah, you're right. Start with the victims, find the motive, see who fits the profile. Okay, come on!"

"Huh?" Book asked,looking up in surprise.

Dean grinned at him innocently. "Oh, come on, you're not going to abandon me now? A town full of liars and fake psychics? You're my secret weapon, kiddo."

Book heard Dean say the word ' kiddo ' and he could have sworn, for a moment, that everything stopped. His mind, his heart, time itself…because he'd forgotten that.

He'd forgotten that Dean called him that, in their other life-that-wasn't.

Dean had called Sam kiddo and now memories were flitting across Book's mind's eye like butterflies.

He swallowed. "Yeah, okay. Let's do this. Where are we going, anyway."

Dean's grin widened. "The first victim's granddaughter is due back in town today. She's the only living relative. I figured we'd start there. Who knows you better than family, right?"