Season Four

Episode Nine: Reflection

By irismay42

Part Two

Lawrence, KS
March 19th, 2010

“You boys ever hear of this little invention called the telephone?” Missouri Moseley demanded, standing with her hands on her hips, her chin raised slightly, as she watched the Winchesters climbing out of the Impala and heading up her front path.

They’d left Addie at the motel where she’d promised to clean up the mess she’d made with her little spell—it’d be as good as new, she’d promised them, and Dean wasn’t entirely sure what she meant by that—and hightailed it to Missouri’s as fast as they could.

Still, from the disgruntled expression on Missouri’s face, Dean kind of wished he was back trading insults with the demon, because she wasn’t half as scary as the psychic standing in front of them.

“Uh, sorry, Missouri,” Sam said, doing the whole puppy dog thing, which Dean approved of wholeheartedly. If anything could get them into Missouri’s good books it was Sam’s hangdog expression and his dimples. “We were kind of…busy.”

“Busy savin’ the world, Winchester style, I suppose,” Missouri snorted, her expression softening a little as Sam stepped up onto the porch. She caught his hand in her own, just as Dean remembered she had that first time they’d met, right here in this house, and her expression softened still further. “You still got the weight of the world on your shoulders, honey,” she commented, patting his hand before turning her attention to Dean, who took a cautious step back.

“As for you?” she said, grabbing Dean’s hand and yanking him forward again. “You got some explaining to do, boy.”

“I—uh—do?” Dean stammered, attempting to pull his hand out of Missouri’s ridiculously firm grip but failing spectacularly.

“Uh-huh,” Missouri nodded. “Hear you boys were in Lawrence last Halloween. Didn’t think to come say hello to an old psychic, huh? Oh wait. Too busy. You ever think I might o’ been able to help you two numbskulls when you done went and lost your daddy over in that accursed cemetery?”

Dean balked at that. “I—well—honestly? No.” He looked down at his feet, suddenly finding a detailed examination of his boots preferable to looking Missouri in the eye. “Didn’t actually occur to me.”

Missouri still had hold of Dean’s hand, but instead of breaking his fingers, she surprised him by giving them a comforting squeeze.

“Well next time you boys go losin’ somethin’ that valuable right on my doorstep, you remember to come look me up, huh? You never know, I might actually be able to help you out a little.”

She surprised Dean still further then by suddenly putting her hand on his cheek and giving it an affectionate pat.

He blinked at her stupidly.

“Now, you boys mind tellin’ me why on God’s green earth I have a demon sneaking into my house in the middle of the day?”

Despite Missouri’s unexpected show of affection toward him, Dean simply couldn’t help himself. “Hey, you’re the psychic. Don’t you know already?”

That earned him a slap to the back of the head.

“Mind your tone, boy. I still got that spoon.”

“And a devil’s trap on the ceiling of your kitchen?” Dean returned. “That a permanent part of your décor or somethin’ you put up there this morning?”

“Well, as you just pointed out, I am psychic,” Missouri replied archly, before her expression once again softened and she winked at Sam. “And Bobby called me.” Dean snorted, causing Missouri’s gaze to snap back in his direction. “And notice, even with his house surrounded by demons, Bobby still knows how to pick up a telephone?”

“Kiss ass,” Dean murmured under his breath.

“I heard that,” Missouri replied.

“So you know what’s going on?” Sam interposed. “With the demons?”

Missouri nodded. “They have your friends under house arrest,” she confirmed, beckoning the boys into her house.

“Not anymore,” Dean informed her, carefully stepping over the line of salt and cat’s eye shells piled across the threshold.

“We called them just after you called us,” Sam added. “They all had the same story to tell. Apparently the demons holding them captive all suddenly grabbed at their own throats, and before they knew what was happening, demon smoke was being choked out of them and they were taking an unscheduled trip Down South.”

“Everyone’s safe now,” Dean said. “Thanks to Addie.”

Missouri nodded. “Addie Roberts?” she said. “From the library, right? I’ve known her a few years. Although I don’t think she knows I know she’s a demon.”

“You do?” Sam said. “She said she’d help us if we stopped Lucifer bringing Hell to Earth. Performed this nifty little spell that located all the demons and sent them packing back where they belong.”

“Damnedest thing,” Missouri said, leading the boys through her house toward the kitchen in back. “Demon setting up house with a willing host like that. I’ve only ever heard of such a thing a couple of times before.”

“You have?” Sam asked. “I figured she must be pretty unique.”

“Well there’s another obvious example,” Missouri said. “Friend of yours, actually.”

The brothers exchanged an uncertain glance.

“Big New Jersey mobster by the name of Luciano Ferinacci ring a bell?”

“Ferinacci’s a meatsuit?” Dean burst out. “I always thought—”

“That he was Lucifer’s physical form? No, Lucifer needs a host like any other demon. I guess he promised Ferinacci he’d make him king of the criminal underworld or something.”

“And king of the—you know—actual Underworld,” Sam added, shuddering. “Can’t imagine being possessed by Lucifer. The guy must have been crazy to make that deal.”

Missouri nodded her agreement. “People go to strange lengths to get their hands on a little power, Sam,” she observed, shrugging. “At least Addie’s host had altruistic reasons for making the deal she made. Her family all thought it was a miracle you know, her remission. Still, I think she can be trusted. Addie and her guest have been working at the library for years and there’s never been any trouble.”

The psychic paused briefly, stopping before a closed door, her hand hovering over the door handle.

Taking a breath, she pushed open the door, revealing her homely kitchen and the young woman standing beneath the devil’s trap painted across the ceiling, her arms folded tightly across her chest.

Long chestnut hair fell in soft waves down the girl’s back, and she turned expectantly as the brothers entered the room.

“Not exactly the kind of reunion I was expecting, boys.”

Dean sucked in a sharp breath.

Had he not been half-expecting it, he might have looked surprised, rather than merely repulsed.

“Mia,” Dean greeted the half-demon neutrally. “So very horrible to see you again.”

“You too, baby,” Mia agreed, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “I was really hoping you two’d be decomposing six feet under by now.”

“Aw, that’s nice of you,” Dean cooed sarcastically. “Sorry to disappoint, baby. I guess we’re even harder to kill than you are.”

He folded his arms across his chest, mimicking Mia’s posture exactly, which caused the girl to drop her hands to her sides, fingers curling in impotent fury.

Dean began to circle her, a grin splitting his face. “You know, all I can say is, go Addie!” he said. “I’m seriously impressed. Demons exorcised, all our friends safe, and the bitch behind bars! I owe that girl a drink!”

“You can’t keep me here forever,” Mia spat, involuntarily glancing up at the devil’s trap.

“I certainly hope not,” Missouri put in. “You think I’d be able to eat a bite in here having to look at your skanky face all through dinner? It’s enough to give a body indigestion.”

Mia didn’t respond, merely narrowed her eyes at the psychic, her arms coming back up across her chest.

“You know, we killed you before,” Sam put in. “We can do it again.”

“With extreme pleasure,” Dean added, drawing his Colt and aiming it squarely at the half-demon’s head.

Her expression shifted slightly, chin raised and nostrils flared. “Kill me and you’ll never get your daddy back,” she hissed.

Dean almost laughed. “You think we’d actually fall for that?” he demanded, flicking off the safety. “How stupid do you think we are?”

“You better not answer that with a gun pointed at your head, hon,” Missouri added, smiling brightly at Dean, who frowned at her.

“Look,” Mia said, drawing a long, lazy breath as if this was all terribly boring and she had far more interesting places to be. “Kill me, don’t kill me, I really don’t give a rat’s ass. I die, Lucifer’ll just bring me back. Like last time.”

“Well aren’t you the lucky one?” Dean observed. “Your own little Resurrection Buddy.”

Mia smirked. “Guy can’t live without me. Surely you can relate to that, Dean?”

Dean shrugged noncommittally. “Can’t live with ’em, can’t kill ’em without ’em coming back from the dead. Story of my life, sweetheart.”

Mia sighed theatrically. “A sad and pointless tale of one man’s struggle to figure out how to tie his shoelaces without his little brother to hold his hand.”

Dean didn’t even flinch. “Kinda hard to tie your shoelaces with someone holding your hand, sweetheart,” he observed. “No wonder you’re so screwed.”

Mia narrowed her eyes. “Oh, I’m not screwed, baby,” she purred. “I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.”

“Stuck in a devil’s trap in the middle of Kansas?” Dean asked. “Jeez, your long term goals really suck, honey. I’d fire my life coach if I were you.”

“Don’t need a life coach when you’re Lucifer’s most trusted lieutenant.”

“Well, I always said he was a terrible judge of character.”

“Yeah, well,” Mia sighed. “Me too, apparently.”

Dean raised a brow. “Oh yeah? You finally realized you’re batting for the wrong team?”

Mia scoffed. “Oh absolutely. You two are way more impressive than Lucifer,” she spat sarcastically.

“And yet here you are.”

Mia sighed again. “Here I am. Stuck in a devil’s trap in Kansas. With you two idiots.”

“And your boss’s plan all gone to hell and back. Pardon the pun.”

Mia squinted at him. “You just got lucky, Dean. You have people around you who actually know what they’re doing while you fumble around in the dark like an old, blind, really freakin’ annoying terrier who should have been put out of everybody’s misery years ago.”

“So what exactly was the plan, Mia?” Sam interjected, before Dean could put a bullet through Mia’s brain just on principle. “You were just gonna talk us to death?”

Mia shifted her attention to Sam. “C’mon, Fred, you don’t actually expect me to tell you and Daphne here—” she indicated Dean with a jerk of her head, “—my whole diabolical scheme, do ya?” she asked.

“Daphne was pretty hot,” Dean commented. “I think I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Dean,” Sam hissed, bitchface telegraphing the instruction, Shut the hell up! more clearly than any words ever could. “C’mon, Mia,” he continued, turning back to the half-demon. “I know how much you like to monologue, given the opportunity. Here’s your opportunity.”

“Well it’s not like you’ve got anywhere important to be for, oh, I don’t know—” Mia glanced at her watch. “Eleven hours, right?”

“Talk, don’t talk,” Dean hissed, echoing Mia’s earlier words. “I really couldn’t give a rat’s ass. I shoot you, you stay dead until Lucifer finds you, and, believe me, I’ll make it my personal goal to make sure the Big Guy never finds you. Not all of you, anyway.”

“Color me terrified. Oh Dean, you’re so badass!”

“Back to my ass again. Give it up, sweetheart, we’re over. You gotta move on. Although that’s kinda hard to do stuck in a devil’s trap.”

“Laugh it up, pretty boy, you’re not gettin’ your dad out of Stull without my help tonight.”

“And why would you want to help us?” Sam asked.

Mia sighed again. “Enlightened self-interest,” she said. “Like you said, my boss’s plan’s kinda in the toilet.”

“His plan to…?”

“To get you away from Stull tonight,” Mia finally admitted. “To make it impossible for you asshats to be here at midnight when the Gate opens.”

“You were trying to lure us away,” Sam clarified, “by taking our friends hostage all over the country.”

“I always said you were the smart one, Sam,” Mia confirmed. “Although in your gene pool, I guess smart’s kinda relative.” She cast Dean a condescending glance.

“So what do you want?” Sam continued. “Are you actually offering to help us? Or are you just yanking our chains like usual?”

Mia shrugged dismissively. “I’ve got no loyalty to Lucifer,” she said. “Sure, he may have brought me back from the dead and everything but this is my second chance at life, not his. I’ve never really been the big picture type. I’m only in this for myself.”

“Now there’s a surprise,” Dean muttered.

“Look,” Mia burst out in exasperation. “I don’t want to die again, alright? You idiots agree to let me go when this is all over, I’ll help you get your dad out.”

Dean shifted uncertainly. “That’s it? You want us to just let you walk? After everything you’ve done to us?”

“That’s exactly what I want,” Mia confirmed. “Sure, messin’ with you two and killin’ folks in the name of the Prince of Darkness is fun and all, but in case you didn’t notice, I don’t play well with others. Let’s just say I prefer self-employment. You let me walk, I’ll get your dad out. It’s as simple as that.”

“How?” Sam demanded. “How do you plan on doing that?”

One corner of Mia’s mouth ticked up into a smug smirk. “Lucifer, my lord and master, bestowed upon me some of his powers,” she explained, modulating her voice like an actress doing Shakespeare. “I can control the Gate better than he can.”

“Wait,” Dean held up a hand. “You can control the Gate? So—so screw the Equinox, screw the rules, you could just open it for us?”

“Not exactly,” Mia admitted. “I can’t open or close the thing. Even Lucifer can’t do that. But I can choose which realities I enter, which I travel to. If your dad’s still alive, I can help you find him.”

“He’s alive,” Dean said confidently. “And we’re gonna find him, without your help.”

“What makes you think we’d ever trust you?” Sam added. “After everything you did.”

“I don’t need you to trust me,” Mia returned. “I just need you to promise not to kill me if I help you find your dad. I don’t want to be snuggle buddies with you, Sam. I don’t need you to like me. This is purely a business arrangement. You help me, I help you. You get your dad, and I get my freedom.”

“What makes you think Lucifer won’t find you?”

“I’m real good at hiding,” Mia replied. “And he gave me some of his powers, remember? Believe me, I can get him off my tail.”

“Well, that’s the problem right there,” Dean said. “We don’t believe you. Because you’re a lying, cheating, two-faced, back-stabbing Hell-bitch, and I wouldn’t spit on you if you were on fire, honey.”

“Then you can kiss your daddy goodbye, Dean,” Mia hissed back. “You’ll never see him again. Just because you couldn’t get over yourself enough to let me help you.”

“You help me?” Dean burst out, taking a step toward the half-demon. “Because that’s so gonna happen!”

“Dean.” Sam was suddenly pulling him backward, away from Mia, back toward the doorway where they’d entered.

“Sammy, what—”

“We need to talk.”

Dean suddenly found himself yanked back out into the hallway, Sam all in his face with the earnest expression and those friggin’ puppy dog eyes.

“Dean, maybe we should listen to her.”

Well that wasn’t exactly what he’d been expecting his brother to say.

“You’re kidding, right?” Dean burst out. “Or high? Or brain damaged? Listen? To her?”

“Dean, Dean just wait.” Sam had his hands on his brother’s shoulders, apparently attempting to hold him still. “Look, we don’t exactly have much of a choice here, man! We have eleven hours and still have no idea how to get Dad out of Stull! We don’t have a lot of options, Dean.”

“But it’s Mia, Sam!” Dean burst out. “Remember her? The bitch who kidnapped me? Hit you with the car and left you for dead? Tortured me? Tortured Dad? Tried to kill us all? Several times?”

“Dean, I know. I do. But this might be the only shot we got, man! And if Mia’s the only hope we got, well that’s better than no hope at all!”

Dean honestly felt like his brain might explode. “Sam,” he said, shaking his head. “Sammy, we can’t trust her! You really wanna put Dad’s life in her hands? Really?”

“No, of course I don’t,” Sam returned. “But we’re out of options and its zero hour, Dean.”

Dean shook his head. “Sam—”

“I know, man. But it’s not like we’re gonna just blindly follow her, right? We know better than that now.”

“Sammy. Sam, this is Dad’s life we’re talking about!”

“And we have no idea how to save him! Dean, we gotta do this. It’s the only way.”

Dean took a breath and swallowed the scream trying to make its way up his trachea.

Setting his jaw, he spun on his heel and marched back into the kitchen, stopping at the very limit of the devil’s trap and glaring at Mia.

“Alright, bitch,” he ground out through gritted teeth. “Deal. But the first sign you’re yankin’ our chain? You’re toast, sweetheart.”

Mia just smiled.

Stull Cemetery,
Stull, KS
11:55pm, March 19th 2010

“So where’s the friggin’ church?” Dean demanded, hands on his hips as he kicked at the damp grass beneath his feet.

“Patience, sweetie,” Mia cooed, hands buried deep in the pockets of her jeans as she squinted off into the distance. “It’ll get here when it gets here.”

“That’s very Zen of you,” Dean observed. “But I might have decided to gank you by then. Y’know. Just for the hell of it. History repeating and all that stuff. This is where I blew your brains out before, right?”

“Yes, Dean,” Mia said on a sigh, shifting her weight from foot to foot. “This is where you killed me. So many happy memories. Maybe we should bring a picnic next time.”

Dean snorted.

“So what happens when the church materializes?” Sam interposed, shoulders hunched over as he stuffed his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, steeling himself against the midnight chill.

“It’ll be just like Halloween,” Mia replied. “Without the ‘killing Mia’ part.”

“Pity,” Dean muttered. “That was my favorite part of last Halloween.”

Mia pointedly ignored him. “When the church reappears, we go inside, and I decide which reality we cross into. Unlike last time you knuckle-draggers did this, we shouldn’t get pulled from one random reality to another.”

“We—uh—need to hang on to each other or somethin’?” Dean asked, causing Mia to shoot him a disturbingly flirtatious look.

“Sure, I’ll hold your hand if you’re scared, baby.”

Dean scowled at her. “Can it, Jezebel,” he spat. “And for your information, last time we did this, the only way me ’n him managed to end up in the same goddamn place was if we had a hold of each other.”

“Aw, that’s sweet,” Mia cooed. “Maybe you’d rather hold Sammy’s hand then.”

Before Dean could actually think about what he was doing, he’d drawn his Colt and pressed the barrel against her forehead. “It’s not too late for me to change my mind about ventilating you,” he warned her threateningly.

“Remember your daddy, Dean,” Mia reminded him, not even flinching. “You need me.”

“Like a hole in the head,” Dean agreed. “Which you’re gonna get if you don’t shut the hell up.”

Mia never got the chance to reply, as the ground beneath their feet suddenly started to tremble, the air in front of them shimmering like a heat haze while the grave markers around them rumbled ominously.

“Is this it?” Dean asked, blinking.

When he opened his eyes again, Stull church was looming right in front of him.

It was exactly as he remembered it from Halloween, crumbling stone and dark, hostile windows, a large wooden door that looked as if it would collapse if anyone pushed too hard against it.

The only difference was the demons.

Or lack thereof.

Maybe the demons only come out to play on Halloween, he mused, glancing at his watch. 12:01am. March 20th. Spring Equinox.

“At least the Gate’s punctual,” Sam murmured, glancing from his brother to Mia.

The half-demon shrugged, inclining her head in the direction of the phantom structure. “Well go on, Dean,” she said brightly. “Ladies first.”

“After you, bitch,” Dean returned, gripping his Colt and reminding himself for the fiftieth time that night he was doing this for Dad. Maybe he’d get to gank the skank later. Make this whole sorry night worthwhile.

Mia shrugged. “Don’t you two forget to hold hands now,” she told them, shoving past them and heading straight for the church’s rickety-looking door.

Dean spared Sam the shortest of pissed off glances before following her inside.

But instead of being greeted by the church’s dingy interior, he saw only…sunshine.

Stull Cemetery
Stull, KS
12:02am March 20th 2010

The cold stone angel made no protest as Lucifer leaned against the grave marker, one arm draped casually around its marble shoulders.

“Now don’t you worry, brother,” he told the insensible monument. “I know I’m only supposed to be here on Halloween, but let’s face it, the old rules don’t really apply anymore.” He smiled ever-so-slightly. “It’s not as if I only walk the earth one night a year these days.”

Unsurprisingly, the angel made no reply, and Lucifer turned his attention back to the church, to the Gateway, and to the three shadowy figures moving cautiously inside.

The half-breed had already screwed this up once. That human wannabe and her meddlesome spells. Mia should have dealt with her sooner. But still. She’d get hers. The Light Bringer had plans for Addie Roberts.

And for Mia.

If she screwed things up again tonight, she might find herself out of a job.

And a life.

* * * *

Sam blinked in the bright sunlight and tried to remember what just happened.

Church. Mia. Dean…

Lawrence?

He was looking up at a big blue house, a gnarled tree reaching twisted fingers toward an upstairs window. A tire swing hung from one of its lowest branches, swaying slightly in the gentle breeze. Porch light. Newly-mowed lawn. Minivan on the drive.

This was Jenny’s house. The house Mia had burned down.

The house that had burned down twenty-six years earlier.

The house where Mary Winchester had died.

Dean was rubbing awkwardly at his eyes, as if he didn’t believe what he was seeing.

He also looked like his knees might go out from under him at any second.

“You okay, man?” Sam asked, catching his brother’s elbow and offering a little support before Dean face-planted on the sidewalk.

“If we’re in that goddamn photo album again…” Dean growled, blinking rapidly as he struggled to focus on the building in front of them. “Sam? We’re not where I think we are, are we?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, Dean. I think we are.”

Mia appeared strangely unaffected by the whole experience, even as Sam’s ears continued to ring and his limbs felt strangely unattached to the rest of his body.

The half-demon was looking about herself with a vaguely perplexed expression on her face.

“Problem?” Sam asked, following the girl’s gaze across the street to the Winchesters’ former home.

“Uh—” Mia mumbled.

“Where are we?” Sam continued. “I mean, not where. We’re in Lawrence. Obviously. But. Where are we? And is this where we’re supposed to be? Is Dad here?”

Mia shrugged dismissively. “Detour,” she informed him casually. “I guess dear Johnny’s a lot deeper into the Gateway than I thought he’d be. Could take a few hops to make it to his reality.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me—” Sam began, smelling a rat, just as Dean’s Colt was suddenly in Mia’s face again.

“I swear to God, you don’t take us to our dad right now I’m gonna—”

“Dean!”

Dean looked up sharply, he and Sam both following the direction of the woman’s voice calling Dean’s name.

Across the street, a middle-aged woman was walking down the path from Jenny’s house—their house, Sam reminded himself. She was beautiful, long blonde hair, twinkling hazel eyes. Beautiful and…and familiar.

There was a little boy in her arms, tow-headed and pale skinned with freckles strewn across his nose. He couldn’t have been more than four or five years old, and he was waving excitedly at a shiny black behemoth of a car that had just pulled up at the curb.

A young man virtually launched himself out of the driver’s side of the car and toward the woman and the boy, and it was with a start Sam suddenly realized he was looking at the Impala.

And he was looking at Dean.

The Dean standing next to him made an oddly strangled sound in the back of his throat.

“The Impala looks…good,” Sam stammered, absently admiring the Chevy’s brightly polished chrome and showroom shine as the woman with the little boy in her arms grinned incandescently at the Dean across the street, before rushing toward him.

“Look who’s here!” she cooed to the little boy, as the Dean across the street held his arms out for the child.

“Daddy!” the boy cried out, as Dean swung him high into the air before pulling him in for a bone-crushing hug.

“Hey there, Sammy,” Dean said, kissing the top of the boy’s head. “You had a good day with Granma?”

Sam almost choked on his own tongue. Mary. Mom. That was Mom. Right there. On the other side of the street. And—and Dean…Dean was a dad.

“What—what is this place?” the Dean standing next to Sam managed to croak, stumbling over the words as he struggled to force them out of a desperately dry-sounding mouth.

He was staring so hard at the little family across the street that Sam figured his eyes must be hurting.

Mia shrugged dismissively. “Who the hell cares?”

“I care!” Dean spat, and once again his Colt was abruptly jammed in the girl’s face.

“Dean,” Sam cautioned him, putting what he hoped was a steadying hand on his brother’s wrist, although he was shaking almost as much as Dean.

Mia once again exhaled her most histrionic sigh. “This is Happily-Ever-After-Ville, Dean,” she explained. “The fire in Sam’s nursery? Didn’t kill your mom here.” She glanced briefly at Sam before adding, “Just killed you, Sammy.”

The world—whichever world they were in—spun briefly in front of Sam’s eyes and he blew out a sharp breath as if he’d just been punched in the gut. “This—this is what happens to our family if I die instead of Mom?”

“Sam, don’t—” Dean began to remonstrate, but the rest of his sentence completely lost all inertia when another figure appeared behind Mary.

Dean took an involuntary step toward them.

“Dad?”

Sam reached out and caught Dean’s arm, shaking his head sadly. “That’s not him, Dean.”

He didn’t know how he knew, he just knew.

Sam had never seen his dad looking so relaxed, so happy as the man standing across the street, one arm around his wife, the other mussing the hair of his grandson. This wasn’t the man who had disappeared into the Gateway with them, the man who had been tortured by a yellow-eyed version of his youngest son, the man who he and Dean had left for dead on a crumbling scab of rock.

Dean didn’t even look at him, but immediately halted his forward momentum, clamping his jaw shut and balling his fists at his sides.

“Dean—” Sam began, but found himself suddenly sidetracked when the passenger door of the Impala was flung open and a young woman clambered out, loaded down with baby bags as she struggled to get herself and her luggage out of the big Chevy.

“Jess?”

This was getting weirder by the second.

There she was, Jessica Moore, dumping her bags and her packages on the sidewalk and stroking the little boy’s hair as he clung to Dean’s neck.

“Hey, baby! Miss me?” she asked, before turning her face up toward Sam’s brother and—and kissing him.

Sam wasn’t sure he could watch anymore.

“Holy crap,” the Dean Sam was currently hanging onto for dear life mumbled, apparently horrified.

“Oh yeah,” Mia smirked. “I forgot about that. In this reality you’re not such a loser, Dean. You’re the one who gets the girl.”

“How—how did…?”

“Stanford, honey,” Mia said. “In this reality you’re not such a moron either. You and pretty little Jess? You met at Stanford here.”

Dean’s mouth opened and closed a couple of times but no sound managed to make its way out.

“Dean went to Stanford?” As soon as the incredulous outburst left his mouth, Sam instantly regretted how patronizing he sounded.

Dean didn’t seem to notice.

“I went to Stanford?” he simply echoed, as if he couldn’t believe it either.

“Baseball scholarship,” Mia confirmed. “Majored in Mechanical Engineering. You build spaceships or something.” She shrugged. “You did good here, Dean. Without your little brother to weigh you down.” She shrugged. “Funny how you’re just a dumb waste of skin in our universe and not in all the others.” She smiled sweetly, suddenly reaching out a finger and running it along his cheekbone. “It’s such pretty skin though,” she cooed. “Who cares if you’re a vacuous airhead, huh?”

Dean jerked away from her in disgust. “Touch me again and you lose a finger, bitch,” he growled, scowling across the street at the sickeningly sweet scene before shooting a piercing look back at Mia. “Can we go?” he demanded. “Now?”

“Thought you enjoyed Happy Families, Dean?”

Dean glanced briefly at Sam before once again aiming his Colt between Mia’s eyes. “Dad. Now, bitch.”

Mia rolled her eyes pointedly. “Keep your pantyhose on, Princess.”

She raised her hand, brow furrowing slightly, and Sam began to feel that oh-so-familiar tug on his shoulders, the colors fading out in front of his eyes, leaving only a bright after-image on his retinas: Dean and Jessica and little Sammy in their arms, John and Mary beaming proudly behind them, all happy and smiling and this is what happens if I die.

And then it was as if the whole world around him was a kaleidoscope, different pieces of different realities rushing past in quick succession, rather than the sudden jerk from one place to another, as if Mia was sifting through each universe, trying to decide where to stop.

And then suddenly everything stopped.

* * * *

When the world—worlds—stopped spinning, it was dark.

And hot as Hell.

Oddly, Dean would rather be here, standing in a dingy cave stinking of sulfur with the sounds of wailing voices assaulting his ears, than back in Lawrence, looking at that snapshot of what might have been.

If Sam had died.

Sure, he’d thought about what his life would have been like if November 2nd 1983 had never happened. But he’d never considered what his life would have been like had Sam been the one to die that night.

Never.

And he didn’t want to consider it now.

He was never going to consider it.

Not ever.

Instead, he glanced about himself, trying to get a lay of the land.

“This sure don’t look like Kansas anymore,” he muttered, scratching his head thoughtfully.

“Oh, but it is, Dorothy,” Mia replied, squinting down a tunnel branching off to their left. “We’re getting close now.”

“Close to what?” Sam asked, and Dean wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know the answer.

“Hell,” Mia replied shortly.

“Hell’s in Kansas?” Dean asked.

“No. But it’s close. C’mon. This way.”

She headed off down the tunnel, not even sparing her companions a backwards glance to check they were following, and Dean exchanged an uncertain look with Sam, who shrugged.

“When in not-Kansas…” Sam said with a shrug, and with that, he headed off after the half-demon, Dean reluctantly following in his wake.

While he was glad to be away from the Stepford Winchesters, Dean couldn’t say he was exactly overjoyed to be here. Wherever here might be.

Rounding a corner, his eyes skittered to some odd shapes scattered about the cave floor, blackened, charred lumps sticking up at strange angles out of the rock. On closer inspection, he discovered they were pieces of bone, broken skeletons. Lots of them. And skulls. Lots of skulls. Blackened and twisted, fractured and broken, some of them limned with traces of yellow, and Dean shuddered involuntarily.

Here be demons.

“Sammy…?” he called after his brother a little uncertainly, and Sam paused to turn back toward him, his face ashen and his eyes dark.

“I know,” the younger brother confirmed quietly, and Dean had to close his eyes for a second as hot air blasted at them, the sounds of distant screaming beginning to intensify.

“You sure we’re not in Hell?” Dean asked, and Mia didn’t even turn to look at him, just carried on picking her way through the skeleton-strewn tunnel. “Sure as hell sounds like it.”

“Those aren’t the souls of the Damned you can hear, Dean,” Mia explained off-handedly, barely paying him any attention at all.

“Then what are they?” Sam asked. “What is this place?”

Mia stopped suddenly, looking over her shoulder at Sam and grinning. “Hell on Earth,” she explained, motioning the boys forward with a brief inclination of her head. “Come see. This is what happens when Lucifer brings about the Apocalypse.”

Dean followed Mia and his brother to the mouth of a huge cavern thronged with people packed shoulder to shoulder like cattle being led to slaughter.

The sound of their wailing was almost unbearable, thousands of voice raised in what, in some other place, might have been mistaken for worship, but here sounded more akin to entreaty.

They were begging for mercy. All of them.

“Welcome to Lawrence, boys,” Mia almost had to shout to be heard above the sobbing and the pleading. “Under Lucifer’s reign.”

No way.

No. Way.

As Dean scanned the tormented crowd in disbelief, something grabbed his arm, and he looked down to see a young woman, her face twisted in agony, clothes torn and sticking in patches to burnt and blackened skin.

“Help me!” she begged through bloodied teeth and cracked, parched lips. “Deliver me!”

“Uh—” He pulled his arm out of her grasping, bloodstained fingers, nails torn from charred nail beds, skin peeling from charred bone.

“Help us!” Another voice cried from in front of him, more hands reaching out for him, grasping at his jacket, his hair, his hands. “Please!”

“Mercy! Have mercy!”

“Sammy?” Dean tried to push the grabbing hands away, tried to locate his brother in the throng of bodies closing in all around him, a putrid sea of rotting flesh at high tide.

“Dean!”

A strong hand gripped the collar of his jacket, pulling him backwards, away from the throng of hopeless desperation, and he was looking at his brother again, face even paler than it had been before.

“Dean.”

Sam’s gaze had drifted beyond his brother, across the heads of the wailing multitude, some of whom had dropped to their knees, faces buried in the dirt in supplication.

Dean followed his brother’s eye line to a raised area at the far side of the cavern, where a familiar-looking man sat on a golden throne, legs crossed casually as he sipped from a goblet filled with a red substance that Dean was pretty sure wasn’t a nice Bordeaux.

“Lucifer,” he muttered, blinking as his eyes strayed to the smaller throne positioned at the Devil’s right hand and the tall man reclining on the blood red cushions.

Yellow eyes looked out from Sam’s face and Dean heard his brother draw in a sharp breath as a contented smile slid across the cruel countenance of his mirror image.

Yellow-Eyed Sam took a delicate sip from the goblet Lucifer held out to him, his lips stained with blood as he bowed his head slightly in subservience.

And Dean couldn’t watch anymore.

“C’mon, Sam,” he said, grabbing his brother’s arm. “Let’s go.”

Sam shook his head, his eyes never leaving his counterpart as he remained rooted to the spot.

“Don’t, Sam,” Dean pleaded. “It’s not you. Don’t think about it.”

But Sam obviously was thinking about it. In fact Sam didn’t appear able to stop thinking about it.

“C’mon, Sammy,” Dean insisted once again, tugging on his brother’s arm. “Don’t.”

Sam shook his head, not even looking at him, eyes still transfixed by the duplicate of himself lounging on the dais, distant and cruel and so unSam that Dean couldn’t even bring himself to look again.

“Sam—”

“How many realities am I like this in, Dean?” Sam asked, teary-eyed and shaking. “All of them? Is this the way it’s gonna go for me, whatever I do? Am I damned to be this?”

Dean planted himself firmly between the spectacle of his little brother cozying up to Lucifer and his actual little brother trembling in front of him.

“No, Sam,” he said firmly, gripping his brother’s chin in his fingers and forcing him to look away from the yellow-eyed version of himself. “You don’t have demon blood in you, Sammy. Remember?” he reminded him, and Sam’s downcast eyes finally looked up and found Dean’s own. “That’s the difference, kiddo. This isn’t you. You know that. This isn’t going to happen to you. I won’t let it. You won’t let it. You have choices, Sam. That evil schmuck? Well he probably didn’t, all that poison in his veins.”

Sam nodded slowly, exhaling a shuddering breath.

“Sam?” Dean prodded.

Sam sniffed and wiped at his eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, Dean.”

“Okay then,” Dean said. “Now let’s get the hell outta here, huh?”

“Yeah,” Sam repeated, keeping his eyes studiously averted from the opposite side of the cavern. “Let’s.”

Dean pushed his brother in front of him, back out of the cave, and Mia was suddenly at his side, grinning.

“You don’t really believe that, do you?” she crowed. “That’s he’s not destined to go Dark Side?”

Dean didn’t even look at her. “The hell I do,” he confirmed confidently. “Sam’s nobody’s Anakin Skywalker, honey.”

He made to follow his brother into an adjoining cave, but Sam had stopped dead just a few feet in front of him, plastered to the wall in the shadows, and suddenly Dean could hear someone screaming. Not screaming like those agonized souls behind them. This was different. This was someone being tortured.

This was someone being tortured who Dean knew.

He started to run for his brother’s position, Mia suddenly grabbing his arm and pulling him up short.

She put a finger on her lips as they sidled up behind Sam, her eyes glittering as she whispered, “C’mon, Dean. You’re gonna love this, baby.”

Dean squinted at her before turning his attention to the cave before them, Sam standing stock still and staring at the figure strapped to the rack at the other end of the room.

“Dad?”

The word seemed to burn a hole in Dean’s larynx and for a second he couldn’t say anything else, couldn’t move, couldn’t think, could only stand there looking at his father’s battered body, his face a mass of bruises, one eye swollen shut and blood everywhere.

And then the paralysis lifted as quickly as it had overtaken him, and he made to bolt toward his father, straining to get to him even as Mia held him back, shoving him against the wall and scowling ferociously at him.

“Wait, dammit!” she hissed, slapping her hand over his mouth before he could make any further sound of protest. “You need to see this first!”

There was someone else in the room.

At the far end of the cave, in the shadows behind the rack, someone moved.

He was removing tools from a wooden cabinet and placing them on a tray in front of him—knives, saws, pliers. He seemed to be smiling as he worked, even though he was mostly turned away from them, taking great pleasure in handling his instruments of torture as he laid them out before him.

“Scream for me some more, Daddy,” he said softly, turning toward the cave’s entrance, toward where Dean and Sam and Mia stood cloaked in darkness.

And for an instant green eyes flashed yellow.

“All hail, venerated father of the Boy King and his beloved brother!”

He was laughing. He was laughing as he turned back to their father, bloody knife in one hand, razor in the other, and Dean’s legs nearly gave out completely and he had to look away. He had to look away because he couldn’t look at himself with yellow eyes any more than he could look at Sam.

The only sound in the room was John’s rasping breathing and the steady drip-drip-drip of his blood off the end of Yellow-Eyed Dean’s knife.

“No,” Sam murmured in disbelief. “This would never happen. Dean, you’d never—”

“He’d do anything for you, Sammy,” Mia cooed. “You know that, right? Anything. Even share your blood.”

Sam glanced back at her, revulsion in his eyes. “I don’t have—”

“Demon blood? Yes I know, not in your reality,” Mia agreed. “But in this one? In this one you do, remember? In this one you’re Lucifer’s Boy King and your beloved brother Dean is his Chief Torturer. You’re a regular Dynamic Duo here. Although I’m pretty sure you don’t get invited to many parties.”

Dean couldn’t watch, couldn’t look anywhere but at his feet, the blood rushing through his head and pounding in his ears and suddenly he understood exactly how Sam had felt the last time they fell through the looking glass, when he’d stood on that rocky outcropping and first laid eyes on a yellow-eyed version of himself.

“Dean would never…” Sam trailed off, shaking his head. “Neither of us…”

“Potential, Sam,” Mia hissed. “Remember that, Sammy. You boys both have such potential.”

Suddenly John let loose a terrified howl of sheer agony and Dean’s attention snapped back to his father and the yellow-eyed version of himself standing next to him with a dripping razor in his hand.

“No!”

Dean wasn’t entirely sure how he got there, how he was suddenly standing a foot away from the demon-blood-infected version of himself, his Colt raised inches from his alter ego’s forehead.

Yellow-Eyed Dean smiled at him.

And he emptied the gun’s entire clip into him, wiping the smile—and everything else—off his face in a burst of frenzied and completely uncontrolled violence.

Dean didn’t really register the sight of his mirror image’s bloodied and faceless corpse slumping to the floor. Was only half aware of Sam coming up behind him and taking the gun out of his hand, bending down and closing the other Dean’s one remaining eye.

Maybe he didn’t want to look at Dean with yellow eyes any more than Dean himself did.

“Dean?”

Sam was standing in front of him, head bowed slightly so they were at eye level.

“Dean?”

Dean blinked at him.

“Dean, you with me?”

John groaned and Dean came back to himself with a snap. “Dad?”

He snatched the other Dean’s bloodied knife from the floor where it had fallen and approached his father’s bruised and broken body cautiously, raising the knife and beginning to hack at the bonds holding John Winchester captive as Sam picked up the razor and went to work on the other side.

“It’s okay, Dad,” he tried to reassure his father. “It’s going to be okay. We’re going to get you out of here.”

John didn’t reply, barely conscious, his head hanging low between his shoulders.

“It’s him, right?” Dean asked Mia as she stood at the far end of the cave, watching. “This is our dad?”

“It’s him,” the half-demon confirmed, her voice strangely emotionless.

“Hold on, Dad,” Sam was saying in an echo of his brother. “It’s going to be okay.”

John stirred, a low moan emanating from his throat that sounded uncomfortably like a wounded animal.

Slowly, carefully, he raised his head, his dark eyes bloodshot and wild with terror.

“Get away from me!” he screamed, his body wracked with trembling and his gaze never leaving the razor in Dean’s hand. “Get away from me you monsters!”

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The Winchester Chronicles