Chapter Text
“You boys really stepped in it this time,” the witch purred through labored breaths. “What sort of Hell have you unleashed upon the world now?”
Sam and especially Dean weren’t in the mood to indulge the witch. After she and two of her loaned demon lackeys slaughtered half the small town and effectively broke another of the 66 Seals, the witch was lucky the brothers were still letting her talk. Not that it mattered. The three bullet holes in her chest would take care of her soon enough. A lucky break, that. The boys had the worst track record with witches, and while they won this time, because of the broken Seal, they didn’t consider it a victory. In fact, they were one step closer to the end of the world.
“The beings that live in the shadows, the demons, everyone is talking about it. The Seals are breaking, one by one, thanks to you, Dean Winchester, the man who started it all.”
Dean regarded the witch coldly as she spit up blood with her dark laugh.
“You’re a plague upon this world, the both of you.”
“Funny, we feel the same about you,” Dean retorted. “So just do us a favor and die already so we can move on to the next one.”
To their surprise, the witch smiled and started laughing once more. Sam’s brow furrowed. “What’s so funny?”
After another moment, the witch’s laugh tapered. “I will die, and you will move on… to plague another world with the death and destruction that follows your every move.”
“What are you—?”
Suddenly, the witch began speaking in tongues, and her eyes glowed a swirling mix of fire-orange and midnight blue. Dean yelled at her to shut up as he drew his gun, but by the time he’d leveled the barrel, it was too late. With the final words of her spell defiantly proclaimed, a brilliant light and sharp pulse emitted from the witch’s body, whiting out the Winchesters’ vision and knocking them backwards off of their feet with no wall or floor in sight.
January 2018
“It was good talking to you, sweetie. Stay safe in the snow and let me know how your test goes, ok? Love you!”
“Alright, Mom. You stay safe too. Love you, bye.”
Hanging up the phone, you placed it on the nearby end table and leaned forward into your hands with a groan. You’d think after more than two years your mother would be used to once weekly phone calls. You’d think she’d learn not to have 2-hour conversations when a big exam was right around the corner. You’d think, but you’d be wrong. Now you were even more behind with studying, and you tried to massage the stress of it out of your temples.
“Guess I’m not having any downtime before bed later,” you mumbled bitterly. Studying right up until you fell asleep usually ended in a restless night, but you had to make up for lost time somehow. Dejectedly, you got to your feet and stretched before moving to the window. In a nearby streetlight cutting through the dark of the night, you could see the slanting snow whipping around from the blistering wind. Why couldn’t it snow like this during the week, so there’d be an extra full day to study? So what if a day’s worth of classes needed to be rescheduled? The school’s admin had done it before; they could do it again. But no, Mother Nature had other plans. Still, you enjoyed watching the weather unfold outside, and with the house’s poor insulation, you often felt it inside too, which gave you all that much more of an excuse to bundle up with sweaters and blankets and hot cocoa rather than turn on the heat. That, and you were poor.
In fact, it was about time for one of those cups of cocoa. You needed something to soothe your soul and reinvigorate your motivation for what was sure to be a late-night study session. So, into the kitchen you went, lazily putting the drink together. You started humming to drown out the sound of the microwave, and had just started up again after popping the concoction back in for a second time when the apartment suddenly shook – nothing terribly new in the creaky old house – and there came the sound of a masculine groan from inside your apartment. You stilled. Did someone break in? Despite your father’s worry, the suburbs of one of Massachusetts’ largest cities had been good to you the past nearly 3 years without much complaint and no crime whatsoever. Who’d try something now, with a house that until recently looked worse on the outside than the inside, and in the middle of a snow storm to boot?
Whatever the case, whatever the reason, you had to act. In the midst of the initial commotion, you stopped the microwave’s current task and slowly, quietly, opened the drawer below it. The German-steel cutting knife you’d casually handled and jokingly thought over the past few years of one day having to use in a fight suddenly felt too familiar in your hand. You didn’t know why. You didn’t know how to properly wield a knife, never even practiced properly dicing vegetables. So then why were you suddenly feeling so confident as you carefully toed forward? Well, as they said in school, fake it ‘til you make it.
“What the Hell was that?”
“I don’t know, but whatever she did I’m pretty sure she didn’t kill us.”
“How do you know?”
“Just a feeling?”
“Alright then, can your feeling tell us where the Hell we are, Sammy?”
“I… I don’t know, Dean.”
You froze, eyes widening as you marginally straightened your back. What?!
“Well, might as well take a look around for ourselves.”
Two flashlights turned on in succession. “Uh… Dean?”
“Yeah?”
“Is that what I think it is?”
After a few seconds, he replied, “Is… is that a—?”
“A Cas plushie? I think so.”
“You think that’s actually Cas? Think the witch did that to him?”
“More likely a Cas voodoo doll, but I don’t see why a witch would go after an angel.”
“Times are crazy, Sam.”
“So, what do you think of the tiny figurine of the car? Or our name knitted and framed above this… this…?”
“Freaking shrine?” Dean proffered. “Man, I don’t know!”
“For the record,” you quipped. “It’s crocheted.”
Dean cursed, startled as he stepped down the hallway into the living room, flashlight up and drawing his gun. Sam stepped out hurriedly a moment later, hands immediately going up in front of him defenselessly when he spotted your knife. “Hey, whoa whoa whoa take it easy.”
“What the Hell are you doing in my apartment?!”
“Look, hey, that’s what we want to know too, so chill out, alright?” Dean assured curtly.
Sam turned his gaze between you and his brother before clicking off his flashlight and lowering his hands. He looked back at Dean, tilting his head in a gesture to do the same. The elder Winchester narrowed his eyes and lowered both his gun and flashlight but a hair, training the latter on the knife in your hand. Sam turned back to you. “You can put the knife down. I promise we’re not going to hurt you.”
“Unless you’re a witch or demon or some other monster.”
“Dean!”
“I’m not a witch, or demon, or whatever else monster you think I am.”
“You sure about that?” Dean inquired coolly. “Seemed pretty calm answering that.”
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
“So, you’re human?”
“Uh huh, why you ask?”
“It’s just…uhm,” Sam trailed off. “Most people are confused when we bring up monsters or demons and stuff.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not most people.”
“Neither are we, sweetheart,” Dean answered cockily. He inclined his chin, gesturing at the blade in your hand. “Why don’t you put that knife down, huh? Like my brother said, we’re not gonna hurt you, as long as you’re human.”
You narrowed your eyes peculiarly, and then swished the knife at Sam. “Both of you, back up into the living room.”
Sam turned, finding there was only one room to go into, and took the few steps back into it, following Dean. Satisfied, you placed the knife on your hallway desk and slowly moved forward. In the junction between living room, bedroom and hallway, you stopped, eyeing them curiously before glancing around the corner into the bedroom. You flicked the light on, and your eyes widened at what you saw, or rather what you didn’t see. You looked back at the boys, then back into your bedroom, and then once more at the men. “Fucking shit.”
“What?”
“No fucking way.”
“What?!”
You looked at the two men incredulously and then scoffed lightly. “You’re not gonna believe me when I tell you.”
Dean huffed, clicking off the flashlight and tucking his gun away. “Try us.”
You rolled your eyes and muttered, “Should’ve known that was coming.”
“So, to summarize,” you began, leaning forward towards the edge of your chair. “You were hunting a witch and were watching her die when she cast a final spell that sent you both here. And you’re currently at war with angels and demons about setting Lucifer free by breaking the 66 Seals?”
Dean nodded. “Well, when you say it like that, you make it sound so simple.”
Sam gave his brother sitting next to him on the futon a bitch-face before turning back to you. “And to summarize on our end, we ended up here—”
“Because you happen to own creepy cardboard cutouts of us.”
“I told you, they were gag gifts from a friend,” you snipped defensively.
“Still creepy.”
“Regardless,” Sam interjected curtly. “We ended up here in your world where our life – our world – is nothing but a TV show.” He sighed heavily. “And without magic we have no way of getting back.”
Dean leaned forward and ran both hands down his face. “Awesome.”
“You’ll find a way,” you assured, giving them both a smile, which only Sam returned. A lightbulb then lit off in your head.
The younger Winchester caught the look. “What? What is it?”
“I was just thinking… Our worlds may be different, but we have our own legends of monsters, our own lore and histories written in books and online you guys could research to maybe find a way back.”
Sam’s eyes widened hopefully as he faced his brother. “Worth a shot.”
Dean eyed the two of you peculiarly. “Turning right to the books; you’re such nerds.”
Ignoring the comment, you added, “And there’s a public library a block away.”
“That’s great!” Sam exclaimed as Dean echoed his previous statement. Sam glared at him a moment before looking back at you, your face suddenly downcast. “What? What’s wrong?”
You scoffed. The boys followed your gesture towards the window and saw a blistery storm outside. “In the craziness of you two showing up, I’d forgotten about that.”
“Sweetheart, we hunt monsters. We can handle snow.”
You dropped your chin and gave Dean a bitch-face. “I meant that it’s dark, night time, past business hours. Get my drift?”
“So we’re stuck here ‘til morning,” Dean groaned. “Awesome.”
“Wow, you really do say that a lot,” you mumbled.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Dean narrowed his eyes and then looked to Sam. As usual, the younger Winchester seemed to have built a better rapport, and now Dean was gesturing he use it. Sam thinned his lips in annoyance at Dean before addressing you. “Is there any way we could—”
“Of course you can stay,” you interrupted. “The futon’s yours, and I have a cot one of you can sleep on. Neither will be ideal because of your heights, but they’re better than the floor.”
“Oh, um, thanks, thanks a lot,” Sam stammered. “But that wasn’t what I was gonna ask.”
You blushed, embarrassed for jumping the gun. “Oh, my bad.”
Sam chuckled. “It’s ok.” He briefly straightened up and then leaned forward onto his elbows, gesturing at the computer. “I was gonna ask if you would let me borrow your laptop for a while, to start looking into that lore?”
“Nerd.”
As the brothers exchanged glances again, you cast your own at the device. “Oh, well…” You then lifted your gaze to the wall clock, and after a moment sighed and rubbed your neck. “Yeah, yeah, go for it.” You picked up the laptop and began closing down your PowerPoint screens. “There’s no way I’m gonna be studying any more tonight anyway.”
Sam’s brow furrowed curiously. “You’re a student?”
You nodded with an affirmatory sound.
“What’re you studying?”
“(Medical field of reader’s choice),” you answered, finishing your task and offering the laptop to Sam, bidding a shy smile as he reached for the device.
“Jeez that’s…” Sam trailed off, pulling the computer onto his lap. “That’s gotta be tough. I’m sorry we’re—”
You cut him off. “Please, with what you two are going through, you don’t have to apologize to me.” You glanced at the clock again before standing. “Just, let me go grab the cot for you guys and help get you settled before I crash for the night.”
“We appreciate that, thanks.”
So, they moved the coffee table and chair out of the way and pulled out the futon. You then shyly asked they indulge you by fixing up the futon with sheets before stretching the cot out alongside of it.
“I’m sorry I only have the one legit pillow.”
“It’s fine, really,” Sam answered with a smile.
You returned it and gestured to Dean and the cot. “I’ll get an extra blanket.”
“Naw don’t sweat it, I’ll be fine,” he replied, grabbing the blanket that’d been on the back of the futon from the chair and snapping it out in the air.
“No, please, don’t!” you exclaimed, rushing forward before pulling yourself up short.
Dean stopped, looking at your worried expression. “Something wrong?”
“I’m sorry, it’s just…” you stepped forward, gently taking the blanket from Dean. “It’s not that I don’t trust you; I only use this blanket for decoration.” You folded it up carefully in front of them, gazing upon it with evident nostalgia. “It was handed down to me by my dad. It’s… it’s very old, and fraying, and… it means a lot to me.”
The Winchesters looked at one another. They didn’t share the same feeling as you with what their father passed on to them, but they respected it, understood it, Hell, were even maybe a little jealous of it. “Sorry.”
“Not your fault,” you replied, putting the blanket back on the chair. “I should’ve told you sooner. Let me grab you another one.” When you came back and handed it to Dean, you went on. “I managed to go shopping before the storm, so there’s some food in the house but not a lot and even less variety… sorry, poor student and all… There’s—”
“(Y/N), it’s fine,” Sam interrupted, grinning. “Really, thank you, though.”
You bade a half-smile. “No problem.” You looked between the brothers. “Well, try to get some sleep, I guess. See you in the morning. G’night.”
“Night.”
“Later.”