Chapter Text
A New Dynamic
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Chapter One: Chaos Intervenes
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Leaving the Welch house, after defeating Constance Welch, Sam and Dean climbed into the Impala and drove away. Dean stopped at a McDonald’s and went through the drive-through, getting them each a burger, fries, a Coke, a small salad for Sam, and two apple pies for him. He also got two cups of coffee for a quick pick-me-up while they looked for a motel. They'd checked out of their previous motel at noon—rooms booked for the afternoon—and now needed a place to crash.
Dean pulled into an empty spot in the parking lot, as only the drive-through was open at this hour, and killed the engine. They split up their food silently and began eating, each lost in his own thoughts. The hunt. Their father. For Sam, still Jessica. He was still a bit put out at being pulled back into this life, but he understood now better than he ever had before what his father must have felt when he saw their mother pinned to the ceiling of his nursery and bursting into flames. He wanted revenge. Law school seemed trivial now.
After they finished eating and they’d each taken a few sips of their coffee, Dean started up the Impala again and left the lot. It took about twenty minutes, but they found another motel that had the vacancy sign lit. It was a bit rundown compared to the last one, but as long as it had hot water and a bed, they didn’t care. Even with the coffee, they were both exhausted. So tired that they didn’t even care if the motel didn’t have a double room. They could share if they had to. It’s not like they hadn’t done it for most of their lives growing up: Sam and Dean in one bed, and John in the other.
They didn’t say anything as they threw away their trash in a bin outside the office and rented a room. One queen bed. The motel only had two single rooms available, one queen, one twin. They’d learned long ago that it was better to room together, so they didn’t hesitate and booked the queen room. The clerk didn’t comment about the two guys booking a room with one bed. He could tell both were exhausted. He just took their money and gave them their keys.
Getting into the room, they were silent as they dropped their duffels onto the bed. Before they did anything else, Dean pulled out two canisters of salt from his bag and tossed one to Sam, both of them working on autopilot as they salted the window ledges and created an arc in front of the door into the room that wouldn’t be broken if the door was opened. With the salting done, Dean claimed the shower first. He emerged less than five minutes later, hair damp, shirtless, and wearing only a pair of black boxer briefs. Sam took his shower, equally short, and climbed into the empty right side of the bed, Dean already fast asleep, dressed identically to his brother; they hadn’t planned it that way… it was just how it had happened. Sam was asleep a moment later, and thankfully, he managed to avoid any nightmares.
It was around two in the morning when both brothers woke, unsure what had woken them. As they slowly came to, they heard a voice.
“You’re finally awake.”
The reaction was immediate; they both reached for the gun under their pillows, even as Sam reached over and turned on his bedside lamp. What they found surprised them. A man was sitting at the small table near the window. He looked roughly the same age as Dean, maybe a year or two younger. He had short brown hair, fair skin, and was wearing a pair of black jeans, black combat boots, a gray t-shirt, a black leather bomber jacket, and a pair of dark black sunglasses.
“You won’t need those,” the man said calmly, not at all concerned about the guns pointing at him. “They’re useless against me anyway.”
As he said this, he raised his empty hands, pausing briefly to let the brothers see that he was unarmed, before he grabbed his sunglasses and removed them.
Both brothers' eyes widened. In the dim light of the lamp, the man’s eyes were glowing. They looked like fields of stars, of nebulae, and the inky black void of space. As if the entirety of the universe was reflected in his eyes.
“Who are you?” Sam asked, lowering his gun slightly.
“You are, I assume, at least vaguely aware of Greek Mythology?” the man asked.
“Yes,” both brothers said, as they were both aware of Greek myth, though for entirely different reasons. Sam had studied them in school and read Homer. Dean’s knowledge was mostly limited to movies and TV. Like Hercules: The Legendary Journeys and Xena: Warrior Princess… especially the latter, as teenage Dean thought Lucy Lawless was hot.
“My name is Chaos,” the man said. “I’m the physical embodiment of the void from which the entirety of your universe was born. The universe that I shaped.”
“Chaos, the primordial void,” Sam said. “From which all the gods and the universe itself spawned.”
Chaos nodded. “Indeed, Samuel Winchester. Officially, I’m the Primordial God of Creation, the Cosmos, and the Multiverse. I’m also the Overgod and Emperor of All Gods. In simple terms, the God of Gods.” Looking at Dean’s still raised gun, he added, “So, you can do as your brother did, Dean, and lower your weapon. You don’t honestly believe that a bullet is going to do anything against the creator of the universe, do you?”
Dean lowered his gun, unconsciously reengaging the safety as he did so, though his eyes never left the intruder. “Why are you here?” Dean asked, his voice rough.
“I’ve watched the two of you in multiple universes,” Chaos said, and at the looks on their faces, he said, “the multiverse contains an infinite number of parallel universes. Basically, every single decision you make can trigger a different parallel world.”
They both nodded, though Sam looked more interested in the concept than Dean did.
“Anyway, in doing so, I’ve noticed a common thread,” Chaos said. “Despite making a few different choices along the way, your lives play out, over and over, exactly the same in every universe. Usually tragically. And I’ve seen the signs that your lives in this universe will play out the same. So, I’ve decided to intervene. Change the variables. Give you both a leg up.”
“Intervene how?” Dean asked warily.
Chaos smiled. “I should point out, I am giving you a choice in this. You can turn me down if you decide you do not want my intervention. I’ll simply go to this point in one of the other universes and find versions of you that accept.”
“When you say tragically, what does that mean exactly?” Sam asked.
“Without going into too much detail,” Chaos said, “as these potential events will not happen if you accept my offer… multiple injuries, more close calls and brushes with death than you can count, being possessed or separated multiple times… one of you ending up in Hell…” he paused. “Now, I’m not saying that you won’t sustain injuries, as you have a dangerous profession. But you won’t be separated, nor will either of you end up as a hellhound’s chew toy as it drags your ass down to Hell. And no, I won’t say which of you that happens to. If you reject my offer, you won’t even remember that this conversation occurred.”
Sam and Dean are quiet for a moment, as they contemplate, look at each other, talking with their eyes, before they nod, and Dean says, “So what form does what you’re offering take?”
Chaos smiled. “A form of progression system. Similar in many respects to the character development system of D&D or similar RPG games. You’d each get a mental screen where you can access your level, your stats, your accumulated skills, skill trees to pick new skills from, special feats, daily, weekly, monthly, and yearly quests to work toward. And whenever you defeat an enemy, say a vampire, for example, when they die, their body will convert into experience points toward leveling up, as well as potentially drop money or useful loot, such as tools or protective items.”
Before either of them could say anything, “There will even be a feat that allows the Impala to be woven into the system and get its own upgrade track. Damage resistance, anti-supernatural tracking, or an Impala whisperer feat for Dean, allowing him to sense what it needs on an instinctive level—what's wrong, what it wants, how to fix it.”
“What form would these quests take exactly?” Sam asked.
“All the quests would focus on things that you already do,” Chaos answered. “For example, Sam might get a daily quest to do an hour of research on a case. Or Dean might have a daily to eat a slice of pie. Or you might both have a daily to do some form of exercise geared toward improving one of your stats. The weekly, monthly, and yearly quests would be more long-term goals. Things you cannot do in a single day and have to spend more time working toward. But the system will reward you for quest completion, no matter what it is. Dailies will have smaller rewards, and rewards will get progressively better for the higher tiers. Completing a yearly quest, for example, will grant a significant reward.”
“And what’s the catch?” Dean asked. “Nothing is free. There’s always a catch.”
Chaos nodded, having expected Dean's question. "The catch is that you can't unchoose this. Once you accept, you're committed to the path, permanently. The system becomes part of you. And it works best when you work together." He paused, a hint of something flickering across his expression—amusement, perhaps. "Consider it... an incentive for cooperation."
Sam frowned. "What does that mean, exactly? Incentive for cooperation?"
"The system rewards synergy," Chaos said. "The more you function as a unit, the stronger you become. Individual growth is possible, certainly. But the greatest rewards come from working in tandem. You'll understand what I mean soon enough."
Dean's eyes narrowed. "That sounds like you're dodging the question."
"I'm answering it," Chaos replied calmly. "You asked for the catch. I've given you the terms. The system is permanent. It rewards cooperation. The specifics of how—" he smiled faintly, "—are something you'll discover on your own. I find that lessons learned through experience stick better than those simply told."
Sam exchanged a look with Dean. The silent communication again.
"And if we say no?" Sam asked.
"Then I erase this conversation from your memories," Chaos said. "You wake up tomorrow with no recollection of me, the system, or any of this. Your lives continue as they were always going to. The tragedy plays out. I move on to another universe where Sam and Dean Winchester accept my offer."
The words hung in the air. Tragedy. Always going to. Another universe.
"So," Chaos said, rising from the chair. "Do we have an agreement?"
“Can you give us a moment to discuss?”
Chaos nodded as he put his sunglasses back on before motioning toward the bathroom door with one hand. “You have five minutes. After that, I’ll need a decision. Yes or no.”
Sam and Dean got out of bed and walked into the bathroom together, closing the door behind them. Behind his sunglasses, Chaos’s eyes were alight with his amusement. He already knew what they would decide. But then he predated time and the universe itself. And had been watching human interactions for millennia, across an infinite number of universes. After a while, they became an open book.
~~~~
The bathroom was cramped, barely enough space for both of them to stand. Dean leaned against the sink, arms crossed, while Sam kept his voice low.
"We have to say yes," Sam said.
"You don't know that."
"Dean, he said tragedy. He said one of us ends up in Hell. You really want to roll the dice on that?"
Dean's jaw tightened. "You're telling me you trust a guy who shows up at two in the morning, claims to be the creator of the universe, and offers us a video game progression system? That doesn't set off any alarm bells for you?"
"No, it sets off plenty," Sam said. "But what's the alternative? We say no, we forget this happened, and we go back to the life where one of us ends up in Hell? Where things play out tragically over and over?" He shook his head. "I've already lost Jessica. I've already lost the life I wanted. If there's a chance to change the ending…"
"You heard him," Dean cut in. 'Works best when you work together.' 'Incentive for cooperation.' That's not nothing, Sam. He's not telling us everything."
"No, he's not," Sam agreed. "But he also said we can't unchoose this. That's the catch. We're locked in. So either we're locked in to something that might help us, or we're locked in to the path we're already on—except we won't even know there was another option."
Dean was quiet for a moment. His eyes dropped to the floor, then back up to Sam.
"He mentioned Baby," Dean said quietly.
Sam blinked. "What?"
"The car. He mentioned upgrades for the Impala. Damage resistance. Anti-supernatural tracking." Dean's voice was reluctant. "Some kind of... connection thing. Where I'd know what she needs."
Sam studied his brother's face. "That's what's selling you? The car?"
"She's family, Sam."
The words hung between them. Dean looked away, uncomfortable with the admission.
"Look," Sam said carefully, "I'm not saying we trust him. I'm saying we take the offer and stay alert. He said the system becomes part of us. Maybe that means we can figure out how it works. Find the angles he didn't tell us about."
Dean exhaled slowly. "Five minutes is almost up."
"So what do we do?"
Dean pushed off the sink, his expression resigned but resolved. "We say yes. But we watch our backs. And the second, this thing starts looking like a deal with the devil…"
"We figure out how to fight it," Sam finished.
Dean nodded once. "Alright. Let's go make a deal with the creator of the universe."
~~~~
When they reentered the main room, the found Chaos leaning against the wall between the window and the door, his arms crossed over his chest.
“So, yes or no?” he asked.
Sam and Dean each took a deep breath before they said, together, “Yes.”
Chaos smiled. “Excellent,” before he raised his right hand and snapped his fingers. “The system is now bound to you both and active. Close your eyes and think the word ‘status.’”
Both brothers closed their eyes and did as they were told. Almost immediately, a page, for lack of a better word, appeared in their minds’ eyes.
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NAME: Dean Thomas Winchester
BIRTHDAY: January 24, 1979, age 26
LEVEL: 3, Novice
CLASS: Hunter Warrior
HEALTH: 100/100
STAMINA: 90/90
MANA: 50/50
STATS:
STRENGTH: 14
DEXTERITY: 12
CONSTITUTION: 15
INTELLIGENCE: 10
WISDOM: 11
CHARISMA: 9
SKILLS:
- Firearms: 12/20
- Hand-to-Hand: 10/20
- Thrown: 8/20
- Mechanics: 8/20
- First Aid: 6/20
SPECIAL TRAITS:
- Protective Instinct: Damage taken by allies reduced by 5% when nearby.
SHARED TRAITS:
- Winchester Bond: [LOCKED… pending activation]
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NAME: Samuel William Winchester
BIRTHDAY: May 2, 1983, age 22
LEVEL: 3, Novice
CLASS: Hunter Scholar
HEALTH: 80/80
STAMINA: 70/70
MANA: 100/100
STATS:
STRENGTH: 10
DEXTERITY: 9
CONSTITUTION: 12
INTELLIGENCE: 15
WISDOM: 14
CHARISMA: 11
SKILLS:
- Firearms: 12/20
- Hand-to-Hand: 10/20
- Research: 14/20
- Investigation: 12/20
- Lore: 10/20
- Lockpicking: 8/20
- First Aid: 6/20
SPECIAL TRAITS:
- Stanford Educated: +10% to focus on research and investigation tasks
SHARED TRAITS:
- Winchester Bond: [LOCKED… pending activation]
~~~~
“Novice!?” Dean asked, clearly not happy. “What the fuck? I’ve been hunting for years.”
“It’s a simple level progression, Dean,” Chaos said. “Levels 1-2 are Rookie, levels 3-6 are Novice, and Levels 7-14 are Journeyman. And if it makes you feel any better, no hunter alive, if they had the system, is higher than level 8. Daniel Elkins, the hunter who trained your father, would be level 8, for example. Bobby Singer would be level 7. Your father would be level 5.”
Dean grumbled slightly, but he didn’t look as displeased now as he was initially. Sam, meanwhile, cocked his head and asked, “Dean, do you have this shared trait? Winchester Bond?”
Dean nodded. “Yes. It says it’s locked, though.”
Sam turned to Chaos and said, “What does pending activation mean?”
"That will become clear in time,” Chaos said. “Pending activation means you’ve gained the trait, but it’s not currently active. Whenever you see an addition to your stats pages that says that, it means you need to sleep before they’ll activate."
Chaos straightened, pushing off the wall. His expression remained pleasant, but behind the sunglasses, his eyes glittered.
"One more thing," he said. "The bond you've seen on your screens—it rewards closeness. Cooperation. The more you rely on each other, the stronger it becomes." He paused, letting the words settle. "I suggest you get comfortable with the idea of sharing everything. It will make the transition easier."
Sam frowned slightly. "Transition?"
"You'll understand in the morning." Chaos moved toward the door, then stopped, looking back over his shoulder. "Sleep well, Samuel, Dean.”
Before either could respond, he was gone—no dramatic exit—no flash of light, no ripple of energy. One moment, he stood by the door; the next, the space was simply empty.
The brothers stared at the vacant spot.
"What the hell did he mean by that?" Dean asked.
"I don't know," Sam said slowly. "But I guess we'll find out."
The adrenaline from Chaos's visit was fading, exhaustion creeping back in. They checked the salt lines out of habit, confirmed the door was locked, and climbed back into bed, Dean on the left and Sam on the right. The status screens hovered in their minds for a moment, full of numbers and possibilities they didn't yet understand, but soon faded as they began drifting off.
Within minutes, both were asleep.
Neither of them noticed their clothes beginning to shift.
~~~~
To be continued…