Chapter Text
So, their dad is Negan. Because of course he is. Of course by some one-in-a-trilliondy, billiondy, quadrilliondy, whatever fucking chance, Sam and Dean managed to drive themselves through a wormhole into an apocalypse where their dad is starring as Earth's star douchebag.
This is obviously a problem for several reasons, including but not limited to— his apparent killing spree, his tyrannical reign over Northern Virginia of all places, and his reported tormenting of several innocent civilians for no other reason aside from he felt like it. They're working with gasoline and a lit match here, and Dean feels a bit like his head is going to pop off from how hard it's spinning.
The fact that he and Sam don't belong in this universe is a glaring issue that has the both of them sharing uncertain glances over their dad's head as he hugs them. Because whilst this is a version of their dad, it's pretty fucking obvious he's not the one they knew.
Dean wants to be upset. He just can't muster an immediate wave of revulsion, not with his dad sobbing the way he is. He stills smells the same as he always did when Dean was growing up, like motor oil and ash and something earthy. The tinge of iron isn't entirely unfamiliar either, even if the way he cries is.
John Winchester had always prided himself on being tough as nails. Dean has never heard him cry before-- not like this. These are the kind of sobs that shake through your entire body, that wring you dry and leave you sluggish. Where you gasp because you can't breathe, where you wail out your agony because if it stays in you, it might just kill you with its weight.
'Negan' is the type of guy they'd usually pop without a second's hesitation. Aaron's stories painted him as this horrific, awful entity, a true monster amongst those already aimlessly rotting and roaming. And that's totally cool. They'd typically like, do what needed to be done in this situation.
It's just that this-- this is their dad. And even if this is another version of him, Dean can't reconcile in his mind him ever being even half as horrible as what everyone has said. Their dad had never been a perfect man, but he saved people for a living. He'd dedicated his entire life to hunting evil, not becoming it.
Him being an (alleged?) villain, them having a total chick flick moment, and everyone this side of humanity being here to witness it? It all kind of sucks total ass. A rollercoaster of emotion Dean did not sign up for.
"Y-You--" Dean's not sure how long their dad hugs them, fingers clenching the backs of their jackets, like he's afraid they'll slip away from him if he lets go. "Y-You're-- you're here. Y-You're actually, you're-- you're alive. I saw you die. I saw--"
Their dad pulls back, his eyes puffy and cheeks slick with tears. The silence of everyone surrounding them is deafening. The stares are even worse. Aaron looks so horrified that Dean feels like a dickbag who's fraternizing with the enemy.
Dean doesn't know what to do. He has no idea what the hell to say. The whole thing feels like a cosmic 'fuck you' from the universe, a badly cast shadow on their dad's memory. Like this version of him somehow taints their own.
If they'd had an apocalypse of this kind in their world, would this have happened? Would Sam and Dean have died? Would their dad have become this?
"Well, uh. Funny story." Sam, who's sniffling like the giant baby he is, reaches up and wipes furiously at his face. "A-A lot happened. Maybe we should-- should step inside? To talk?"
Sam's gaze skittered out across the crowd. There were their dad's group, guns still half-raised but mostly just staring confused. The people of Alexandria were still so drenched in fear it was hard to tell what they were thinking, but there was a distinct furrow to Rick's brow that spoke to the betrayal he seemed to be feeling.
There were a lot of things Dean could've done in that moment. He could've cried too, just to get it out of his system. Could've made some off-color joke at the worst possible moment, like he always did. Could've just nodded in agreeance and stepped to the side, ushering them away from prying eyes.
Instead, he reaches into his back pocket, pops open his flask, and splashes half its contents directly into his dad's face. Dean almost wishes it burned him.
Aaron's breath stuttered. If Dean thought the silence was loaded before, it's even worse now. Like some slow motion trainwreck, the people of Alexandria all watch the water drip down Negan's face like it's their death warrant, signed, sealed, and delivered.
"Damn." Dean grimaced. Sam turned to give him a wide-eyed look. "So you're just a supervillain all on your own, then? Nobody behind the wheel? This was a choice?"
John, or Negan, or whoever he even is anymore-- he doesn't bother trying to wipe the water from his face. He just blinks, still teary and gob smacked. He seems stunned, like he didn't expect Dean to jump straight into this line of questioning.
"We should talk about this inside." Sam rests a hand on Dean's shoulder, but suddenly Dean is just... angry.
The people here have been starving. They work day and night like dogs trying to protect themselves and get enough sustenance for themselves and those who live here, knowing they'll have to give half of it up. They have no guns to defend themselves with. They are downtrodden, tired, and grieving.
And Dean tries to get it. He really, really tries. Rick and his guys bust into one of "Negan's" bases and kill everyone inside to try and help out some other settlement, they pay penance with two other lives and then some on top, and the world goes round. That's how things work now. The world has never been sunshine and rainbows before, it sure as shit isn't now.
Dean just... can't. He sees Rick's kids-- his son Carl, who looks like he hasn't slept a good night in weeks. He thinks about Daryl, constantly hiding, fearing, blaming himself. He thinks about the names written on the wall in dark paint, because funerals are kind of a thing of the past and all anyone has anymore is a name and the people who love you enough to remember it.
"Dean." His dad says, sounding some mixture of horrified and heartbroken, but it's too late. Dean can't stop himself from doing the very thing he'd been wishing he could do to Negan's face the moment he learned the guy even existed.
Hell, maybe a part of him had been wanting to do it to John, too. Doesn't really matter in the end. Dean reels his fist back and let's it crack across his dad's face before he can't think too hard about it.
"Don't shoot!" Is the first thing their dad shouts when he hits the ground. Dean's fist hits him hard, hard enough to split his cheekbone and smear it with the beginnings of a bruise. "Don't you dare fucking shoot! Guns down! Put them the fuck down!"
Sam open and closes his mouth in mute horror, blinking rapidly as he tries to compute what he just witnessed. Dean had been practically religious in his listening to their dad. He'd followed his word to a T for so long that it was hard to imagine him doing something as daring as punching him in the face.
Dean's chest heaves. Castiel looks like he's got no idea what to do. His face is all scrunched up, his nose wrinkled. His hand lands on Dean's shoulder. Whether that's to support him or hold him back from doing it again, it's hard to say.
"Dean." Sam admonishes numbly, not sure if he should congratulate him on a killer right hook or scold him for causing even more of a scene. "You-- Okay. No, we're-- we're not doing that. You go inside. Everyone inside. Aaron, please come inside. Rick, do you..."
Sam turns to look at him only to trail off at the expression on his face. All the color has drained from it, leaving him shaky. The tremors that run through him are violent, and the fear seems out of place on someone so grizzled. Yet, Sam knows that's exactly what it is.
Mortal terror. He was looking at Dean like he'd just walked him to the end of the plank and pushed him and his entire family right off the edge. And based on what Negan had done to them in the past, the cruelty...
All at once, Sam is kinda glad Dean punched the alternate version of their dad. Because if he hadn't, Sam probably would've. He sort of wants to now. Aaron hadn't told them everything, but looking at their dad now?
The depths of his cruelty must've run far deeper than what they'd shared if Rick's reaction was this. Sam has only seen that level of fear on a person's face a few times in his life. It made his stomach turn, his throat tighten. When his gaze shifted back to the version of their dad still shakily picking himself up from the ground, massaging his sore cheek with the heel of his palm, he grimaced.
"Saving people, Dean! Hunting things! The family business! We have to help people!" Dean said in a mockingly gruff tone. He rolled his eyes, grabbing Castiel's sleeve in one hand and grabbing Aaron's shoulder with the other. "Load of bullshit. We'll be inside. If we're talking, I need a beer. I mean seriously, a fucking dent. A dent in my car, my baby."
Aaron let himself get tugged inside by the muttering man, mostly because he was too stunned to do anything else. Sam met his brother's eyes briefly, a silent message passing between them. This is a huge clusterfuck. Not the worst they've ever seen, but they need damage control, stat.
Or a way out of this universe. Sam would take that, too. God, he wishes.
"We'll be right back." Sam reaches forward, hand finding his father's upper back as he stumbled forward again. He guided him with a gentler hand than was probably warranted, feeling more calm and tired than he should considering. "Rick, I think you should join us too. Dean and I have a lot to explain. And so does... Negan."
He says the name grimly. His dad flinches at it, a flicker of shame crossing his expression. His bat is still on the ground, and Sam doesn't know the significance of that, but there sure are a lot of eyes on it. From their side and the other.
It takes Rick a moment to nod and start to move, so tense he looks ready to topple over. Sam doesn't rush him. He feels exhausted, already sleepless from the research he'd been doing, and now add this on. Dean's going to be a wreck. It's a miracle Castiel is here to curb him. Sam's not sure he'd have the energy to take on the oncoming argument otherwise.
"How do you know Negan?" A voice cuts through the crowd, slicing through the silence like a thin knife. It's Carl, a deep scowl plastered heavy across his face. "You told us you'd never heard of him."
"I haven't ever heard of him. Dean and Cas haven't either." Sam said in all honesty as Rick stepped up onto the porch, eyeing Negan warily as he did. The look of a man who'd been burned more than once and now feared fire above all else. "But that's because Negan isn't his name. John Winchester is, and he's Dean and I's dad. Unfortunately."
Or a version of him, anyway. Rick freezes, halfway through the door. His eyes ping between the pair of them like he's trying to find the resemblance.
There's practically crickets. A pin could drop and Sam thinks he'd hear it. The strange mix of horror and shock makes him squirm. Sam's never been terribly shy, but he feels out of place with so many eyes on him, knowing him, his name, his father. Worse, his father is the bane of half these people's existence, which only makes some of their stares heavier.
Sam feels the overwhelming, uneasy urge to apologize. This isn't his dad, and Sam didn't do anything to them. But by proxy he just-- he feels guilty. There's enough to fear in this world without John Winchester making it worse.
"You heard the man. Wait here. No popping off shots, or you'll get one between the eyes. We'll be right back." His dad's voice comes out a croak, though he grins through it. It's a cockier smile, an echo of Dean's in a way. It warbles around the edges. "Sam?"
Sam swallows thickly. His hand falls away from his dad's back. He's not sure he has the heart to keep it there.
It's like the world's shittiest team meeting in existence, the six of them crowded around Aaron's dining room table with a smattering of beers from Dean's secret stash. Rick had downed an entire bottle in what looked like a single swallow, but aside from him and Dean-- well.
This was a conversation best had sober. Sam had no idea where to begin. He felt like a fish on land, floundering and wishing he'd never been stupid enough to get hooked and dragged in the first place.
Dean looks just plain mad. He keeps shooting their dad heavy glares. Normally, John Winchester would give as good as he got and rise to the challenge. The way he seems to visibly shrink under his eldest son's judgement feels like an admission of guilt in and of itself.
Sam's fingers drum on the edge of his own bottle as Dean takes a few more gulps of his own. Rick's leg is jostling the entire table with how hard it bounces, but nobody calls him on it. Aaron looks stuck between blurting out a million questions and maybe throwing up. It's hard to say, but Sam is at least confident he's not usually that green in the face.
Dean chugs down the rest of his beer before he slams it down, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He holds up a finger as he swallows. The moment he gulps the last mouthful down, he's leaning forward with that look on his face.
"First of fucking all, you're giving them their shit back. I don't care if you have a hoard of dying orphans to take care of. I don't care if they shot some of your guys, so you shot some of their guys, and then you all shot each other and it somehow evens the fuck out. Food. Here. Back." Dean punctuated each word with a press of his finger to the table's top. "Capiche? Comprende?"
Their dad stares at Dean, misty-eyed and like he still can't believe he's actually sitting there. He looks ready to start crying all over again, tears welling freshly in his red-rimmed eyes. Castiel leans forward, brows raised.
"He's asking if you understand." Castiel said in a tone that made it clear he was being clarifying, not threatening. Sam sighed heavily for what felt like the millionth time today.
"He knows, Cas. We'll work it out, okay? I think we need to back up a little and explain ourselves before we get into all... this." Sam grimaces uncomfortably. "We should clarify-- Dean and I had no idea Negan was our father. None at all. We honestly thought he was dead. We know him as John Winchester-- I'm really not sure where this Negan thing even came from."
Aaron's face seems to relax marginally at that. Some of the tension seeps out of it, even as his throat audibly clicks. Stress is clear in the sweat that beads his brow and in the way his hands clench into fists. His gaze flickers to Negan, assessing him in this new context, and Sam has to wonder what it's like to have those two images overlap.
He hasn't seen Negan fully in action. To him, he looks at this man and he just sees... his dad. Scruffy and down in the dumps, but it's him. From the set of his shoulders to the furrow of his eyebrows, Sam would know him anywhere. For all the complicated feelings that Sam has always felt towards him, he loves him.
He knows that Dean does too. Dean practically worshipped him. With as strong as his sense of justice is, Sam knows that this is three times the punch to the face for him than it is for Sam.
"Awful name by the way." Dean cuts in. "Horrible. Sounds like a discount mobster side character from a really shitty soap opera where the dog dies. Where'd you get it?"
"You died." Their dad breathes out again, staring at him still. Dean makes a face, turning to look at Aaron and Rick as if to ask 'can you believe this guy?'
Rick is too busy being ghostly pale to answer, and Aaron is still coming down from his speechlessness. Sam sighs.
"More than once. It's my thing. A schtick, if you will." Dean thrust a thumb towards Sam. "He and I have a tally board going. You could even say it's something of a competition. Wanna join in? Cas is in on it too."
"When Raphael struck me down, I rose again. An again when Lucifer did the same. And again when the Leviathans escaped me." Castiel said solemnly, face straight and voice gravely serious. "My name was Emmanuel."
Rick and Aaron turn to stare at Castiel blankly. Even their dad manages to peel his gaze away from Sam and Dean to give him a bewildered look. Sam released a slow, slow breath. Counted backwards from ten in his head, hoping that would fix something.
It did not.
He-- where does he even begin? This is a zombie apocalypse and Sam has been flying by the seat of his pants from the literal moment they drove into this hellhole. The bunker's gone and so is every resource in it, so that dashes that. Hell is closed, so there's no summoning anyone to interrogate. Heaven's closed up shop, so there's nothing there either.
It's just them, and it's just not enough. How did they end up here? Of all the people to fall victim to this, how is it always them? If something bad happens, it always seems to be the Winchesters pulling the short stick.
"Lucifer? Like, the devil?" Their dad asked slowly. That skeptical look was coming back to his eyes. He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest, staring at Castiel warily. "Earlier, you caught my Lucille like it was nothing. Not even a scratch. Or did you think I'd forget that cute little tidbit?"
Dean mouths 'Lucille' incredulously.
"Are you--" Aaron wipes some of the sweat from his brow. "Does this have anything to do with the Dominos pizza? I-I didn't want to bring it up, but I-- I mean, it's--"
"He knows about that?" Dean hissed out.
"I put it in the fridge." Castiel frowned. "Your human food goes bad if not properly stored. It is only natural that Aaron also partook. This is his home."
Sam could smell the bickering match already brewing. Was this what he expected them to argue about? No, not really. Actually, Sam's not sure what he expected, honestly. Something better than this. All he feels right now is disappointment.
They should've kept driving. They literally should've booked it out of this state the first chance they got. Staying near the place they got transported here through was a horrible idea. He's never letting Dean talk him into anything ever again.
"Pizza?" Rick finally managed to croak out. "What does pizza have to do w-with... any of this? Negan has been killing and starving our people--"
"Woah! Killing and starving is-- is super bold. Exaggerated. I wouldn't-- I mean, there's layers to this." Their dad jumped in, shooting a tight smile to Sam and Dean both, apparently more worried about their opinions of him than Castiel's otherworldliness. "You came and killed a whole bunker full of my men! Brutally! And without mercy!"
"And that makes you bashing a man's skull in in front of his pregnant wife okay?" A scowl formed on Rick's face. "You were keeping the Hilltop under your thumb! They were starving too! They asked for our help--"
"They didn't need help. They give us goods, they get protection!"
Sam almost tilts his head back and starts praying to God for reprieve before he realizes that God is a total dickbag and, no matter the universe, he really doesn't think the guy is going to answer. Not constructively.
"That's not a deal they agreed to." Aaron butted in, frowning. "I-It's not one anyone did! You took their belongings. You kill anyone who acts out. You take women, you hoard medicine, you rule over your group with an iron fist. How you're related to Sam and Dean, I have no clue!"
"Excuse me?" Their dad's face was quickly turning to Negan's, a snarl forming. "Don't talk about my boys like you know them better than I do. Unless you want to take this outside so I can--"
And then Dean is shouting, and then so is dad, and then Rick joins in, and then Aaron, and soon the entire table is exploding with a back-and-forth so pointless it makes Sam wish he'd ignored Dean's calls for his back up to begin with.
Castiel is the only one who remains calm, though Sam's not sure that counts. He stays seated, squinting vaguely in confusion at the three separate arguments that seem to be going on in front of him. Sam shares that much of a sentiment with him at least.
Is there any fixing this? Sam looks at the people at this table and comes to the dawning realization that there's a lot more wrong with this world than just the zombies. In fact, the zombies seem like the simplest part. It's what their presence has driven people to become that's the true issue here.
Not all coal turns to diamond under pressure. Sometimes it just... cracks. Crumbles. And when that kind of erosion weathers a stone, repairing it can be a pipe dream without the right tools.
"You know what? I'm just going to say it." Sam slammed his hands down on the top of the table with a bang enough to draw attention back to him. Aaron jumped slightly, startled. His dad flinched too, eyes flickering back to him. "The reason Dean and I are alive is because we're from an alternate universe where this stupid, shitty apocalypse never happened! Dad sold his soul to save Dean, Castiel is an angel, and no zombies ever rose! None! We just happened to be driving, and happened to go right through a rip in the barrier between worlds! And now we're stuck here!"
Dean blinked as if he'd forgotten, somehow.
"Oh, yeah. That! Also, we think we figured out why the dead are up and walking." Dean snapped his fingers. "But not how it started. Or how to fix it. But Sam's working on it!"
The pin drop silence was back. Sam reached forward and took his beer by the neck. He took it back. He was definitely going to need it.