Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It is said that this story starts, not from the beginning, but the end.

For the apocalypse was on its way, long foretold and put into action by higher powers. The end of the world was nigh, and nothing could be done.

The world destined to be slaughtered in the name of heaven and hell.

But it starts with two brothers, born mortal. Hunters, the two were. They hunted the monsters and myths that people only dreamed of. They killed, and kept the world safe without any thanks.

They had no believers and barely any support.

That is, until that website appeared.

No one knew where it first came from, or who made it. Not even our gods knew then, but it appeared.

And fate was changed because of it.

It spoke of their tales, their adventures, their woes. It spoke of them hunting, how the older was steadfast, the other kind. How both heaven and hell learned to fear the steady rumbling approaching in the distance.

It spoke of their kindness, how they would not hurt those who didn’t deserve it, be it monster or man.

It spoke of their rages and tempers, how the foolish and naive were struck down for daring to incur their wraith.

It spoke of how inseparable they were, how you would never find one without the other, how anything one knew, the other would know as well.

It spoke of how they saved the world, thwarted destiny and fate through their own stubbornness and will.

It spoke of how they would come for those in need, how their chariot’s rumbling would reach the ears of the fearful and they would know that they would be saved.

It spoke of the wolf and the moose, of sharp teeth and crowned antlers, of soft hide and steady hooves.

It spoke of how two brothers became gods.

And that is how this story starts.

Chapter Text

Dean was starting to regret choosing to check out the djinn’s hideout by himself.

Scratch that. Dean was really regretting not listening to Sam. 

He had woken up a few minutes ago, head throbbing and vision blurred. Nausea rose from the back of his throat and he desperately tried to hold back the reappearance of his dinner. He was not going to throw up, thank you. He groaned softly as his shoulders burned, eyes squinting as he struggled to focus on his surroundings.

He found himself strung up by his wrists, rope spiralling from hooks attached to wooden beams above him. 

He groaned again. Sam was going to kill him.

Something sharp was in his neck, twisting around and stabbing him as he moved his head. He hissed softly, not daring to make too much noise lest the djinn was around.

Speaking of, what the heck was going on?

Last he remembered, that son of a bitch had hit him point blank, creepy blue hand magic and all. He was supposed to be either dead, or dreaming away in some made-up life in his head, not awake and fully aware of the fact that the toes of his boots were barely touching the floor.

He looked downwards, eyes catching on the tube leading up to his neck. He shifted slightly, trying to dislodge the needle in his neck.

“Come on… Come on…” he mumbled.

The needle remained stuck no matter how much he moved. The muscles in his shoulders were alight with pain and he gasped.

Loud footsteps echoed throughout the warehouse.

“Sam? Sammy, that you?”

The heavy footfalls stopped, before speeding up. The djinn appeared from the murky depths of the warehouse.

“Not Sammy,” he muttered.

The djinn looked at him in shock before steeling itself. Blue mist trickled down its arm as he grabbed Dean’s face harshly.

Dean cursed loudly. “Son of a-” 

The djinn grinned. Its tattoos swirled in the edge of Dean’s vision.

Nothing happened. 

“You-” It gaped, tightening its grip on Dean’s head.

Dean struggled weakly. The djinn’s grip was digging into his jaw, igniting spikes of pain across it. 

“How?” It demanded, eyes alight with swirling power, blue mist curling around its arm. “How?”

“Try me, bitch.”

It snarled in his face. Dean grimaced. “Dude, has anyone ever told you that your breath seriously stinks-“

The air left his lungs as he doubled over, the djinn’s fist sinking into his stomach. He coughed harshly, desperately trying to take in much needed oxygen.

The click of a gun’s safety disengaging rang throughout the warehouse. 

The djinn froze and it was Dean’s turn to grin, spit trailing from the corners of his lips. “Took ya long enough.”

“Yeah, well I wasn’t the one who decided to check out a djinn hideout without any sort of backup.”

“Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

Sam’s lumbering form emerged from behind a nearby pillar, pistol armed and pointed at the djinn’s head. Dean’s own ivory-handled pistol was tucked in the waistband of his jeans. 

He gestured with his gun. “Let him go.”

The djinn tensed. “Let. My brother. Go.”

It smiled, barring crooked and yellowed teeth.  

“No.”

Dean suddenly found himself manhandled, grunting loudly as the djinn wrestled him into a chokehold. In its hands was a knife, the blade’s sharp tip angled on Dean’s throat, close enough to draw a thin strip of blood. 

“Fucking bitch!”

“Dean!”

He could barely see Sam through the djinn’s meaty bicep, eyes watering as he struggled to breathe. 

“Sam!” He grunted. His voice was failing him. Their eyes met, something unspoken passing through them, screaming the words I trust you with every muscle twitch and heaving gasp.

Dean braced.

Sam fired. 

The ropes holding Dean up snapped with a jerk as he ducked and rolled towards Sam, shoulders screaming from the rough treatment. The needle in his neck was pulled taunt, ripping itself free with a spray of blood.

Great, now he was bleeding again. The blood was going to be a bitch to clean out of his clothes. 

Sam hissed softly in sympathy before firing again at the djinn’s knee. It went down with a sharp cry.

“That should keep him down for a bit,” he said, drawing the knife dipped in lamb’s blood and using it to saw through the remaining ropes around his wrists. “Look out!”

He was shoved to the side as the djinn barreled towards them, knife glinting with Dean’s blood. Its tattoos were moving again, the warehouse caked in a heavy aura of power. 

Dammit. Its fucking pissed now. He reached for the knife, circling around the djinn. Sam had retreated back, probably to help the other woman he saw in the warehouse.

“Round two, ugly.”

The djinn charged, blade swinging towards his eye. Dean dodged, his own blade coming up in an effortless parry. The djinn may have had supernatural strength on its side, but its movements were rash and uncoordinated, clearly not used to its victims fighting back.

Dean smirked. This was going to be easy.

The djinn stumbled back as Dean swiped back with his own blade, lamb’s blood glowing in the moonlight. It snarled, narrowly dodging the knife and kicking back at him with its bad leg. 

Dean grabbed it and pulled, causing the djinn to overbalance and fall with a cry. Its knife flew from its hand as its other leg flailed out, managing to strike at Dean’s own knee. He collapsed as well, legs unable to hold his weight after being strung up for so long.

That’s gonna hurt tomorrow.

“Dean!” Sam called, concern lacing his voice.

Dean grunted in reply, scrambling for his knife. He reached to grab it before being tackled by the djinn. They grappled, nails digging into flesh, rough concrete scrapping exposed skin. 

He landed a solid hit in the djinn’s stomach and grabbed the knife as it doubled over. He raced forward and thrust the knife right into the its chest.

“Sweet dreams, bitch.”

It screeched once. The magic in the air calmed, before dying out completely. 

The djinn was dead. 

Dean breathed out a ragged sigh, his body aching all over. He stumbled to his feet and made his way over to Sam, who had managed to get the djinn’s other victim down on the ground. 

He collapsed next to him, legs still not as steady as he’d like them to be. 

“Dean?”

He looked at Sam, who was casting worried looks at him. The concerned puppy-dog eyed eyes were set on him and he groaned.

“Shut up, Sammy. I’m fine.” He gestured to the woman, “How’s she?”

Sam squinted his eyes in suspicion, but carried on. “The djinn’s had her for a while, based on the police report. The blood loss isn’t good, considering that she hasn’t been responding since I first cut her down. But, it looks like we got here just in time. She’ll live.”

Dean nodded at his words, vision blurring a little. Whatever that djinn had done to him, it had been potent enough to last for quite a while.

He stood, knees achy and creeping in protest. Dean agreed with them wholeheartedly. The faster they got out of here, the faster he could collapse back into his motel bed with its suspicious stains and tobacco smell. 

“Come on,” he helped Sam get the woman on his back and followed him out of the warehouse and into the Impala still parked nearby.

“To the hospital, then.”

“We’ll drop her off, then get back to the motel.”

“Dean…” He could hear the disapproval in his brother’s voice. 

“Sam, what I need is a hot shower and my bed.”

Sam looked at him incredulously, face turned into his signature bitch face. “I’m fine, Sammy. Can’t even feel it.”

Somehow, Sam’s bitch face turned even bitchier. 

“Dude. You got whammied by a djinn and managed not to fall into an eternal sleep. How are you fine?”

Dean hesitated. “I don’t… I don’t know. All I know is that he got me, and then I woke up.”

Sam huffed, breath long and drawn out. The screws were turning in his head, Dean could tell. He turned the key, the Impala’s steady rumbling serving to loosen the tension in his shoulders.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see it happen to Sam too. His brother’s gigantic body relaxing into the bench seat. His eyebrows were still creased, however, face wrinkled in a frown. 

His hand reached over to Sam’s own while the other rested on the wheel. “Sam.”

Sam glanced at him, head tilted ever so slightly. His puppy-dog look was turned on yet again, and Dean fought to keep his face neutral. His brother worried way too much, but he couldn’t fault him for it. If the situation was reversed, Dean would be in his place, except that he would have driven straight to the hospital. 

He settled for something else instead, the most obvious choice in a time like this. 

“Bobby’s?”

Sam’s frown evened out slightly. “Fine.”

Dean grinned, foot on the gas as the Impala drove down the dirt road that had led to the warehouse with ease.  “We’ll figure this out, alright?”

“Yeah, I hope so. Maybe Bobby can scrounge up some books about djinns’ magic not working on certain people.”

“You do that. I, on the other hand, am going to take a nap.”

“Lazy.”

“Nerd.”

“Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

They grinned, heedless of the unconscious passenger in the back seat. 

The light banter continued over the roar of the Impala’s engine.

-

In a certain scrapyard somewhere in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, a scrappy-haired, middle aged man clad in jeans and a baseball cap scrolled through website after website in search of anything that could resist a djinn’s spell.

He had been at it for hours now, ever since he got the call from his boys. How those two managed to find so much trouble was beyond him.

He sighed, moving to close the laptop. The boys had said that they had to drop off a victim first, before making the six hour drive here. 

That had been three hours ago. 

He knew the boys would make it here in four. 

A website popped up on his screen, titled ‘sanddw.com’. He clicked on it in amusement.

The website opened to a sparsely populated forum, its newest post having a few dozen hits.

He clicked on it again, dread polling in his gut as he read through the lines of text.

“Balls.”

Chapter Text

Sam's stomach rolled as he read through the website, only half paying attention to Bobby and Dean conversation in the background. His mind was in overdrive, thoughts and theories flinging themselves into existence, before being shut down by new ones.

Had they really been that careless? To have that much evidence of their hunts would mean that whoever first started the site had to have been with them for a long time. The first post had been five months ago, the website set up even earlier than that.

They could be careless at times, but they were Winchesters, born and bred to notice and lose anyone who could possibly have been watching or following them without their consent in no time. 

So to have had someone documenting their hunts for all the world to see? It was unnerving, to say the least. 

Sam shivered slightly, goosebumps rising from his skin. It had been a while since he had had the feeling of constantly being watched. The possession with Meg had happened a while ago, but he could still feel the smoke of Meg’s demon form choking him and stealing his breath away whenever he thought of it.

“Sam?” The question snapped him out of his thoughts as he turned to look at Dean and Bobby. Dean had come closer, hand gripped around his shoulder while Bobby watched, ever the silent pillar of support.

“I’m fine, Dean.” He shrugged his brother’s hand off and turned the laptop around. “This, however, is not fine.”

His face soured when he saw the now familiar website. “Seriously, I don’t get why people do this. Our lives aren't even that interesting!”

Bobby raised a silent eyebrow. Sam made a bitchface. 

“What?” 

Sam sighed, raising a hand to tug at his hair. It was getting longer than usual, but he didn’t mind. He liked it like that anyway. 

“The problem, Dean, is that they know just about everything. All the hunts we’ve been going on for the past five months are right here on this website.”

“Stop pulling at your hair, dude, there’s enough of that shed everywhere,” Dean pulled Sam’s fingers away, releasing it when Sam drew back to smack at him. “And that’s so bad because?”

“Dean.”

“Idjit.”

Sam could tell Dean was trying to lighten the mood in any way that he could. He wouldn’t be trying so hard to look dumb otherwise. 

His brother was smarter than that.

“Dean, it’s because if someone knows about all of this, then that means that someone knows all about us. Everyone on this damn website knows.”

The mood darkened considerably. The carefree approach that Dean had been trying to maintain had dissipated in a second, bright, hot anger sparking in his eyes. Sam sat up slightly, straightening from his hunched position. Dean being upset never failed to make him upset as well.

“Fine,” he crossed his arms and sat on the table. His rage had died down by a bit at least, blanketed by cool neutrality. “What do the people know?”

Sam paused, unsure. How much to say? Make it nice and slow or straight to the point?

Dean cleared his throat. “Out with it, Sammy.”

He scowled at Dean, throwing his earlier worry out the window. He was trying to look out for his brother, dammit. 

Dean simply smirked back when Sam flipped him off. 

“The website has almost every hunt we’ve been on. Some of them were posts written by other site users, but most, especially in the older posts, were written by this guy called ‘Trielki’. As far as I’ve seen, the guy only posts and never responds or comments on anything.”

“And how far back does this go?”

Sam’s throat closed then. His lips parted, but no words came out. It had been years, but every thought of her always made him spiral downwards. He shut his eyes, drawing himself away from Jess’ disembodied voice screaming It’s your fault it’s your fault this is all your fault your fault your fault your fault-

He opened his eyes.

Dean was frowning, eyes squinting as if trying to focus on something. Sam looked towards Bobby, eyes pleading, begging, for help.

Bobby sighed. Dean’s attention snapped to him, but not before casting a worried look at Sam. He brushed it off.

“Goes as far back as the woman in white case.”

“You mean…”

“As far back as Stanford, yeah.”

The room was silent. Sam bit on his bottom lip, hands tugging on the bracelet around his right wrist. Jess had given it to him all those years ago, when they had first started dating. He’d kept it with him ever since. 

The bracelet was frayed and worn, fibres splitting and breaking apart from wear and tear. His lifestyle certainly didn’t help either, but he could never find the will to take it off his wrist.

Taking it off felt like betrayal, like every moment spent without it pressed against his skin was a moment forgetting about Jess, was a moment not repenting for his sin.

So he kept it tied around his wrist.

He hadn’t taken it off since she died.

He didn’t know what to do when it did break, fragile threads unable to take any more of the abuse he put it through.  

A loud curse drew Sam out of his thoughts. Dean had laid his hand lightly on his wrist,  tugging his fingers lightly and away from the bracelet. 

“Bobby, did you-“ Dean started.

“Course I did, it was the first thing I did. I called Ash and got him to try and hunt down whoever this Trielki guy is. He’s probably the one who made the damn website in the first place. Ellen and Jo were there, said they’d keep a lookout too.”

The house was drenched in silence. Sam turned the laptop back around, scrolling through the website again. There were a variety of different posts made by different people all over the country. Some weren’t even from places they’d been to before. 

He searched, trying to find a clue, anything familiar to him. He found one.

Burkitsville, Indiana. 

“Dean,” he called. He felt his brother come up behind him, peering over his shoulder to look at the screen. Bobby flanked his right, bending downwards to see as well.

“Remember that scarecrow god in Indiana?”

“The place that worshipped that fugly god? Course I do. Their pie was not worth it.”

“Turns out a certain someone from the town has been rather active lately.”

“Emily?” 

Sam nodded, eyes drawing closed. His head was pounding, a constant ache at the back of his forehead. 

“What's the plan, then?” Dean asked. His arms were crossed again, fists clenched beneath them. 

“You two find this Emily, and figure this out,” Bobby replied. His arms were crossed as well. “Hole up here for the night, then get to it bright and early tomorrow.”

Dean agreed easily, clearly not fully recovered from the previous day’s events. Sam was just as eager to get a full night’s worth of sleep, as much as four hours of sleep could count as true sleep. 

He rose from his seat and snapped the laptop closed, waving goodnight to Bobby as the two made their way up the stairs and into Bobby’s spare room.

-

A man watched in the distance, just a step away from alerting the various wards around the scrapyard. 

He could have torn them to shreds effortlessly, but he didn’t need to alert their owner.

Not yet.

He watched as Sam and Dean stepped out onto the porch, overnight bags in their hands as they said their goodbyes. Bobby had followed them out, a fond smile on his face as he hollered an insult or two.

The brothers shot one back, Sam grinning in exasperation while Dean smirked, piling into the Impala afterwards. 

The figure watched the two as they turned out of the property before disappearing, leaving only the soft rustling of fallen leaves in his wake. 

Chapter Text

The drive through Burkitsville was familiar. 

Dean couldn’t help but grip the steering wheel harder as they passed the scarecrow god’s orchard, whispering silent apologies to his baby all the while.

Sam was seated beside him, map discarded to the side as they made their way through the streets. His eyes were unfocused and he looked deep in thought, eyes furrowed and brow drawn. 

Dean sighed, turning into the parking lot of the diner. He got out and slammed on Sam’s window with a smirk. 

Sam jumped, before exiting the car and sending a familiar finger his way.

He grinned in reply as they made their way into the diner, the chiming of the bell above the door ringing loudly amongst the nearly empty building.

A couple sat in a corner booth while a waitress stood nearby. It looked achingly familiar to the last time he’d been here.

Every head turned to look at them as they stepped in.

Weird.

His hands twitched, missing the comforting grip of his pistol. Sam seemed to echo his sentiment, body hunching further into himself.

The waitress seated them, eyes nearly bursting out of her skull. She stammered as she read aloud their orders, before hurrying towards the kitchen. 

The awe in her voice was evident. Dean frowned.

Even weirder.

They took a moment to look around the diner, gazes trailing from the neatly decorated tables to the couple talking in the corner.

The painting above their booth caught Dean’s eye and he snorted. Sam watched him warily, one brow raised sceptically.

He gleefully pointed to the painting of a moose. “Look! It’s tall and awkward with way too much hair, exactly like you Sammy!”

Sam’s bitchface made a third reappearance in the past three days. “Haha, very funny Dean.”

He paused. “Does that mean that you’re a dog? You look like one of those pugs who have their face squished and everything.”

“Excuse you, I think I make a great wolf, all badass and menacing, unlike your princess ass.”

“Well I’m not a dog that likes to sniff butts.”

“Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

They were interrupted by the arrival of the waitress, serving-tray stacked full with plates. Dean’s eye caught on a pie in the middle. “You guys are pretty lucky today. We ain’t got lots of folks lately, so the kitchen's been handing these out for free.”

Sam nodded while Dean cheered in delight. He’d take free food any day of the week.

He went for the pie as Sam rolled his eyes, fondness and exasperation leaking from his pores. “Thought you said the pie sucks?”

Dean bit into it in reply. No way he was gonna skip out on free pie, no matter how bad.

His eyes widened as the flavours burst onto his tongue. He couldn’t help but moan because damn this pie was good!

Sam snorted as he bit into his own burger. He did a double take. “Was… was the food this good before?” 

Dean shrugged, shoving more food into his mouth. “Maybe they just revamped everything. I mean, it’s not like they have any more pagan gods to attract stranded travellers.”

They continued eating, trading ideas on how they would approach Emily. 

“It’s not like she knows it’s us, right?” Dean sniffed. “The site didn’t say our names, just the hunts, right?”

Sam sighed. “No, but the accounts of the hunts themselves are more than enough for anyone who knows about what we do to figure out for themselves.”

“So she probably knew exactly which two hunter the website was talking about. Great.”

They eventually decided to approach her directly, finishing up their meal to make their way to Emily’s home.

As they left, Dean couldn’t help but notice that the other couple hadn’t stopped whispering to each other since they had entered. 

Thank you, gods, for accepting our meagre offerings. 

He whipped his head around, trying to find the source of the voice. There was no one but Sam, who looked like he hadn’t heard anything at all, head buried in the receipt. “Sam?”

“Yeah?’

“Did you hear something?”

Sam looked at him, head tilted. “No?” 

The concern was evident in his voice. He was frowning again, looking Dean up and down.

He shook his head. “Probably just hearing things. Let’s get a move on, Sammy.”

The town was starting to creep him out and he couldn’t shake off the feeling that someone was watching them.

A jogger with dirty-blond hair ran past them, waving his hand in greeting. Dean waved back. 

Creepy. Really, really creepy.

They drove out of the parking lot, the rumbling of his baby’s engine the only comfort they had.

-

At least they didn’t have to wear the monkey suits this time , Dean thought. 

He was glad that they had decided to forgo the suits and ties. Emily already knew who they were, so wearing the cheap jackets would have been counterproductive.

Dean never did like how they felt, the jacket too restrictive and the ties choking him. 

They arrived in front of Emily’s home, doors creaking shut. It echoed loudly in the quiet neighbourhood, bouncing around the various houses and trees.

Dean glanced around the porch while Sam knocked on the door. There wasn’t much difference from the last time he’d been here. 

The door opened slowly, leaving only a small gap. 

“Emily, are you there? Remember me? Dean? The guy that killed the scarecrow god?” He pulled Sam beside him. “Remember Sam? My brother?”

They waited for a beat before the door pulled wider. Emily stood in front of them, her face an exact replica of the waitress earlier in the day. 

“You’re- you’re really here!”

The two stared at her in confusion, heads tilted in sync.

“It’s all everybody in town has been talking about today, and at first I didn’t believe them until you both showed up right now and-“ She cut herself off. “Sorry about that. Would you like to come in?”

Dean turned to look at his brother while Sam turned to look at him. They shared a look.

Should we?

We deal with crazy, but not this crazy.

Eyes widened as the brothers stared at each other.

Did we?

Did you?

“Fuck.” Dean said as Sam continued staring in disbelief. His hands were shaking.

“I didn’t- I thought it- I thought-”

Dean surged forward, grabbing his brother’s head, left hand reaching towards the back of his neck. “Sammy?”

Sam seemed to snap out of it, looking at Dean in something akin to fear before his gaze snapped to Emily who was still standing in the doorway.

Dean’s heart ached for him. What was his little brother so afraid of?

He looked conflicted for a second, before he shrugged Dean’s hands off. 

Later.

Dean gritted his teeth. Clearly there was something wrong, given that Sammy’s weird-ass psychic powers had somehow spread over to him. 

Fine.

They followed Emily inside and sat stiffly on her couch. She was grinning from ear to ear, delight shining in her eyes. 

“You know, I didn’t think that you guys would really show up, but here you are! Everyone else was right!” She exclaimed. “Wait, you guys are here for what I think you’re here for, right?”

“Yes. The website-”

“The website! I knew it was a good idea to share the story there!”

Dean glowered at her. Sure, they saved her life, but that didn’t excuse her from his ire. Sam agreed, irritation flooding from him in waves that threatened to overwhelm him.

Sam, cool it, would you? Still gettin’ used to the whole, mindy, bondy thing here.

Sam bowed his head as embarrassment flowed through their link. Dean shot back his own irritation. “So, Emily, anything you can tell us about the site?”

“Oh. I… I came across it like a few weeks after the whole orchard thing. I was grieving, with my aunt and uncle dead, and I was looking around to take my mind off it when I just… came across it,” She finished lamely, breath hitching slightly. 

Sam smiled in sympathy before continuing. “Could you tell us why you decided to share about us?”

She sniffed. “Like I said, I was grieving. And there were people on the site who… understood what I was going through, who knew about everything as well as the two brothers who saved their lives.”

Her tone had changed, taking on a note of awe. “They… they believed. They believed the supernatural and everything. They believed in the two who saved them. So how could I not do it?”

Dean swallowed. This was getting into uncomfortable territory. 

His instincts had been cranked to the max ever since they’d arrived here, and everything just felt off. The place was too quiet, the people too awestruck by something. 

Hell, he was considering dousing Emily and everyone else in the town with holy water just to confirm that they weren’t possessed, judging by how out of sorts everyone was behaving like.

“You know,” Emily started, “When I shared my story, the First called me, told me that I was right, that it made sense.”

“The First?”

“He’s the one who made it, who helped everyone believe.”

“Why would he tell you that you were right?” Sam prompted.

“Because they said that only a god could truly kill a god.”

- 

Dean slammed the Impala’s door shut, teeth grit and fists clenched. Sam’s face seemed to be in a permanent frown, thoughts racing loudly enough that Dean could even hear them without the weird mind link thing. 

Speaking of…

“Wanna tell me what was going on with you just now, Sammy?”

Sam flinched, guilt wafting from every pore. He hunched in himself, sinking into the bench in the way that only his six-foot-four little brother could. 

“Sam?”

“Dean, it’s… It’s…”

“Out with it, Sammy.”

“I thought it was normal,” he spit out with a wince. Before Dean could even say anything, however, Sam cut in. “I just thought it was the psychic thing, you know? I mean, I already have death premonitions of random people related to the demon’s kids, what’s wrong with hearing your brother’s and other people’s thoughts in your head?”

Dean froze, something cold sliding down his throat and landing heavily in his gut. 

“What do you mean hearing other people’s thoughts?”

“I mean, hearing people’s thoughts, Dean .” He could hear the irritation in his voice. “Just things like giving thanks for some reason.”

He paused. “Wait, have you been hearing them too?” 

Dean could tell when his brother made the connection. “Outside the diner, that was you hearing them?”

He grimaced. Sam swore loudly. 

“So,” Dean asked weakly. The shock was getting to them. Best to get all the questions and answers out before they both shut down. Not like there would be any good answers. “The mind link thing?”

“It’s… Useful.” Was all that Sam said. He could hear his mind, thoughts spiraling and in turmoil. His brother was shutting down, closing him out to have his own private freak out.

“Guess it’s staying, then.” 

“You say that like we have a choice. Oh wait, we don’t.”

“At least your mind is stuck with mine and not Bobby’s or something.”

“Dean, half of the space in your brain is taken up by porn.”

“Hey, it’s good porn. ‘Sides, it’s better than all the nerd stuff in yours.”

Sam smiled weakly in reply. He was trying to play it off, but Dean could taste his weariness in the air. Huh, this mind thing really was useful. 

“Head down, Sammy. Take a minute. The drive back to the motel’s a long one anyway.”

Dean knew that Sam knew that he was lying. In fact, his brother shot a weak jab back at him in reply. 

But you’ll be lonely.

Dean turned the music up louder, humming along to it, challenging eyebrow raised in his direction. 

“You were saying?”

Sam huffed, before settling himself into the seat, head resting against the passenger window. 

Dean smiled, purposefully making his humming softer as he drove, his baby and his brother his fellow companions.

Chapter Text

“And that’s about all of it. Thoughts, Bobby?”

Sam heard Bobby sigh harshly. He could imagine the man pacing, rubbing his fingers across his brow tiredly.

“How is it that you Winchesters always seem to get into so much trouble? Damn trouble attracting idjits.”

He winced in sympathy. I do not want to be in Bobby’s shoes right now. 

Yeah, no kidding. Dean shot back.

It had taken a while for them to get used to being in each other’s heads. They could transmit emotions and feelings well enough, while actual thoughts took a bit more effort. Though the reflexive jabs back at each other could always be clearly heard, regardless of whether they were concentrating or not.

The link worked over long distances as well, since Dean had decided that the best way to keep Sam company when he left the motel room was to transmit a screen-to-mind playthrough of Casa Erotica that he had somehow managed to find on the motel’s crap TV.

Getting dinner had not been fun, regardless of what Dean had said.

“Ash called back, said he couldn’t find shit. Whoever this First person is, they’ve got good hands behind ‘em. Better than Ash, even. He said that he’d keep trying and that Ellen and Jo are on lookout as well, but it’s not looking too good.”

Dean whistled. Both of Sam’s eyebrows rose.

Damn.

Hell yeah. They manage to outsmart Ash? Seems this guy’s got a bigger backer than we thought.

“Boys,” Bobby warned, as if he were well-aware that they were talking in their minds, which he probably was. “Keep an eye on that website. And just, be careful, ya idjits.”

“‘Course we will, Bobby. Don’t worry about us. We got Sammy, who worries enough for the three of us combined,” Dean said with a smirk. 

Sam glared, sending Dean an image of his own middle finger.

Dean’s smirk widened in response as he hung up on Bobby.

He pulled up the website as Dean left to shower, scrolling to find anything of interest. 

Ever since their hasty departure from Burkitsville, the website was filled with ‘sightings’ where someone had seen them last or what case they were working on. There were also a few posts asking what the two brothers were up to, or whether they were going around visiting worshippers.

Those posts alone were more than enough for Sam to shiver.

Wuss.

Shut up.

He scrolled further down, until his eye caught on something. 

Shit.

What’s up?

Just, get out here. You need to see this with your own eyes.

Dean emerged from the small bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist as steam spilled out from behind him. Sam wrinkled his nose.

Clothes, you heathen.

You say that like you don’t do the same. Dean rolled his eyes but complied, quickly putting on a shirt and a pair of jeans.

“Fine. What’s it?”

Sam turned the laptop over. 

Dean walked forward, still towelling off the remaining water from his hair. “Sacred animals of…” He sputtered, eyes widening as he continued reading, words trailing off.

“Is this from-”

“My guess is yes.”

“Those sons of bitches-”

“One of them was a woman.”

“Bitches. They’re all bitches.”

Sam sighed. He was a moose now, apparently. A freaking moose, because of a jab that Dean made. He mentally sighed through the link, making sure that it was as long and drawn out as possible.

This is your fault.

How was I supposed to know that those bastards would be hearing this entire time!

Your fault. 

Very mature, Sam. 

Well you’re not stuck as a moose.

True. And I regret nothing. Dean smirked. Like I said, wolves are badass.

How badass will you be with your tail between your legs?

Sam sent an image of Dean, a shaggy haired tail hanging from his tailbone, wagging furiously at the sight of a pie set out in front of him.

Dean glared, before he yelped, jumping in the air.

“The fuck?”

He twisted around, an identical looking tail sprouting from beneath his shirt, pushing his jeans downwards slightly. It moved along with Dean’s body, curling around with his alarmed shifting.

“Dude, is that a-”

“I have a fucking tail! Sam, what the-”

And the tail was frozen in the air, clearly unhappy.

Dean glared at Sam, the same lack of joy showing on his face.

This is your fault.

Oh how the tables have turned.

His tail shifted lower.

“You think this is one of those powers?”

“Seems like it. Unless you’ve got some weird shapeshifter genes I don’t know of?”

“Silver didn’t gank me, so I guess not.”

“So this means that I’ve probably got the same powers, huh.”

Dean grinned this time, tail wagging behind him. He turned to glare at it. 

Not cool, man. Can’t control this thing at all. Stop, dammit.

Sam laughed. Dean sent an image of him with giant antlers sprouting from his skull in retaliation. 

He felt his head grow heavier, making him duck and grip the table, before the weight lightened. He could see the tips of antlers in the corner of his vision. His antlers.

They looked aged but strong, tips as sharp as spears. 

Dean whistled in appreciation. “Damn. Those look like they could do some serious damage, Sammy.”

“Thanks,” he gritted back. The antlers weren’t as heavy as he’d expected them to be, but they were large and clunky enough that he could hear Dean’s yelp as he ducked under them when he’d turned to look at him.

“Any idea on how we can get this to stop?”

Dean shrugged. Sam shoved hair out of his eyes. Miraculously, nothing had been caught in the winding branches of his antlers. “How about just… thinking it away?”

Dean’s tail stopped moving, curling in visible scepticism. “I guess? The only reason this happened was ‘cause you shoved that image in my head in the first place.”

“Serves you right.”

“Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

Nonetheless, he could see his brother close his eyes, the familiar feeling of Dean at the back of his head turning into a louder hum as he concentrated. 

His tail vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

“Sweet.”

Sam went next, envisioning himself without the heavy crown of antlers. The weight on his head disappeared, causing him to scramble in order to reorientate himself with the sudden loss of  mass. 

Dean stared at his hair, which was probably sticking up like his bedhead around the areas where the antlers had sat before. You need to cut that bird’s nest if you want to keep having those antlers around. In fact, I won’t even be surprised if a few birds made their homes in there without you noticing.

Sam shot him a withering look. Touch my hair and see what I do to yours.

Dean held his hands up. Fine. 

“But back to the whole shapeshifter thing,” he continued aloud, “We have got to figure this out, man.”

Sam wilted, curling up into himself. He had never thought he could be more of a freak than he was before, with the demon blood. But this? The only comfort he had was that Dean was going through this with him, but a wave of guilt always seemed to follow that thought.

His brother was suffering together with him, but he was glad about it? Found it comforting?

Sam bit into his cheek, chewing on it to try and stop the outpour of guilt from travelling through the bond. 

Though, from the way Dean sighed, it didn’t seem to have worked. 

“Sammy…” He warned.

“Sorry.”

“This is exactly like at Bobby’s house, man. Just don’t think about it, alright? I’m glad that we’re in this together, ‘cause you wouldn’t like it if I was going through this on my own, right?”

Sam nodded, shoulders still tense. Dean took that as a sign, walking closer to envelope him in a hug. The smell of Dean overwhelmed his senses. His shampoo, his clothes, the smell of earth and gunpowder that soap could never wash off. 

It was warm and comforting and home.

“Then you realise that I feel the same, don’t you?”

He nodded again, uncurling slightly and relaxing into his brother’s arms.

“Yeah, De’. I get it.”

“Good, ‘cause you need a shower, you moose. You stink, and now I stink.” Dean teased, waiting for Sam to move away first like he always did.

Sam’s lips twitched as he carefully extracted himself from his brother’s embrace. 

He ignored the towel that had been thrown aside and went to grab his own clothes. He entered the bathroom with the comforting presence of his older brother in his mind, warm and constant and steady. 

Chapter Text

Dean fiddled with the radio, cranking the volume up higher as Sam got out of the car.

Pie, Sammy. Don’t forget to ask for pie.  

He didn’t need the link to see the bitchface Sam was shooting him as he slipped through the diner’s entrance. He smiled unabashedly in response, feeling irritation prickle from Sam’s side of the link.

It hadn’t been too hard to adapt to each other’s presence in their minds, since they’d already spent a vast majority of their lives by the other’s side, reading thoughts and feelings easily from subtle cues and tells. 

In fact, there had been barely any difference in their lives. Deadly efficiency was only made more efficient with the lack of words spoken out loud between them. Anything one of them knew could be spread in less than a second, and any dangers were easily intercepted and swiftly taken out.

The thoughts of other people in their minds though, outsiders, was still something they had yet to get used to, but they were adapting as well as they could.

Dean watched Sam walk up to the waitress, no doubt trying to order.

He sent a wave of piepiepiepiepie at Sam, seeing him grimace slightly as he hurried to ask her if they had any pie. 

Stop that.

No can do, Sammy. You almost forgot my pie, I could tell. Wait did you remember the extra oni- He was rudely interrupted by the radio cutting out, spitting out static and warped vocals. He smacked it lightly, trying to get it working again, feeling dread pool in his gut.

Anything weird going on in there, Sammy?

There was no reply, and it was only then did Dean realise that Sam’s presence at the back of his mind was gone. He looked up, only to see that the diner was empty.

No Sam in sight.

He surged out of the car, a pair of furred wolf ears emerging from the sides of his head.

Both of them had decided that the advantages of having heightened, sacred-animal-assisted senses were too good an opportunity to pass up. Combined with the surprising lack of any sort of drawback other than the blatantly obvious shapeshifting, they had practised shifting parts of their bodies until they could draw the shift with barely a thought.

They had yet to try to fully shift themselves. That would have been useful to know so that his trouble-attracting brother could shift into a thousand pound moose whenever he even got close to danger, since a moose was a lot harder to cart off with than a human.

His hearing sharpened instantly as his ears swivelled around, trying to catch anything that his vision could have missed.

Other than his baby’s engine still running in the background, there was no sound to be heard. The world around the diner was totally and utterly silent. 

His nostrils flared, enhanced senses taking in the stench of exhaust and oily diner food in the air. He ran to the diner, catching a faint whiff of Sam.

He pushed the door open and froze at the sight laid in front of him. He ripped his pistol out from the waistband of his jeans as the stench of rotten eggs overwhelmed his senses, causing his eyes to water. 

Cheery music played as he walked over to a man collapsed in a booth, blood spreading in pools and dripping down the table. 

“Sam?” he called, poking at his brother’s presence in his mind as well.

Nothing. 

“Sammy?” he tried again. Still nothing. 

He swore, the smell of rotten eggs had yet to abate as he walked past the counter, catching the sight of two other workers on the ground, throats slit. 

It was only when Dean approached the back door did he realise what he had missed. Covering the handles of the door was a familiar yellow substance that signalled the presence of a specific type of creature. 

The odour of rotten eggs overwhelmed him.

Demons.

Dean’s eyes widened before he was running out of the dinner, choking and hacking on the horrid smell, mind trying and failing to reach out to the muffled presence of his brother.

“Sam! Sam!” He screamed, though he knew it was futile. His brother was gone, stolen from right in front of him by demons.

Those fucking sons of-

He paused. Demons were predictable, followed a more logical trail of thought than your average vengeful spirit. He needed to be calm, needed to think through the panic that was sweeping through his mind.

But he could feel his breaths quicken, panic and rage overtaking any rational thought that he had. 

His brother had been taken, kidnapped right in front of him and he hadn’t even noticed . Their greatest weapon was gone, disabled in some way that scared him to his core. If they could take away something like that, then what could he do to get his little brother back?

For all he knew, Sam could be getting tortured in order for him to say yes to lead some demonic army, and he wouldn’t be able to do jackshit about it.

He needed help, and fast.

Dean wrenched his cellphone from his pocket, fingers flying over the keypad without seeing it. He needed something, someone, and Bobby was the only one he knew could help.

It rang once. Twice. Three times.

Dean’s frustration grew with every ring, something unknown rising in with it. 

The call went through. 

Dean breathed out a breath, and found himself right in front of Bobby’s face. He had a hand on the receiver, mouth open in shock.

A wave of dizziness slammed into Dean with the subtlety of a truck, causing him to sway on his feet, his knees threatening to collapse.

“-an!” 

He could barely hear anything through the blur, could only hear a familiar voice in the distance.

“I lost ‘im, Bo’by… lost ‘im,” he croaked, tongue heavy. His legs gave out and he sank to the ground, boneless. The edges of his vision were darkening.

“-amm,” he slurred. He was trying to cling onto consciousness, but he was losing, badly. “L ‘ost ‘ammy.”

Exhaustion swept over him as he fell into the darkness.

-

Dean woke up with a gasp, jolting up from where he’d been laying. The world was bright through the drawn curtains and he struggled to figure out where he was.

His memory came back to him in bits and pieces. The diner. The Impala. The slit throats. Sam. 

Sam.

“Bobby!” He cried, tumbling out of the bed. He fought against the blanket tangled around his legs, struggling to pull free as he heard the quick thuds of someone walking towards him.

“Dean, you up, boy?”

“Bobby? How did- how did you get here?”

Bobby shot him an incredulous look. “You’re the one who showed up here uninvited, idjit. Appeared in front of me and passed out right after. Scared the balls outta me.”

Dean’s mouth snapped shut with an audible click. He scrambled out of the cursed blanket. “I… I did?”

“No shit. Somehow the Impala made it here too, parked into the usual spot you put ‘er in,” He paused. “And mind tellin’ me why you’re here without your brother?”

Sam. 

His mind reached out to his brother instinctively, but where there was nothing before, this time there were muted feelings from there.

Dean could feel Sam’s shock and confusion, no doubt about where the heck he was and what had happened, but any thought he tried to send out would only be bounced back to him.

He breathed a sigh of relief. At least he knew his brother was alive.

“Dean,”

He drew out of his mind, looking at Bobby. His lips pulled back in a snarl. “They took him, Bobby.”

“Who’s they?”

“Demons.” His imaginary hackles were raised as he followed Bobby out of the now familiar room.

“Calm those fluffy appendages of yours, alright? I don’t want you clawing at my house just ‘cause you’re pissed.” 

Dean frowned, looking down to see that his hands had in fact, sprouted claws from his fingertips. He turned, spotting his tail, reached up and felt the furry tips of his ears. 

Huh. That was going to be a pain in public.

He hummed an agreement, mentally reminding himself to warm Sam about their animal features showing themselves with stress. Or in Sam’s case, more stress than usual.

Concentrating on trying to pull back his wolf features only gave rise to another problem that they’d been dealing with. 

The prayers. 

Ever since Burkitsville, the prayers had been growing more numerous as the website’s influence spread further and further. It was easy to ignore the voices of random people at first, but as more people began to worship the two hunter gods, the more frequent and diverse the voices became.

But at least for now, he could push the prayers back into his mind to ignore them until they got his brother back.

Dean frowned. The wolf features wouldn't be receding anytime soon with how strung up he was. 

He sent a pout to Bobby, who merely shook his head and sighed. “So, what’s the plan?”

“I can still feel him… but I’m not sure how that’s going to help. Can’t send anything else through.” He could feel his ears and tail droop slightly. 

“Why not? Can’t you feel whether he’s close or anything?”

“That’s… that’s actually a good idea, Bobby.” His ears perked up, tail wagging slightly.

“It’s why I’m here, idjit. Now, can you or not?”

Dean closed his eyes, drawing into himself as he reached out to poke his brother’s spot in his mind. It recoiled, before reaching for him weakly. 

He grabbed it as tightly as he could, feeling it tug him in a certain direction towards something.

Towards Sam .

He opened his eyes and grinned at Bobby, tail wagging hard enough to shake his entire lower body, but he didn’t care. 

They had a way to find his brother. 

Bobby huffed back fondly. “Well then, get to it, Dean. Let’s go get your brother back.”

-

They followed the feeling, Dean leading the charge in the Impala whilst Bobby followed closely behind. 

He was absentmindedly poking at Sam’s spot in his mind, checking the pullback on where he needed to go. 

He tugged at it again, not expecting a voice to slam itself into his mind, screaming at the top of its imaginary voice. 

He swerved wildly before speeding to the side of the road. The voice was loud and familiar, ramming against the corners of his mind in order to make itself known. He groaned in pain, clutching at his head. 

Fucking shit that hurts.

“Cold Oak!” it screamed . “Cold Oak!”

The voice cut off abruptly, but Dean got the message, along with the migraine of the century. 

Was this how Sam felt when he had his visions? ‘Cause he could understand why he felt so bad after today.

He heard Bobby come up beside him, probably after having swerved and drove into the ditch right after him.

He pulled at Sam, feeling small bursts of happiness and excitement. Most likely, the message had come from him somehow. 

Dean grinned in pride. Trust Sammy to come up with something!

Now, he had a location and his ‘pigeon instincts’, as Bobby took to calling it. Between those two, there was nothing that was going to stop them from getting his brother back.

“Dean? What’s wrong?” 

He turned his smile onto Bobby. “We’ve got a lead.”

-

“Cold Oak? You sure he’s there?” Bobby asked, eying the map laid out across the Impala’s hood. 

“I’m sure,” Dean stated firmly.

“Then we might have ourselves a problem. All their residents skedaddled outta there decades ago ‘cause it was so haunted. If he’s there, then he might be in a lot more trouble than we thought.”

Dean grit his teeth. He could feel his teeth lengthen in response to his frustration, fangs and canines pulling at his gums and lips as he tried to suppress a snarl.

“Calm your tits, puppy boy. I’m sure Sam is fully capable enough to take care of himself without ya on his tail all the time.”

He groaned, choosing to scoop the map back up and shove it back through his baby’s window. The empty passenger seat echoed back to him as he got in, door hinges creaking as he swung it shut. 

He checked back to see if Bobby had followed, before pulling out of the ditch and onto the main highway.

“Hang on, Sammy,” he whispered. A prayer of his own to his brother. “Hang on.”

-

It was nightfall by the time they made it to the forest surrounding Cold Oak, turning down the dirt road that led to the abandoned town. 

Dean had felt his connection to Sam strengthen as they got closer, his brother’s emotions growing stronger and more vivid. They passed an unseen barrier of some sort, and he shivered slightly as he felt the muted haze of Sam washing away, the bond strong enough that he couldn’t help but try to send something out.

Sam? Sammy, can you hear me?

A sudden spike of pure, unadulterated panic shot through him, causing him to double over. He recovered quickly, slamming his foot flat against the accelerator. He heard her purr loudly in response, rumbling steadily along the uneven surface.

His baby could take it. She’d been through so much worse for them, after all. 

Dean! Sam’s voice cried out in his head, panic and relief clear in his voice. He unconsciously pushed his foot further downwards. De’! 

Sam! Sammy tell me where you are!

Entran- Sam’s voice cut off, most likely due to his concentration being broken in some way or another. 

Dean swerved along the path, grabbing his sawed-off and pistol the moment he spotted the town entrance. He stopped, scrambling out of the car, Bobby at his heels. 

He spotted Sam, limping along the path leading out of the town. He was favouring his right leg and cradling his left arm, keeping it close towards him.

“Dean!” He cried out weakly, his raspy voice echoing across the quiet forest.

“Sam! Sammy, just hold on, alright!”

“Dean!” Sam croaked, and Dean pumped his legs harder to reach him. 

There were forty feet between them.

Sam limped closer. Dean ran faster. 

Thirty feet. 

Twenty feet.

There was a blur running towards Sam, faster than Dean could register, speeding forwards like a blur. He could see something glint in his hand, aimed towards Sam’s unprotected back.

“Sam, look out!”

Ten feet. 

The knife sank into Sam’s back. He gasped. 

Sam’s body jerked upwards slightly, an agonised cry spilling from his lips. Dean could feel his brother’s pain through the bond, threatening to bring him to his knees as well.

The world stood still, and Dean could see nothing but his brother, could see nothing but the boy he’d raised.

Time unfroze, Sam’s name leaving Dean’s lips in a cry of his own. He rushed forward, tossing his sawed-off to the side. 

Sam. 

His jeans squelched against the wet earth as he clutched his brother, pawing at the darkening red spot on his jacket. 

Sammy.

“Hey, Sam, come ‘ere. Lemme look at you, okay?” Nononono this couldn’t be happening.  

“It’s gonna be alright, okay, Sammy? It’s not even that bad,” he insisted, pleading, begging, praying. “I’m gonna take care of you, okay?”

Sam’s eyes drifted, hazing over. The bond was slowing, a steady river trickling into a dry ocean. “We’re gonna patch you up, alright? Good as new.”

Sam’s eyes drooped, body listing to the side. Dean struggled to hold him up. “Sam! I’m gonna take care of you, alright? It’s my job right? Watch out for my moose of a little brother.”

The bond stopped, like a well that had been thoroughly dried up. His eyes were closed and he wasn’t responding to anything that Dean was saying.

“Sam! Sam, please no.”

There was no response from Sam.

“Sam!”

The spot in his mind was empty.

“Sammy!”

There was complete and utter nothing.

Nononononono-

Dean could see a dark body jerk harshly to the side, could hear a choked gasp of air, could feel tears streaming down his cheeks, but it didn’t matter.

His brother was dead.

“No, please don’t do this to me, Sammy!”

“Sammy!”

His brother was dead.

“Sam!”

His voice echoed around the empty town, swept through the forest with its grief. Overhead, clouds thundered and rain fell from the sky.

The night was cold, the world was silent, and Dean’s brother was dead.

Chapter Text

Sam was floating.

He watched the world around him with a numbed apathy, his consciousness momentarily shooting to people he didn’t know, but ultimately remaining at his brother’s side. 

His grieving brother, who was cradling his dead body while sobbing, his face a picture of untold agony, worse than when their dad died.

De’, he mumbled, though no sound came out.

He could feel something enveloping him, warm and comforting and somehow divine, and he wondered absently if this was the God that he had spent so much time praying to.

It snorted, and he realised that it was a moose. A six-foot, thousand pound moose. 

God is a moose?

It huffed at him, nosing his side.

He should probably be more surprised , he noted.

The moose curled itself around him, as if it were giving him a full-bodied hug. A warm hug. 

Huh, who knew moose were that warm. 

It snorted and he giggled, feeling it nudge him in response, curling tighter around him. 

He watched as Dean carried his limp body inside, Bobby at his heels. He ached to follow them inside, but was stopped by the massive body of the moose. He tried regardless, shooting forward, the broken ends of their link enough to lead him to wherever his brother had gone to. 

He could see him, could hear his brother muffle stifled sobs. The house creaked and moaned with each choked cry, and the weather outside the grimy window had turned gloomy.

The moose had made its way over to him, nosing at his head as it towered over him. 

Stop that, he said, swatting it away with a hand. It snorted, before choosing to chew on his hair instead. Sam let it be, more concerned with the eerie silence that seemed so unlike Dean. 

His brother was panting, chest heaving with every breath. He had stopped crying, but whatever had replaced it was so much worse. He had the look of someone who’d given up, the eyes of someone who was dead . 

Nonononono, Dean don’t do this, please. Don’t do this. Don’t give up!

The moose seemed to sense his distress, huffing once before strolling over to his brother and jabbing him with an antler.

He watched as Dean jumped, hand ghosting over where the moose’s antler had pierced him. There was no blood, but clearly he had felt something. 

“Sammy?” 

He could feel the broken strands of the bond reach out, small, miniscule tendrils reaching out and connecting. It was small, but it was enough to bring a small light back to his eyes.

“There has to be a way, Bobby. There has to be.” He croaked, his voice trembling as he struggled to pull himself to his feet. It tugged at Sam to be with his brother, to reassure, to comfort.

He whined, hearing the moose’s grunt turning into a roar as something came closer towards them.

“Hey, hey, hey, I know you’re protective, but chill, Samoose. I’m here to help, alright?”

It stood, bucking and kicking in the voice’s direction. Its head of antlers turned into a deadly crown of spears, aimed to pierce and strike down the unwelcome intruder.

“Jeez, I said that I’m here to help! Stop that!” 

Sam laughed, reaching out to call the moose back. The voice had said that it meant no harm, and he was sort of dead, so what harm could it possibly do to him? He also had an overprotective moose by his side, so he figured he was pretty safe. 

Said moose grunted and huffed, bellowing out a final warning. It flicked an ear at him and nosed his cheek, before settling next to him again, a furred wall of solid muscle protecting him from any harmful intentions. 

Hands reached towards him, cupping his face softly. “Oh, Sam. How the hell you and your brother get into these sorts of situations is beyond me.”

The voice sighed heavily, the moose chiming in with a snort. “You agree too, huh?”

The moose eyed him, squinting in response. The voice seemed to wince, before continuing.

“Come on, then. We gotta get you back to your brother before he decides to start dealing with demons.” 

Sam frowned. Wasn’t he dead?

“Only a god can truly kill a god,” The voice said. “Jake Talley may have enhanced strength, but he is far from a god. And by that logic, you’re not dead. So up and at ‘em, Sam-a-lamb, we’ve really got to return you back to Dean-o.”

The moose seemed to agree, uncurling itself so that the voice could get closer. A hand landed on his shoulder and another on his forehead. 

How?

“Always with the questions, huh?”

Please.

“Fine. Mystery Spot. Find me there. Now, close your eyes.”

Sam finally complied and felt himself fall, spiralling down in the vague direction of Dean, of his body.

The last thing he saw were the moose’s befuddled face and glowing blue eyes, before the world faded to black. 

-

Sam woke hazily, bile rising at the back of his throat.

 He could hear Bobby and Dean arguing somewhere nearby, and he struggled to pry open his eyes. 

The world swam in his vision, the shapes around him blurry and foggy, but it was enough for him to recognise the ramshackle house that the two had decided to squat in.

His stomach rolled as he tried to call out to his brother.

“Dean,” he tried, but his voice was too weak, and vomit threatened to show itself. He swallowed, trying to coax it back. 

“De’!” He called again, high pitched and raspy. He couldn’t hold it back any longer, bile spilling from his lips as he retched violently. 

He could hear footsteps rushing towards them as he coughed, struggling to breathe through his desperate heaving.

Dean’s boots slid into view through the bile and blood he had been spitting out, trailing down his mouth and throat and gathering in a puddle underneath him.

He coughed harshly, tears gathering in his eyes. It hurt so much, but he couldn’t stop his stomach from throwing up whatever he’d eaten from the last time he’d actually eaten something.

“Sam,” Dean cried, gripping his face between his hands. Sam winced as Dean stepped into the bloodied mess. “Sammy!”

“De’,” he whined. “Wa’ter, ple?” 

“Here, Sammy, not too fast, alright?” He tipped the bottle back, helping Sam to drink and rinse the vile taste of bile from his mouth. 

Once done, he’d sat up with a wince, weakly reaching for the wound in his back. 

Jake had killed him, and yet he was alive. He had felt the knife’s cool blade in his back, severing his spinal cord with inhuman strength. He had lost all feeling in his legs, had collapsed into Dean’s arms bonelessly as he died. 

Dean smacked his hands away gently, though he moved forward to tug Sam’s shirts up himself. What he saw drew a startled breath out of him, but he pulled his shirt’s back down regardless. 

He seemed to hesitate, before reaching out through the link, fresh grief and oh-so-hopeful relief flooding it. Sam grinned weakly, before reaching out himself, mentally giving Dean a reassuring shove.

He grinned back weakly and pulled Sam into a hug, a choked sob spilling from his lips. “Don’t- Don’t do this to me again, Sammy. Please.” 

He buried his face deeper into Sam’s neck while Sam let out a steady hum, calming and reassuring.

They stayed together for a long time, pure, utter relief and a hint of something divine oozing from every pore. 

The world breathed a sigh as Sam felt his eyes close, safe and warm in the arms of his brother.

-

When Sam woke again, it was in the same grimy mattress as before. Someone had cleaned out the vomit and blood, though he could still taste it on the tip of his tongue. 

He clumsily kicked the thin blanket off, rising unsteadily and stumbling out of the room.

Heads snapped towards him as he walked in. He sent them a mild grimace, knowing exactly what was going to happen. 

A mug slid forward, the strong scent of coffee wafting from it. He looked to Dean gratefully, tipping it back and closing his eyes as it went down his throat. It burnt out the taste of vomit in his tongue, replacing it with that of bitter caffeine. 

They sat in relative silence for a few minutes, Sam practically chugging down his coffee, while Bobby and Dean sipped on their beers.

Isn’t it a little too early for beer?

It’s five p.m. somewhere, Sammy. And are you getting your face out of that mug anytime soon?

Sam whined indignantly. You know we have to get to it eventually, man. You just… came back to life, Sammy. I thought I lost you for good. I thought… I thought I failed you- 

 His mug slammed onto the table with enough force that Sam was surprised that it hadn’t shattered into a million pieces. Brown liquid sloshed as he lunged for his brother, wrapping long legs and arms around him in a hug. 

The chair nearly tipped back from their combined weight as Dean scrambled to readjust, hands on his back despite his flailing, ever determined to keep his brother safe. “Don’t you ever say that. Don’t you dare.”

Simmering rage rose from the surface as he spit out those words. He wasn’t about to take any shit about his brother, regardless of the fact that the shit talking came from his brother in the first place. 

Dean was his brother, was the man who had raised him despite everything, and there was no way he could ever fail him, not now, not ever. 

Dean slumped in his seat, head tilted forward with his nose buried in Sam’s neck. “Okay, Sammy. Alright.”

A beat passed, before Sam realised that he was awkwardly perched on the tiny surface of the chair between Dean’s spread legs, and was basically sitting on his brother’s lap from the way that Dean had managed to contort himself to catch him. 

He blushed as Dean smirked. “I didn’t know you swung this way, Sam.”

Sam squawked in protest, getting off the chair and back into his own. 

“Thank god. I may have carried you when you were in diapers, but you aren’t exactly as tiny as you were before.”

Bobby snorted, though fondness was clear in his eyes. “You two lovebirds done with the kissin’? ‘Cause we’ve got other things up our asses. Namely, how the hell you managed to come back to life.”

He pointed at Sam as he slumped. Dean twitched in the background. 

“I…” he hesitated. “I don’t know.”

Dean’s eyebrows furrowed, wrinkles drawing across his forehead. “Sam. You just came back to life from dying. Surely you’ve got to have some explanation for this, ‘cause I sure as hell don’t.”

“I really have no clue, alright? All I know is that I was floating with a moose for some reason.”

“A moose? Like a full blown-”

“I know what a moose is, Dean.”

“So you were floatin’?” Bobby added.

“Yeah. I could see, but couldn’t really do anything other than that. Nothing hurt, and everything just felt… fuzzy.”

Dean huffed back in response. Sam frowned, struggling to wreck his brain to remember anything from his time. The whisper of a familiar voice drifted into his memory and he jerked upright, causing both men to jump. 

“I- There was this… voice? I- It was talking to me, saying that it had to get me back to Dean to prevent some sort of demon deal?” He caught a wince from Dean, which would explain why the voice seemed so urgent. 

Seriously, Dean? Making demon deals?

Dean shrugged unapologetically. He shook himself off, trying to remember anything else the voice said. They would talk about this later. “It said- it said to find it at something called a Mystery Spot.” 

“Well, ‘least we have some sort of answer.” Bobby sighed. He started towards his laptop, pulling a few books off the shelf as he walked further into the house.

Dean turned towards him. Anything else that voice said to you, Sammy?

Sam hesitated, tongue peeking from cracked lips as he tried to wet them. 

You remember what Emily told us when we asked what the First said to her?

What, like that cheesy line? Something about how only a god-

“-can truly kill a god,” Sam finished. “Yeah, that same line.”

“It said that to you? Right before you came back to life?” Dean’s eyes widened at Sam’s nod, before he cursed loudly, surging out of his seat and sending the chair towards the ground as he paced. 

He watched him, feeling the dread creep up his spine. It seemed like the website, everything, was true. The voice itself had confirmed it.

But why them? Out of all the people in the world, why did it have to be them who had to deal with this? He was already a freak, Azazel’ general, Azazel’s blood prodigy, Azazel’s favourite. But this? 

His fingers twitched, wanting nothing more than to claw out all the unnatural and freak and demon and wrong out of him. Warm, calloused hands on his arms brought him out of his thoughts, Dean’s concerned face filling his vision.

Sammy, stop that.

He looked downwards, seeing blood speckled on his fingernails. Long, red scratches littered down his arms, blood sluggishly flowing from the deeper ones. Dean carefully set his arms down, placing them gently on the table as he went to retrieve the med-kit. 

Sam watched as Dean worked, cleaning the cuts and whispering soft apologies whenever he hissed lightly in pain. He could feel his eyelids drooping again, the brief time awake more than enough for his limited stamina to deplete. 

His brother wrapped his wounds up carefully with white gauze and stood, grabbing one last sip of beer before reaching down to grab him. Slumped over his shoulder, Sam struggled to coordinate his feet, tripping slightly as they made it up the stairs. 

He flopped onto the guest bed, feeling the bed creek slightly as Dean sat next to his head. “‘m sorry, De’,” he mumbled.

“’s alright, Sammy. We’ll figure it out eventually.” 

He fell asleep to his brother’s hands in his hair, soothing and steady. 

-

It was nighttime when two figures blinked into existence. They stood at an abandoned park, the moon high in the sky.

Another appeared with the sound of fluttering feathers.

“Samuel Winchester is not in heaven,” he stated, trench coat flapping in the non-existent wind.

“What is the meaning of this, Castiel?” 

“He remains on earth,” Castiel said. “I have searched all of heaven. He was nowhere to be found.”

The shorter man scoffed. “And you are sure of this?”

Castiel nodded. “He remains on earth, Zachariah.”

The tallest man scowled. “This means that the deal was not struck. The demons have not upheld their part of the bargain.”

“And that means that the righteous man walks free.” Zachariah fumed. “Find him, Uriel.”

Uriel nodded, vanishing.

Zachariah turned towards Castiel, who was still staring at him. 

“What is it, Castiel?”

He shook his head. “It is nothing of concern.”

“Then chop-chop, on to it! Find the Winchesters. I need to report this to Micheal.”

Castiel nodded, before both figures disappeared with the sound of flapping.

Chapter Text

A man walks among the ruins of Cold Oak, his steps leaning faint trails in the soft dirt. He kicks at a limp body sprawled across a broken wood fence, limbs splayed and broken, lifeless eyes wide in shock. 

The man’s lips curled in disgust as he toes the body’s arms with a faint hint of amusement.

A woman appears next to him. “The angels sent a message.” She pauses, as if unsure on how to continue. “The vessels remain free.”

The man sneers, sending a harsh scowl at her. “And they’re questioning our allegiance?”

The woman nods hesitantly, eyes turning black in colour for a moment.

“Find them,” he orders. “They cannot hide forever.”

The woman nods again. “And the Winchester in Hell?”

Pale eyes flicker yellow. 

“He may have been their father, but John Winchester is far from the righteous man,” he sighed. “Still, he is one way to keep those brats in line. Keep him secured.”

The woman vanishes. The man doesn’t react, nudging at the body beneath his feet again. He sighs, before setting it aflame with a flick of his fingers. He leaves it burning, the fire spreading rapidly and consuming the entire town in flames, leaving behind nothing but ash. 

-

“Will you stop that?”

Dean continued to ignore his brother’s complaints, drumming his hands on the steering wheel and making sure that his elbows invaded Sam’s personal space as many times as possible. 

And if he managed to sock his brother in the face a couple of times, he’d take that as a win.

His brother’s grumbling had been a constant companion ever since they had left Bobby’s house in their dust, going from sharp glares thrown his way, to loud and concentrated thoughts sent straight into his mind. He ignored them anyway, choosing to either hum louder or crank the music up higher.

Sam’s annoyance was like a toasty campfire, prickling and crackling with pent-up frustration and growing larger and larger as Dean proceeded to repeatedly dump more fuel into the metaphorical fire. 

He couldn’t be bothered, however. After all, Sammy had been dead. 

He’d died in Dean’s arms and he hadn’t been able to do anything to stop it. He had felt their connection dry slowly with Sam’s weakening breaths, and had felt the moment he had lost his brother to their reaper's clutches.  

So to have Sam’s presence back in his mind was like relaxing next to said toasty campfire. A bright and flashing, albeit dangerous, signal that despite the fact that Dean had failed his brother, Sammy was still alive and kicking. 

That, and he really just liked to piss his little brother off, so sue him. 

With one last hum, Dean pulled the Impala into the parking lot of their usual sketchy-looking motel with its flickering neon lit sign. He grabbed their duffles as Sam went to get them a room. 

It had taken a simple search online to figure out what Sam’s mysterious voice had been talking about. Broward County Mystery Spot was a tourist trap where apparently the laws of physics and nature “Make No Sense!”, which had gotten Sam huffing and mumbling about something that Dean didn’t bother paying attention to.

Dean cast a look at the bright lit moon in the sky.

You flirtin’ with the receptionist or what? He sent to his brother with a grin. Taking an awful long time in there, Sammy.

It, is a he, Dean. He could feel the bitchface that Sam was making. 

You ain’t denying it.

Sam spluttered as Dean’s grin grew wider. He’s the owner, you jerk. Now stop embarrassing me.

His brother’s presence faded away slightly, though not fully. It seemed that even Sam was wary of the lack of his brother’s presence. 

Dean felt surprise shoot through the bond, then a touch of gratefulness. What’s up?

The owner just gave us a free upgrade. Apparently there’s been a lot of tourists around lately, and that didn’t have any cheaper rooms left, so the biggest one’s ours to use.

That’s awfully nice of him. What’s his name?

Said to call ‘im Gabe.

Well, say my thanks to Gabe. We’re sleeping like kings tonight, Sammy!

He could feel Sam’s eye roll with that one. Yes, Dean.

Bitch.

Jerk.

Dean spotted his moose of a brother stepping out from the reception building, his sharp hearing allowing him to pick up the soft notes of a song playing in the background. Sam nodded towards the furthest door from them as he tossed the keys to Dean. 

“You said two queens, right?”

Sam looked equally unimpressed, glaring heavily at the single, albeit large, king bed that laid in the middle of the large room.

“I’m going to go find Gabe.” With a loud sigh, Sam stepped out of the room. 

“You do that,” Dean replied, setting the duffles on the bed anyway. Considering how Gabe had said that the place was full, he highly doubted that there would be any other rooms left. 

And judging from the wave of pure exasperation emulating from Sam’s mind, his suspicions were confirmed.  

Left side’s mine, Sammy. And you better not kick me in the middle of the night, or I swear I’ll dump you on the floor.

What are you, my wife?

No, I’m the one who has to stake my claim over my territory because I’m sharing a bed with someone who’s the size of a human moose!

Territory huh, wolf boy? He could practically feel the amusement dripping from the little shit in waves.

That’s it, I’m taking the bed. You and your moose ass are sleeping on the floor tonight.

His brother chose that moment to enter the room, puppy-dog eyes in full effect as he pouted at him. A pair of long, furred ears adorned the sides of his head, flopping down alongside his hair. His pout deepened as he caught Dean’s eye, hunching even further into himself in an effort to convince his brother to let him back onto the bed.

It was Dean’s turn to splutter, his own instincts reacting with a soft whine at the sight of his brother. Sam’s ears perked, taking the whine as acceptance and he hurriedly flopped onto his side of the bed. 

You absolute cheater. That’s not even how moose ears work!

How do you know?

It’s just not how they work!

Well you’re not the moose in this situation now, are you?

“You little-“ he pounced onto the bed, hissing and licking as they wrestled, the bed creaking ominously under their combined weight. 

Their squabbling eventually ended when Sam let out a particularly vicious kick to Dean’s stomach as he dug his claws into Sam’s shirt, sending them both backwards and off the bed. They landed in a pile on the floor, limbs floundering in an attempt to hang on to the sheets. 

“Did we just-“ Sam started, panting softly.

“Have a play fight like a buncha newborn pups? Yes we did, Sammy.”

“Pups?”

“Baby wolves.”

He received an incredulous look in response, before his brother hefted himself up with a groan. “I’m going to go get ready to hit the hay. You?”

Dean waved him off in response, to which Sam gave a halfhearted shrug back, grabbing his stuff from their duffles and disappearing into the connected bathroom. 

He let out a long sigh. He hadn’t actually meant to start a play fight with his brother. It had just happened. The instincts born from his so-called “godhood” had screamed at him and he had obeyed them without thinking. Even Sam, the rebellious bastard that he was, did too.

To think that they had changed this much, relying on shifting and mind-reading and instincts of all things. What would his dad even think? The legendary John Winchester and his two sons turned supernatural pagan gods. 

His dad would be rolling in his grave right now at the sight of them. 

He sighed again, pushing himself off the ground to place his duffle on his side of the bed.

Screw you, Sammy. He cheered in victory, smug smile painted on his lips.

Are you wagging your tail like an idiot now?

He yelped, hands reaching for the furry limb behind him as he swore violently, Sam’s gleeful cackling so loud that he could hear it through the closed bathroom door. 

-

A loud, shrieking alarm jolted him out of his slumber as Dean blindly felt around the bedside table, fingers catching a few buttons that he pressed simultaneously. His brows furrowed as Heat of The Moment started playing from the speakers. He tried fiddling with the alarm-radio-thing to no avail, only succeeding in hurting his sensitive hearing.

Looking to his left, Sam was still fast asleep somehow, a small trail of drool dripping down his open mouth. 

Dena could feel himself soften, opting to turn the music down in order to let the younger hunter sleep for longer. It was rare that he would be awake before Sam, even since they were young. Hell, it was rare that Sammy even slept for the full eight hours with how commonly he’d be awoken by frequent nightmares. 

Nightmares that they now knew were caused by the demon blood flowing in his little brother’s veins, which was a can of worms that Dean did not even want to think about, despite feeling his canines sharpen with a snarl at the mere thought of it. 

Nevertheless, he got up as silently as he could, years of sneaking around both his dad and his brother making themselves useful as he got about his morning routine. Somehow, Heat of The Moment was still playing as he made his way out of the bathroom.

Putting on his best shit-eating grin, he set himself onto his bed and cranked the radio-alarm-thing up high, watching Sammy jolt upright with a gasp, eyes widened and glossed with the haze of sleep. Dean’s grin widened at the scathing glare that his brother shot him. 

“Rise and shine, Sammy!” He cheered, music complimenting perfectly with his pointed finger as Sam swore loudly, shoving his head back under the covers.

“Fuck off, Dean!”

Eventually, after a lot of wrestling and heckling on Dean’s part, he had managed to get Sam suitably dressed, his brother’s eyes still blinking sleepily up at him as he grumbled in protest.

“I can dress myself, you know,” he said, reaching towards the motel door.

“Oh really? Couldn’t tell.”

Sam huffed, pulling open the door with its peeling paint to reveal a short blonde man standing in front of them with his arms crossed, his foot tapping away on the concrete pavement.

“Well it’s about time y’all got outta bed, Sam-a-lamb, Dean-o.”

Gabe?

Chapter Text

“Who the hell are you?” Dean asked, fists clenched and teeth bared. Sam could imagine him as a wolf, hissing and spitting at the intruder in front of him. Or in this case, scowling at Gabe.

“Gabe? Are you looking for something?” He placed his hand lightly on Dean’s back, trying to placate his brother in whatever way he could. 

It wouldn’t do to have them kicked out, after all.

“Yes indeed! In fact, I’ve been looking for both of you little pagans.”  

Sam could feel Dean tensing underneath his hand, and it seemed that he wasn’t the only one to notice.

“No, Dean. Bad dog. You don’t get to hiss at me like that, man.”

“You son of a-” Dean leapt out of Sam’s arms, launching himself into Gabe. He landed on the concrete outside the room, missing Gabe entirely when the man had stepped to the side, smirking widely.

Gabe barged into the room, ignoring the still-spluttering Dean and sending a wink in Sam’s direction. “Hope y’all don’t mind me intruding,” he sing-songed. 

“Who even are you?”

“All will be answered in due time, Sam-a-lamb,” he spun around, freezing Sam on the spot with his gaze. He could feel those bronze eyes looking over every inch of him.

He could feel the tips of his ears burn pink subconsciously as he tried to hide behind his long fringe. 

Gabe’s returning smirk let him know that he had not succeeded.

“Nice to see that you’re still in one piece,” he continued, “though I’m surprised that you haven’t recognised me at all.” 

You’ve met this guy before, Sammy? Dean’s disbelief was loud in his mind, as he struggled to recall when he could have possibly met the motel owner before. 

Hearing Gabe talk about them as pagans was concerning, but hearing him say that they’d apparently met before arriving at the motel? 

Now, Sam was just plain confused. 

He didn’t look like anyone he’d met before, but his voice did sound a bit familiar, but for the life of him, he couldn’t place it down. 

“News of your newfound fame is spreading, for better or for worse. Part of the reason is due to you two,” Gabe snapped his fingers, a computer was dropping onto the bed as he sat alongside it. 

“Another reason is because of me,” he smirked, bronze eyes shining with mirth. “Nice to meet you, boys. You can call me Gabe. But, you can also call me Trielki.”

Sam stepped back in shock, mind scrambling to connect even more dots. 

Trielki. The one who started that website in the first place. 

This was who they had to blame for the sudden pagan worship, for the unwanted powers.

This was who he had to blame for making him an even greater freak than he was before.

His eyes widened at Dean’s accompanying snarl, loud and fierce in his ears. Looking back, his brother had stepped forward in the chaos, his ears drawn back and lowered, his tail poised and upright. The tips of his fingers had grown claws, and as he bared his teeth Sam could have sworn that his canines had lengthened and grown sharper.

Dean! 

“I think that it’s in our best interests that you stand down, Dean. Wouldn’t want your moose of a baby bro to get hurt, would you?” Gabe’s eyes blazed bronze, a stifling presence filling the room. Sam could feel Dean’s fear through their bond as he continued to snarl, refusing to back away from Gabe.

Don’t you dare, dipshit!

Dean, please!

He was panicking, struggling to rein back the instincts that demanded for him to respond in kind to the blatant intimidation tactic and his brother’s protective fury, all while trying not to piss off the very, very powerful being in front of them. 

He chose to pull Dean’s tail instead.

Snapping his head towards him, Dean stopped snarling. He yelped in surprise and pain as he was dragged out of his hissing fit by the fingers tangled in the long fur on his tail. 

Did he mean to do that? No. Did it at least stop Dean from potentially angering Gabe enough to avoid having his brother’s head be blown off and them both being eaten? Yes. 

Sam would consider it a win.

“That hurt, bitch!”

Sam snapped back at him. “Then stop pissing him off, dumbass!” Gabe had proven himself to be merciful, given that he had, willingly or not, given them the biggest room at his motel. 

Though whether the single bed was meant to be a joke or not, he had yet to decide. Gabe was proving himself to be a trickster as well.

They broke apart at Gabe’s loud laughter, the harsh energy that had enveloped the room previously dissipating as he giggled on their bed, feet kicking in the air. He wiped an imaginary tear from his eye.

Yep, he was definitely enjoying this.

“Oh, you two are hilarious,” they both glare at him, Dean’s frustration rising yet again as Sam sends an image of head-pats back to him, relishing in his spluttering.

Gabe snapped his fingers again. Two chairs fell into existence in front of the bed. “I think it’s time that you know what’s going on.” 

He raised an eyebrow at the wary looks sent his way. “Well? Do you not want to know what’s going on at all?”  He wiggled his fingers at them.

Sam hesitantly sat, dragging his brother alongside him. He’d kept his tail and ears, though his teeth still retained their sharpened canines. When that had started to happen, he had no clue. 

Though that did explain why Dean had been complaining about biting his tongue so often lately. 

Gabe snapped his fingers again, drawing Sam’s attention back from where it had wandered. “So! You want to know everything, right?”

”Just tell us what you want, you son of a bitch!”

Bronze eyes shot towards Dean with startling intensity as Sam smacked his brother on the head. 

Dean, stop. Please. 

He glared back, eventually relenting. 

Fine. He huffed. 

Turning back to Gabe merited them with a raised eyebrow and a cheeky grin as he let out a short bark of laughter. He stopped at Sam’s polite cough.

“Basically, you two Winchesters are now the newest pagans on the block, some of whom include the resident scarecrow god and me,” he paused. “I’m Loki, by the way. Trickster god, liesmith and all that; nice to meet you.”

He looked at them appraisingly. “Nice to see that my efforts haven’t gone in vain. Got a healthy following behind your backs as well. Good job on that. Some pagans took at least a good few centuries before they managed to get a following of your size.” 

“Although,” he considered, “the invention of the internet definitely helped in that aspect. All the new pagans these days, you all have it so easy. Back then, we had to do a lot more to get that many followers! Do you know how many people I’ve had to curse to get people to actually think that I was real? Too many! In fact, I even had to-”

And now they were off the rails. Great. 

How long do you think he’ll keep going for? Dean asked. 

A while. Sam replied, eyeing the way Gabe had thrown his hands up in the air while ranting, watching as they moved alongside their owner’s rapid movements.

Fifty bucks says that he’ll keep going for another five minutes.

Dean!

What?

Sixty says he goes for ten.

Done.

They both watched as Gabe continued to rant, the minutes ticking down in their minds. Dean cursed as they breached the five minute mark. Sam cheered.

Shut up! He hasn’t gone to ten yet. This is still your game to lose. 

Meanwhile, you’ve already lost.

Bitch. 

Jerk.

“-and the apocalypse! We’ve been waiting for it for years, but then suddenly, two little Winchesters show up and then it’s go time! Centuries of waiting and preparing, all for- Wait, why are you two looking at me like that?”

“Nine minutes! Suck on that, Sammy!”

”And yet you still lost by four minutes, Dean!”

“Am I interrupting something?” the trickster looks between them, unsure. It’s the first time that Sam has seen him look like that. 

“Nothing.”

“Just talking about the air-conditioning. Feels a little hot in here, doesn’t it?” Dean deflects. You owe me sixty.

You didn’t even win!

Sixty bucks, Sammy.

You fucking cheater.

“It isn’t even that hot!” Gabe protested. 

“It’s very hot in here. I think the air-conditioner isn't working. You should fix that y’know, since you’re the manager and all. You wouldn’t want your guests complaining.”

“I- Why?”

“Not good for business at all, Mr Gabe.”

Gabe gave Dean a look of utter confusion, before snapping his fingers and plunging the temperature down significantly. Sam could see his breath fog in front of his eyes. 

“This cold enough for you, Dean-o?” 

“Pea-peachy.”

He looked them over appraisingly. Sam felt less affected than his brother by the cold, which was kind of weird considering he was wearing less layers than Dean. 

“Must be the moose blood,” Gabe muttered to himself, before clapping his hands together. “Eh, you’ll live. You’re the vessels anyway, so it’s not like dear ol’ Luci and Michael will let that slide.”

“Hold on,” Sam cut in. “Vessels?”

“Yep! Lucifer and Michael’s personal meatbags to end the world with their arguing. It’s very annoying, I know.” 

“Lucifer and Michael as in, Satan and the archangel?” Sam asked, feeling dread creep up his spine. Something wasn’t right. “They’re not real. They can’t be.”

“Sam,” Gabe’s features softened. “They’re real. As real as Dean’s tail and your antlers.”

“No- no, they can’t be. They can’t.”

“Angels exist, Sam. And by principle,” he paused, looking Sam dead in the eyes, something like pity filling his voice. “So does God.”

Sam flinched back, nearly shooting up from the chair. Dean’s worry flooded his mind, but he couldn’t focus on that, could barely focus on anything other than Gabe’s words.

He tried to ask anyway. 

“He’s- he’s real?” he hiccuped. 

“He is. I’m so sorry.”

Sam let out a bitter laugh, his throat closing. Dean was kneeling across him, face etched with concern as he rubbed circles into the younger hunter’s palms. 

You okay, Sammy?

Fine, De. Ask him about the vessel thing.

Are you sure? 

Yes, Dean.

His brother huffed in response, before straightening up and turning towards the pagan, hands on his hips. “Now what about the vessels?”

“We can always do this later, you know. Take a break, drink some of that lukewarm beer that you Winchesters seem to love?”

Sam shook his head determinedly, tongue still unable to form words.

Gabe sighed, before slumping onto himself. “Stubborn as ever, you Winchesters.”

Sam raised an eyebrow at him in response.

“Fine. You know how demons can possess anyone they like, right?” He waited for them to nod. “Angels, on the other hand, need permission. Not only that, but there are only specific bloodlines that can house angels in them. It’s why they don’t bother to come to Earth most of the time. But right now, the apocalypse is on the way.”

“Apocalypse? Like the four horsemen and all that shit?” 

“Yes, Dean,” Gabe said, “that apocalypse. The big bad world-ending fight between Lucifer and Michael. It’s been foretold by God since the beginning of everything, really. And at the center of it all are the two vessels that will house Archangel Michael and Satan, chosen by God all those years ago.”

He paused, taking a breath and closing his eyes. He opened them to look at the two hunters warily.

“Those vessels… are you two. Dean as Michael’s vessel and Sam as Lucifer’s.”

Sam’s mind blanked out. He could hear Dean swearing, could see Gabe trying his best to placate his fuming brother, could feel his grip tightening on the chair. 

He was Satan’s vessel. Sam Winchester, the man destined to have Lucifer in him to start the apocalypse. 

Should he be surprised? Angry?

He felt miserable, yeah, but that was a guarantee. 

He couldn’t help himself but laugh again, tears streaming down his face as he gasped for air. Dean twisted around, hurriedly kneeling back on the floor to whisper quiet comforts at him. He grabbed Dean instead, shoving his face into the crook of his brother’s neck like he did when they were young, left alone and hurt in musty motel rooms while their dad left to go hunt down more monsters.

He briefly wondered what their dad would think of them now. Both his sons turned into pagan gods and vessels. 

He let out another short laugh, voice muffled from stuffing his face at Dean’s skin.

“You good, Sammy?”

He nodded slowly, carefully extracting his face out to look at his brother’s soft smile. 

“No more chick-flick moments, alright? I’ve got enough for this year, ya know.”

Sam sent him a wobbly smile. Jerk.

Bitch. 

“I’m very sorry to interrupt this touching moment,” Gabe cut in, looking the slightest bit apologetic. “But I do have to know, what are you two planning to do?”

Dean turned to look at Sam. “Well, you said that angels have to have our permission before they can use us as their personal meat suits, right?”

Gabe nodded. 

“Then we just say no. No matter what it takes.”

“I hate to break it to you, Dean-o, but it ain’t that easy. Lucifer and Michael will do anything to make the apocalypse happen. They’re ruthless and powerful in their own rights, let alone working towards a common goal. Not to mention the sheer amount of demons and angels at their beck and call. I’ve tried my best so far, but that’s not going to last forever.”

“Tried your best?”

“Why do you think I started your pagan-hood in the first place? Becoming mortals-turned-pagans helps to keep you both off of demon and angel radar, while also giving you two some added power and resilience. It’s not much, but it helps to keep Luci and Michael off for a bit.” 

“Tha- thank you, for th-that.” Sam spoke, voice strained and wobbly. He would have never thought being turned into a pagan god would be a blessing, but here he was, hidden away from Lucifer’s spies.

Gabe grinned. “No problemo, Samoose. Least I could do to keep wolf-boy away from any demon deals.”

“Hey!” 

“It was a stupid idea, Dean, and you know it.”

“Can we at least tell Bobby about this?” Sam asked softly amidst their squabbling. 

“Don’t worry about it, Sam-a-lamb! I’ve got that covered,” He proceeded to snap his fingers, another bed dropping into view. “Now, rest up! We have some seals to break in the wrong order, and father figures to get scolded by!”

“Gabe, wait!”

It was too late as Sam watched the trickster disappear with the sound of rustling feathers. 

“Damnit.”

-

In an abandoned hotel off a highway in Indiana, a young man sat behind the dusty reception. Its high quality wood finish riddled with scratches and termites. 

A middle aged man walked up to it, kicking aside some old bones. His hands come up to comb his hair into place. 

“Mercury,” he said to the man snoring behind the counter. “Mercury!’

The man jolted from his seat, nearly falling off the chair but managing to catch himself before falling. In the blink of an eye, the bones are cleared and the table is nearly spotless.

“Odin! What can I do for you today, old friend? A feast? A favour? Or some good ol’ fashioned gossip?”

Odin sighed. “News please, Mercury.”

Mercury grinned wildly, before procuring a notepad. “So, I’ve heard about a lot of things recently, given that the apocalypse is happening soon and all. But, guess what?”

His eyes shone in glee. Odin Sighed again. “Spit it out, Mercury.”

The younger man pouted. “You’re no fun, Odin. Anyway, turns out both the angels and demons are gunning for the Winchesters.”

“The two new pagans who killed Vanir?”

“Yep.”

“Why?”

“No idea. But here’s the kicker. Loki was seen with ‘em too.”

“Loki?”

“Liesmith and all. So either he’s helping those two, playing another one of his pranks, or he’s after them.”

“... I see. Keep an eye on them, Mercury.”

“You got it! Now how would you rate the service provided to you out of ten?”

“One.” He turned back the way he came, pushing the glass doors open with a creak.

“Oh come on, Odin!”

Far away, a trench-coated angel listens.

Chapter Text

Sam squawked awake to the shrill cry of a rooster in his ears, legs tangled under the covers as he scrambles upright. On the bed next to him, Dean snored louder in response to the grinning trickster in the middle of the room. 

Squinting bearily, the younger pagan chucked both pillows, one at his snoring brother and the other at the cackling pagan. Dean snapped awake with a loud “oof!” as Gabe laughed louder.

“Why so grumpy, Sam-a-lamb? Come on, the sun’s already up and you two are still sleeping!”

“Try sleeping with about a thousand voices and a wolf the size of you in your head,” Dean grumbles, shoving his face further into the musky pillow, which ew . Sam wrinkled his nose at that. Wasn’t he supposed to have the better nose out of the two of them? How could he stand the stench of sweat, smoke, spit and God knew what? 

Sam decided that he didn’t want to know. 

“You have a wolf in your dreams? And you’re hearing prayers in your sleep?” Gabe pushed, poking the hunter in the shoulder persistently even as said hunter mumbled a muffled affirmation. Gabe whistled. “Huh. You’re a lot faster than expected. And here I thought that Sam-o would be the one to meet your divinity first, since touchy stuff like being dead should normally speed that process along faster. So good job to you, Sparky.”

“Meet our divinity? The heck does that mean?” Dean finally raised his face from the pillow, eyes open with mere slits. Gabe let out another cackle at the sight, reaching a finger to boop the tip of Dean’s nose. He snarled in response, darting forward and snapping at the retreating appendage. “Touchy dog,” he tsked. 

“Do that again and I’ll bite your finger off.”

Sam raised an eyebrow at him, unimpressed by their antics. “Just answer the question, Gabe.” 

“The wolf that Sparky over here is talking about would be your divinity. Or at least the personification of it. Since you two weren’t born pagans, the aspects of your powers manifests as something different from the other gods. For Dean, it's a wolf. For you, it would be the overprotective moose you saw when you ‘died’.” 

Samoose , Gabe had dubbed the strangely familiar creature. As if responding to his thoughts, he could feel something warm in him shift, a soft bellow floating past his ears and trailing off. He shivered slightly in response. 

He hated the thought that there was something inside of him, sentient and living in his body - something that had already been violated so many times. It was horrifying, to think of how his body wasn’t his, that it had never been and would never be. From the demon blood he’d been fed as a baby, to being Satan’s destined vessel and now having the divine shoved into him like some sort of human storage locker. 

He wanted nothing more than to scrape himself dry, to take everything foreign and wrong and scrub out all the impurities until he was finally clean. 

Briefly, he wondered if this was what He had always wanted for him, if this was how He had deemed his fate to be. 

He wondered if it was amusing for Him to watch. 

He could hear a faint bellow in his ears, mournful and fleeting. He felt that something shift again, before it grew still and cold. He hated how he missed its warmth. 

Sam? Dean’s voice drifted into his mind, snapping him out of his thoughts. He glanced at the two of them, noting how they were looking at him with concern. “I’m fine, Dean.” 

“You sure?” 

“I’m sure.” Doubtful eyes lingered on him for a moment, before he sighed. Dean heaved himself out of bed with a loud groan, turning to Gabe. “Give us a moment to get everything together, then we’ll leave for Bobby’s. I assume you’re not riding with us?” 

“You do know I’m a god, right? Who even needs that when you can just do this,” he raised his fingers and snapped. The world blanked for a fraction of a second before materialising into the familiar walls of Bobby’s home. Sam grunted as he wobbled unsteadily, desperately trying not to fall. Dean groaned next to him. “What even was that?”

“A god’s way of transportation. I’m kinda surprised you’re having this bad a reaction to it, Dean-o, considering you’ve done it before.”

Sam turned to the other hunter. He hadn’t heard of anything like that before. “Dean?”

“It was once, you stupid trickster! And even then, I passed out for like a day after. Bobby would kno-”

“Boys, that you?” A well-needed and appreciated voice called from the doorway where its owner stood, shotgun gripped tightly in his hand as his gaze darted rapidly around the room. 

“Bobby!” Dean grinned, Sam sending his own uneasy smile at the older hunter. “Bobby, this is Gabe, the somewhat friendly, very antagonistic bitch of a trickster.” 

Gabe waved at the introduction with a cheeky smile, even as Sam greatly resisted the urge to sigh and smack his face with his palm out of sheer exasperation. He settled for a spectacular bitchface instead. Why did he have to put up with these two? 

Ya love me, Sammy. 

Shut up, Dean. 

You keep that face up and it’ll be stuck like that forever, Sammy. 

Fuck off, De’.

Bitch. 

Jerk. 

Bobby’s voice snapped them out of their argument, setting the shotgun aside. “And don’t I know it. Son of a bitch popped outta nowhere as I was tearin’ down some scrap and set Rumsfield off.”

“Guilty.” 

“And Dean? Impala’s parked outside.” Sam watched as Dean let out a dog-like yelp, shoving past Gabe and Sam before darting around Bobby and throwing himself out the front door. “I swear if that son of a bitch puts so much as a scratch on my baby…”

“The love he has for that car is a little concerning,” Gabe noted. Sam shrugged. “It’s home.” 

Damn right she is. 

The trickster hummed in reply, nose deep in the stacks of books strewn throughout the room. Bobby eyed him warily, even as he wrapped Sam in a hug and went to fetch the much-needed alcohol while Sam wrestled Dean back into the room. 

“So,” Bobby started, sipping at his beer. “We gotta figure out how to stop the apocalypse, starting with the seals of Hell, whatever they are.”

“The seals have a certain rule to them,” the trickster said, twirling a lollipop in his fingers and sucking on it. Sam wondered idly if he ever got sick of sweets. The wink shot his way said otherwise. “Only the first and last seals are important. The first involves breaking the Righteous Man, while the last involves Lilith.”

“And it is written that the first seal shall be broken when the righteous man sheds blood in Hell. As he breaks, so shall it break.” Gabe quoted. “That’s the first seal.” 

“And who would be the Righteous Man?”

“The one who most of the demons and Azazel are gunning for now.”

Sam’s eyes widened, mind running as fast as it could. “The deal,” he breathed, wordless panic shooting through him. “They wanted Jake to kill me, so Dean would bring me back; so they could take him down to Hell and break him.”

Gabe nodded, solemn. They had been that close, that close to losing Dean. His brother, lost to Hell , the last place he deserved to be .

Issok, Sammy. I’m right here, aren’t I?

But you almost weren’t. And didn’t that make the difference? He had been so fucking close.

A heavy hand landed on his shoulder as he shuddered out another breath. When had he stopped breathing? “I’m right here, Sam. Not in Hell, not with the demons. Here. ” 

Sam took in another breath, then released it. Dean was here, free as ever from any demon deals and far away from Hell. And it was all thanks to Gabe, who had helped them even before they knew anything. “Thank you,” he breathed. 

“It’s okay, Sam-a-lamb. One less soul away from Hell is good enough for me.”

“And the last seal?” Dean asked. “What’s that?”

“It’s just the demon who would have had your deal, had it come into fruition. She’s the first demon Lucifer created, and the last seal to opening his cage. Kill her, and Satan walks free.”

“So we just kill Lilith first.” Bobby cut in. “Kill her first, and it's not like they can bring her back to unlock Lucifer’s cage.”

“She’s the ruler of Hell, with the power to back it up,” Gabe started. His voice was hesitant, as if his confidence was fading with every word. “She knows she has to die and try her best to avoid it, but there’s no changing the seal.”

Something’s wrong. 

No shit, Dean replied. He’s never been like this before. 

There’s something he’s not telling us.

Son of a bitch!

Sam pushed at his brother, trying to calm him. It wouldn’t do to scare off their greatest ally and informant, especially if said informant was withholding information. Gabe hadn’t technically broken their tentative trust yet, but he was coming close to it. 

He could feel Dean’s rage encroach into his own emotions, feuling his own instincts. He couldn’t let it affect him, couldn’t let it take over him now. Not when he had his family to protect.

That something in him moved slightly, as if urging him on. He ignored it. It drew back again, curling around itself and drifting off into something like sleep. Sam tried not to feel too relieved. 

“Gabe?” He pushed gently. He could see something flash in the trickster’s eyes, before he closed them and let a heavy sigh escape him. “Of course it would have been you who thought of something. Damn you, Singer.” 

“Fuck ya too, trickster. Now spill.”

Gabe sighed again, before settling unsteadily on the sofa. “The first thing that you have to know is that I’m not exactly who you think I am.”

“No shit,” Dean spat out, chugging another mouthful of whiskey. Sam winced. With how this was already going, they were going to need a lot of alcohol.

“The second thing is that Michael and Lucifer have two younger brothers - the archangels Gabriel and Raphael. Raphael’s Heaven’s head healer, and prefers for Heaven to stay the way it is, which Lucifer would never allow. Gabriel, on the other hand, was the only one who never wanted the apocalypse to happen. So when the Morningstar fell…” He trailed off, curling into himself. He looked miserable, so unlike the trickster they knew. This Gabe was different, this Gabe was-

Oh. 

Oh.

Gabe was Gabriel.

Gabriel the archangel with three other older brothers, if the lore was to be believed. 

Gabriel the trickster, who wanted nothing to do with the fight from the start.

Gabriel, who didn’t want his brothers to kill each other.

Gabe, who wanted Lucifer free. 

“Hell no.” Dean snarled, eyes narrowed. Fury and rage was rolling off him in waves, blanketing the room with the sheer weight of it. Sam could feel the power behind it, could imagine the visage of Dean’s divinity arched above him - howling with power and protectiveness; godlike. 

Sam was the calm to his brother’s storm, steady and assured in its knowledge, yet ready to lash out at a moment’s notice. It was how they’d managed to survive for so long, after all. It was what they were best at and how they’d stayed, despite their dad’s attempts to train it out of them. And now, their shared godhood only strengthened that codependency. 

Perhaps he gave up when he’d realised that he never could; that this was the only way they would survive the world that he’d thrown them all into. Maybe that was why he was so against Sam going to college, knowing that they would be separated. 

The feeling in him seemed to wake for a moment, before drifting off again. 

“But you don’t understand-” Gabe started, desperate. “You don’t- I can’t-”

“Then tell us why,” Dean shot back, pupils slit and teeth bared. “Tell us why you lied. Tell us why you want to unleash Satan from his prison cell, because from what I’ve heard, he deserves to be in there.”

“I-” 

“He’s your brother,” Sam said, voice gentle and just soft enough to be carried over Dean’s furious growling. “He may be the Devil, but he was your older brother first, right?” 

At that, Gabe seemed to collapse, his posture slumped and body drained. “Yes, I- I just-”

“He’s your brother, and as much as you hate the fighting, you just can’t leave him in there.”

“Father, I can’t-” he choked off, something akin to grief and regret clouding his voice. Sam hummed, encouraging him to continue. He watched Dean soften from the corner of his eye, plopping back into his seat and taking a huge swig of whiskey. Bobby stood off to the side, clutching at a new bottle of beer. 

“I never agreed with father’s punishment,” the trickster started, gaze forlorn and regretful. “Condemning anyone to an eternity of cold and loneliness wasn’t in my books. I was always closer to Luci than Michael or Raphael. He was fun and kind and bright, and I loved him like I did all my brothers, even when he started to go crazy. So when father banished him to the cage, I just left.” 

He trailed off, shooting them apologetic looks. “I never meant to lie to you all, or hurt anyone. All I wanted was for Luci to finally be out of that father-forsaken place after so long.” He shut his eyes, hands digging into his scalp. He looked as if it pained him to say it. “I just want to have all my brothers back, even if it's for a moment.”

“And you will,” Dean said. Sam shot a confused look at his brother, noting his tense posture, the way he held himself. He never thought that Dean would be the first one to agree, thought that he of all people would protest against releasing Lucifer. 

Family, Sammy. I can understand that. 

Gabe looked astonished, mouth hanging open in blatant surprise. He seemed to catch himself then, pulling up a weak smile and slamming a wall over his emotions. It made Sam wonder how many times Gabe had done that over the years; how many times he’d hid behind a smile and a grin, grieving over the fate of the brothers he’d never been allowed to mourn. 

“You sure about that, Sparky?”

“It’s like Sam said,” Dean shrugged, looking at Sam and Bobby as if he were seeking approval. Sam watched Bobby nod minutely, while Sam shot feelings of pride and approval over their bond. Dean’s shoulders seemed to relax at that, before he sent a grin back at Gabe. “‘Sides, we owe you. Consider this repayment.”

Gabe watched as Gabe nearly collapsed with relief, before pulling himself together and giving them a small nod. He plastered a small, soft grin on his face. “Now, who’s ready to figure out godhood?”

-

It turned out, godhood was hard. How Gabe had ever managed to learn and master it on his own, Sam would never know.

Then again, Gabe was an archangel, and that always seemed to explain most things. 

Like how Dean was mastering this a lot more easily than he was.

“It’s mostly up to you to figure it out,” Gabe shrugged, watching as Dean slipped fluidly from shape to shape - one moment as a wolf the size of Gabe, the next as a regular looking human again. Sam, on the other hand, struggled to even bring out his antlers. 

The warmth in him shifted each time he tried, waking momentarily before Sam forced it back asleep, body and mind stinging each time he did. 

“Your brother’s a natural, but whatever problem you’re having is something you’re gonna have to figure out yourself.”

“How?”

Gabe looked at him, something shifting in his glaze. “I know you hate it, Sam-a-lamb,” he started. His voice was soft, gentle. It did little to assure him, though it was slightly comforting. “But as much as you hate it, it’s apart of you now. I’m sorry that it had to be like this, but there was no other way.”

And wasn’t that the kicker? His childhood had always been full of ‘there was no other way’s, crossing highways and small dingy towns, living out of motel rooms. The Impala their only form of stability. All because ‘there was no other way’ for them to live after their mum’s death and ‘there was no other way’ to avenge her. 

Because ‘there was no other way’ their dad could have kept them all together. Because “there was no other way” outside of this life. 

He scowled at Gabe despite himself, watching the other god back away with his hands raised. “Woah there, Samoose. I take back what I said, alright?”

Sam shot him a bitchface, before pulling back into himself. He needed to focus. 

Time passed as he kept trying to shift, focus broken every time by the warmth in him stirring awake. He knew that his godhood was triggered by ‘Samoose’, knew that if he really wanted to get the full extent of his godhood, he would have to accept the divinity in him. 

He also knew that he really, really didn’t want that. Would sooner die than have to acknowledge that foreign, tainted part of him. The parts of him that he wanted gone, gone, gone.  

But then, when had the world ever cared for what he wanted? 

Maybe there really was no other way. 

Dean’s startled shout drew him out of his thoughts, drawing his attention as his brother seemed to snarl and yell at nothing. He was holding his head, teeth bared as he growled at thin air.

“Dean?” Sam started, worried for his apparent lack of sanity. It was one thing to hunt and kill things that most people thought were myths and legends, it was another to be shouting at nothing. Maybe the alcohol finally got to Dean’s head. “You alright?”

“Someone get this fucking bitch outta my head!” Dean yelled. Sam continued to stare at him with concealed worry. Maybe his brother was crazy. “I’m not crazy, Sammy!”

Huh, he wouldn’t have guessed. 

“Sam!”

Right, mind-link. 

“Sammy!”

Sam let out a large sigh, before proceeding to get smacked in the face with a loud voice. A female voice. 

Huh, maybe Dean wasn’t as crazy as he thought. 

“Fuck you, Sammy!”

To the god brothers Sam and Dean, might you hear my pleas. 

Okay, now Sam was starting to get freaked out. “Gabe, there’s someone praying to us.”

Gabe’s smirk turned into a frown, brows drawn together. “Didn’t you two get prayers before?”

“Not like this!” Dean yelled back. “Not directly,” Sam clarified. Dean seemed to get more distressed. He could feel his brother’s panic, along with a trace of desperation. 

“Then this follower of yours is desperate. Back in the day, random peasants addressing deities directly was a death sentence. Only priests and high ranking devotees were allowed to do that, since the gods knew them directly.” Gabe drew his lips into a line, before turning back to the house. “Bobby, we’ve got somewhere to be for a bit. Be back later!”

Without a warning, the trickster snapped his fingers, throwing the trio into a field in the middle of nowhere. Far away, a raven croaked loudly. Sam coughed at the dust of the field stirred from their landing, looking around, his eyes landing on a woman standing next to a small altar. 

“Who the hell are you?” Dean asked gruffly. His teeth were still bared, though he seemed to soften as he looked at her. “And why’d you call us?”

“Bela Talbot,” she said. She was the type of woman that Dean would hit up in bars, well-dressed. She held herself up like a fighter, and there was a candle clutched in her hands. Behind her, the altar had several items on it, from a bottle of salt, beer and a law textbook? 

“I…” she started, clearly nervous. She visibly swallowed, before standing firm. “I called you two because I need your help.”

“With what, exactly?” 

She hesitated again. “I have a demon deal,” she said, licking her lips. “Ten years of living, then straight down to Hell, just to get away from them .” She spat the last word like acid, hatred coating her voice. “I didn’t know what it was at the time. All I wanted was for them to stop.”

She walked closer to them. “I have no idea what to do. My years are almost up, and I can hear the hellhounds getting closer and closer.” She shuddered, falling onto her knees. “I’m not the type of woman to beg, never have been, but please. I don’t want to go to Hell.”

Gabe stepped forward then, offering her a lollipop. “Well, you sure did make a name for yourself with those ten years. Master thief and a mistress of deception. I like that.” Bela giggled, shooting him a small, thankful smile before she tucked the sweet away. Despite the kind grin that he offered her, Sam knew the rage that he kept hidden. The air around him seemed to blister and crackle with his power. “And who would be the demon holding your deal?”

“Lilith,” she whispered. Gabe’s eyes hardened as Sam and Dean froze. Lilith? The first demon Liltith? The last seal of Hell Lilith? The Lilith they had to kill to release Lucifer from the Cage?

“We are so screwed,” Dean whispered. Sam agreed silently. How were they supposed to help Bela when Lilith of all demons held her deal. And they couldn’t even kill her to release Bela, lest they damn Lucifer to the Cage forever. 

Bela wilted at that. She bit her lip, before pulling herself back onto her feet. “It was a far stretch anyway,” she started, turning away from them. 

Gabe stared at her as if in thought. “There is a way,” he started. Sam watched as Bela turned back to him with nearly inhuman speed. “You turn into their priestess.”

Sam watched as Bela went through a series of emotions, Dean doing the same next to him. “Priestess for these two chuckleheads? Are you sure that’s the best option?”

He sent a bitchface her way, while his brother let out a loud snarl. “You’re lucky we haven’t killed you when you prayed directly to us, bitch.”

“Sure you could, Winchester. But, needs must. You two will have to do.”

“Oh, now you’re willing?”

“Well, seeing as how I’m going to die anyway, I don’t see a better option.” 

They continued to verbally spar as Sam and Gabe watched on in amusement. “Are you sure head priestess is a good idea?”

The trickster sighed, hand tangled in dirty blonde hair. “Right now, Lilith holds direct control of her soul. No one else can touch it since she holds the contract. But if she was your priestess., you two would also have command over it. Given that she would pledge herself to two gods, your shared ownership should outweigh her hold over the soul.”

“ Should ?”

“Lilith would know that someone was fighting for ownership, and try to take it back. It works, Bela dies and she hunts you two down for trying to break the contract. It doesn’t work, Bela doesn’t die and she hunts you two down for breaking the contract.”

“So in both worlds, Lilith hunts us down anyway.”

“Yep,” Gabe popped the words in his mouth. It was Sam’s turn to sigh. “And if we don't do this?”

“She dies.” Sam sighed again. “Then the best plan is not to help her,” he started. “We don’t help her, she dies and Lilith remains ignorant of our plans and knowledge.”

“Yes, but in the end, the choice is yours. Both of yours. In each of your stories, you two come as a package, meaning whatever decision you make regarding worship has to be approved by both of you. Priesthood does come with benefits, you know.”

“And those are?” Sam asked tiredly.

“Direct service calls to your minds, a few physical upgrades and boosts depending on your domains, which we haven’t really found out yet.”

“Great.”

Worthy, Samoose whispered in his ears. He forced it back asleep. 

“But don’t forget, Sam-o,” Sam lifted a tired brow at the trickster. “She had no choice in this as well.” With that, Gabe left him to his thoughts, walking towards the bickering pair. Dean turned to look at him as the trickster moved, as if he were staring into Sam’s soul.

Maybe he was, damned mind-link was a bit too helpful sometimes.

De’? 

I know what you’re thinking, Sammy. 

I don’t know, Dean. 

Well, she ain’t that bad to have as a head priest. 

She’s a thief, Dean. And lies!

So do we, Sammy. Even worse, we’re actually murderers.

Sam huffed, before turning back to Bela. Fine.

Dean grinned in triumph, high-fiving Bela. Somehow when Sam and Gabe had been deep in conversation, the two had become thick as thieves. How that happened, he didn’t know. It was a miracle that his brother hadn’t scared the thief off with his impressive masculinity or something.

“I’ll have you know that I’m not some weak girl, Sam. You, on the other hand, might be. I’ve seen you with women before, and it wasn’t good at all.”

“‘Course it’s impressive, Sammy. Something that you don’t have.”

At that, they turned to each other and laughed. Sam shot them another bitchface.

Great, now there were two of them. Why did he agree to this again?

“Issok Sam-a-lamb, I’ve got your back.” Gabe said, a smirk plastered on his face. Sam sighed again. “Thank you, Gabe. Now can we please start rigging a demon deal?”

-

In the abandoned room of a hotel, a raven stood perched on Odin’s arm. It croaked once, before falling silent, beady eyes focused on its master.

“I see, thank you Muninn. You are no longer needed.” The raven croaked again, before flapping its dark wings and shooting out through the window. 

“So what’s the verdict?” Ganesh asked. He sipping on a cup of wine. 

“It seems that Loki has been assisting the Winchesters,” he started, eyes landing on a female figure standing in the middle of the room. Her hands were clasped behind her back. “He has used the ancient ways, turning the two into gods.”

Ganesh shot up, glass nearly slipping from his fingers. “He turned them into pagans? For what?”

Odin let out a loud breath. “I imagine that it is his plan for the apocalypse. He’s taken Heaven and Hell’s greatest pieces out of the equation. As for why, I cannot say.”

“Don’t be daft, Odin,” the woman said, eyes blazing. “He’s using them for his own benefit, no doubt.”

“Kali,” the norse god started. Kali clenched her fists, but didn’t respond. “Perhaps not.”

“Lies. ”

“Not that I want to discount you both, but how about just taking both pieces out of the equation?” Mercury asks, picking a donut off a plate. “We know how the apocalypse works. Break the seals, Righteous Man sheds blood in Hell, kill Lilith and all that jazz. ” He paused, inhaling another donut. Odin rolled his eyes at the trickster’s antics. “We send the Righteous Man to break the first seal, then kill Liltith.”

“It makes sense,” Minerva piped up, hands gripping her spear tightly. “In a fight between us and the first demon, we would succeed. Her arrogance will lead to her underestimating us, especially since only we can kill ourselves. Lucifer may be worshipped enough to be a god, but Lilith has no such status. Given that we succeed with the Righteous Man, Mercury’s idea has merit.”

“And who, pray tell, would be the Righteous Man?” Kali asked, sceptical. 

Mercury grinned, eating another donut. “You’ll be surprised by what my network hears. Rumours are, Dean Winchester’s walking around with Righteous blood in him.”

“Dean Winchester, who’s currently a pagan, and bunking together with Loki?” Ganesh sipped on his wine again, the glass creaking underneath the weight of his grip. “That’s near impossible.”

“Aha, but not if you have his brother,” Mercury chimed. 

Minerva pricked up. “Yes, the Winchester weakness. Take one brother-”

“-And the other comes running along like a dog to a bone.” Kali finished. “But Sam Winchester is not exactly helpless.”

Odin sighed. It looked like they were all committing themselves to Mercury’s idea. “Muninn did mention something of interest,” he started. “Compared to his brother, the boy hasn’t yet mastered his divinity. We lead him away from his brother and Loki, we stand a greater chance of seeing our goals fulfilled.”

“Very well then,” Kali said. She unclasped her hands, eyes aflame with determination. “We lead the Winchesters here and take the younger. Mercury will lead them here and disorient them, while Ganesh and Baldur will assist in ensuring Sam Winchester remains with us. The rest of us will remain in the other rooms in the event of Loki’s arrival or unexpected obstacles.”

The king of the Norse gods watched as the other pagans nodded, determination in their eyes. It didn’t feel right to take advantage of such young gods who had barely even stepped into their divinity. Hell, the younger couldn’t even use it, let alone master it. 

But, he couldn’t leave the other pagans to die, slaughtered by Lucifer’s hatred. 

For them, he had to be a king. For them, he couldn’t be the All-Father. 

For them, he had to be Odin, God of War.