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“I was just going to college. It was dad who said that if I was gonna go I should stay gone, and that’s what I’m doing.”-Sam Pilot

Eighteen year old Sam Winchester trekked across the abandoned highway toward the Maxwell County Bus Station. It was a two mile walk, and the teenager could have run it in his sleep. However, he needed time to process what had just happened. He could feel the raw anger coursing through his veins. His father’s last words were echoing through his head like a chant.

“If you walk out that door, then don’t bother coming back,” said John Winchester with dark eyes.

 Sam spared a glance at his brother. Dean was staring at him - a hurt and wounded expression coloring his face before he turned away. The teenager wondered if this is what real true heartbreak felt like. Of course it was mixed with pure anger. His blood felt as if it was burning through his veins. He thought that he was going to explode from the anger and rejection of his family - just for going to college. At the same time though, it felt like his heart had been shattered into a million pieces - broken like fine crystal.

Sam was still angry. But he had this crazy thought that his dad would have been proud of him. A lawyer would be incredibly useful in a family like theirs. Hell! Dean had been arrested twice this last year alone. Sam didn’t even want to think about how many times they'd skipped town, because his dad had caught the attention of the local cops. Sam had been surrounded by the supernatural so long that he was curious about the other side. The non-magical world of 'normal' seemed as exciting to Sam as fairytales were to young children. He wanted to know what it would be like to stay in the same place, to have friends that he wouldn’t have to leave in a couple weeks.

His Dad was once part of the club. Even Dean remembered what normal was like. But for Sam…hunting was all he had ever known. He just wanted something for contrast. Even if it was mundane and boring, he wanted to know what it would be like to be grounded for once in his life.

He let a string of curses spill out of his mouth and kicked a rather large stone. It flew a good distance before skittering across the hot asphalt. He tried to clamp down on his anger.

“Nice kick,” said a deep voice. Sam froze cursing himself for not noticing the other, taller shadow behind him. Slowly turning, Sam bit back a gasp.

He stood face to face (well alright face to chin) with…himself, who was see through.

He barely noticed himself passing out into his own surprisingly solid arms. Because this? This was a whole new level of weird - even for a Winchester.

“Listen, you just want to just get this over with, huh, cause I really can’t stand the monologuing.” –Dean Devil’s Trap

Dean was the one who came up with The Plan. It was one of those rare flashes of true, absolute genius - the kind that people only seem to get once in a lifetime. The idea for The Plan had been so obvious that they couldn’t see it…

Lucky for them, Dean had an unhealthy addiction to this sort of stuff. Movies with time travel had always caught his eye. So after experiencing it, three times by then, he wanted to know more about it.

They were in some crappy motel room. Exactly the same as every other crappy motel room that they had practically spent their entire lives in. Sam was checking for the latest news in apocalyptic disasters. Castiel was reading some ancient tome that looked as if it was new when Cleopatra was still young and hot. Gabriel, who had been with them two months at that point, was eating bon-bons and searching for things with glowing rocks (At this point in time Sam had learned to just go with it, because Gabriel always had good information).

“Cas?” asked Dean looking up from the Married…With Children marathon on the television. The sound of one of their actual voices had made Sam jump, because he was finding his rhythm amongst the drone of the television, the clunking sounds of the rocks, and the soft rustle of turning pages.

“Yes, Dean?” asked the angel, barely looking up from the text. He flipped another page.

“What would happen if we time traveled back to when I was alive? Hypothetically speaking of course.”

“Why would you want to know that?” asked Castiel with a confused expression on his face.

“Watched the Terminator movies again, Dean?” asked Sam, glancing up from his computer.

“Oh you know it! Sarah Conner is my kind of woman,” said Dean with a wicked smile and a wink.

“I thought that you said Sam was…,” began Castiel who was quickly muffled by Gabriel. The archangel looked amused.

“Cas, remember what we talked about? Not repeating what someone said without their permission?”

The Angel of Thursday nodded slowly. His mouth suddenly covered by bright red duct tape.

“This is one of those times that I mentioned. Now I’m gonna take the tape off you.”

Gabriel snapped his fingers, and the tape was gone from Castiel’s mouth. The younger angel rubbed his mouth and looked at the archangel.

“Why do you do that to me?”

“Because it helps you be quiet when you are about to reveal embarrassing information. And I was too lazy to move my ass.”

“Can we get back to The Plan please?” groused Dean. His arms were crossed, and, even then, The Plan had sounded capitalized in his voice.

“So what’s The Plan?” asked Sam closing his laptop.

“Well I’ll tell you it, Sammy, but first one of the two heavenly hosts over there,” Dean gestured vaguely toward Castiel and Gabriel, “has to answer my damn question.”

“To answer your question, Dean,” said Gabriel in an authoritative ‘big brother’ voice, “If a scenario where you traveled back to a time where you already existed, since you’re physically there, your body becomes incorporeal. The closer in proximity you are to your past self, the more solid you become however if you ever wanted to know how Casper felt, then move away from mini you.”

Dean nodded for a moment. He looked at his hands, “Could you possess yourself?”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. His mouth twitched upward into a grin. He seemed to have caught onto the plan that was forming in the elder Winchester brother’s head. He let out a booming laugh that sounded like a summer roar of thunder.

“I take back anything I said about you being stupid, Dean. If your idea is what I’m think it is then you should get a membership to fucking MENSA, the Nobel Peace Prize, and have a huge gay wedding with Sam.”

“I am confused,” intoned Castiel.

“Yeah so am I,” piped up Sam from his spot.

“Brothers,” said Gabriel and Dean at the same time. Sam rolled his eyes and fixed them with a long stare.

“Are you going to tell us what’s going on?”

“Elementary, my dear Samuel,” said Gabriel in a perfect, upper crust British accent, “Your brother’s just wondering how it would work if someone went back and changed things. If someone, you know, stopped the Apocalypse, before Lucifer even rolled out of his sulfur pit in the morning.”

“Only if we can’t kill the miserable son of bitch,” Dean chimed in. “Dad always said to have a last desperation plan. And this is it, Sammy.”

“It might actually work,” said Sam as he leaned back in the chair, “You’re a genius, Dean.”

“Fuck, I’ve been tellin’ you that for years. It’s just about time you realized it.”

“Do you want sex tonight?”

“Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

And that was how The Plan was born.

“Dean’s your weakness. The bad guys know it too. It’s gonna be the death of you, Sam. Sometimes you just gotta let people go.” –Trickster Mystery Spot

Sam Winchester, aged twenty seven, crossed his arms as he watched his younger self sleeping. He had no clue where exactly he was. After his younger self had passed out from shock, Gabriel and Castiel appeared, scaring the living daylights out of Sam. They'd hauled his younger self’s skinny ass to the nearest motel.

Gabriel checked them in under a fake name, with a charming smile and a large wad of cash. Ah money, it is the universal sign of “shut up and don’t notice what’s going on outside”.

His younger self stirred and jumped into action. It was too bad that Sam knew where he kept his knives hidden and had removed them from the eighteen year old.

“Who the fuck are you?” demanded the teenager with his arms crossed.

“You,” answered Sam simply, from his spot on the other bed, “from about ten years in the future if you wanna get exact.”

“How am I supposed to believe that? Tell me something that only I would know.”

“You didn’t really want to leave. I mean you did, but you still wanted to be a family. You wanted to get into law school so that hunters could have someone on the inside on their side. If you don’t believe what I just told you, then how about this? Your first real hard-on was from watching Dean fix the Impala when you were fifteen,” said Sam, examples coming in rapid fire succession.

His younger self backed down almost immediately. He ran a hand through his hair mussing it up and sat down next to Sam.

“You’re really me?”

“Down to the birthmark we have on our left ankle.”

“Why are you here? Who are those two?” asked his younger self, nodding his head toward Gabriel and Castiel.

“It’s a long story,” confessed Sam with a sad smile.

“Well whatever you need to do with me isn’t gonna happen, until I hear it.”

Sam sighed knowing that it was impossible to argue with…himself, (When this was over he was so getting a therapist!) He clasped his hands together as if he were praying and started to talk. He talked about Jess and Stanford, about Dean showing up in the middle of the night with an easy grin, and the news of Dad being missing, about coming home to find Jess on the ceiling with a bloody gash on her belly, and flames licking down the ceiling. It felt like such a long time ago as he told his younger self about his need for revenge, grieving, and falling in love with Dean all over again. He told about how the visions would leave him scared and screaming, questioning his sanity. He talked about Dad, Azazel, and the Colt. He talked about the semi ramming into them, and the smell of oil and blood in the air.

Dean’s near death, and Dad’s deal spilled from his lips. At that moment he wasn't looking at anyone. He wondered vaguely if even Castiel knew the whole story. Stories of the special children were described in detail, and when he got to the saga of Cold Oak he found himself stuttering and even stopped drinking whatever liquor Gabriel had dropped into his lap between bottles of water.

As he described Dean’s deal, he felt as if he wasn't really in the room anymore. The story of the last five years of his life was being whispered like a prayer across the room. He couldn’t look at himself as he talked about the final, horrible year. He swallowed his sobs when he reached the part about Dean’s death, seeing his brother’s mauled body and the wounds made by invisible hell hounds. His guilt for how he couldn’t save Dean from Hell was evident as he slowly shrank into himself.

As he began talking about Ruby, and the four months Dean was in Hell, he felt the bed dip and a hand on his leg. Sam glanced up, meeting the bright blue eyes of Castiel, who squeezed his hand in a - for him - oddly human gesture of comfort.

“Perhaps you would like to get some air, Sam. I will tell him what happened after I raised Dean from Perdition.”

Sam nodded and stood up to walk out. He wasn’t going to go far, because even with a couple feet in between him and his past self, he could see his hands becoming slightly transparent. He sat outside the motel room with his head in his hands. He heard Gabriel's heavy footsteps, followed by the rustle of his jacket as the archangel sat down.

“You had a shitty five years,” commented Gabriel, holding out a bag of Hershey’s kisses for Sam, who declined with a shake of his head. He rested his head against the wall with a sigh.

“Did I ever do anything right in my life?” asked Sam with his eyes shut. “Telling myself in there what happened, it made me realize that my life is a step by step guide to making bad decisions.”

“Don’t talk like that, Sam. You and I both know that you couldn’t control a lot of that shit. Unless you wanted the demon to drip blood into your mouth when you were a baby,” said the archangel as he peeled back the silver foil and popped the chocolate into his mouth.

“Despite what I did during the past year, Gabriel,” began Sam, “I never wanted demon blood in my mouth as a baby.”

“Just making sure,” said Gabriel as he popped two more chocolates into his mouth, “Cas and I were really worried about you in there, kid. You were like a man possessed.”

“It felt…,” Sam paused, searching for the word. “It almost felt like confession. I don’t know. I hadn’t been to confession in about four years. I just didn’t see the point anymore after Cold Oak and Dean’s deal.”

There was a pause between the two. Gabriel felt like he should comfort Sam in some way, but he wasn’t sure how. Sam was just lost in metaphorically licking his wounds. The archangel sighed and placed a hand on the younger man’s shoulder.

“You do know that you can be forgiven right, Sam?”

Sam opened an eye and looked at the archangel curiously.

“Look I’m not sure where Daddy dearest was at Earth’s greatest hour. But I do know that you still don’t blame him for all that happened even if you really want to.”

Sam thought about it for a minute, and then he nodded, listening as Gabriel spoke.

“The angels are his children. Humans are his children. In some sick and twisted way demons are his children too. The reason why Dad never really intervenes is because if he did then people would expect it all the time. Parents give their children ground rules, and they're pounded into their thick little skulls. They still break them, but they know that they will be forgiven.”

Sam rested his head around his knees. He looked to be deep in thought before nodding.

“So what you’re saying is that…”

“God was hiding, because it was high time that we learned to stand up to each other, or at least learned to try to get along. See, Sam, my theory is that the world won’t end in fire or a bang. The world is going to end when everyone learns to fucking get along.”

“I think that makes sense. Though I’m not entirely sure how this helps.”

“I’m just talking so you don’t become all broody and shit, man.”

“You have the worst mouth for an Archangel.”

“It’s always been like that. I live on the wild side, dawg,” Gabriel then bumped his chest and made a “gangsta” sign with his fingers.

Silence reigned between the two for several minutes, before Sam smiled and then began laughing. It hadn’t even been that funny, but he knew that the gesture meant that the archangel was trying to cheer him up. So he accepted it for what it was.

“Please never do that again.”

“To be really honest I’m regretting it already.”

Sam allowed a small twitch of his lips.

“I guess Castiel is done explaining things to my younger self. Let’s see if he’ll agree to the merging.”

“He probably will.”

“I’m a stubborn bastard.”

“Your love for Dean outweighs that stubbornness though.”

The pair walked back into the room. Castiel was looking thoroughly uncomfortable as he patted the younger Sam’s back. The teenager was hugging his knees the way Sam had a couple minutes ago.

“Dean goes to Hell?” asked the eighteen year old barely looking up. His eyes were suspiciously moist.

“Yeah,” whispered the elder Sam sadly.

The younger Sam nodded. For several moments he sat with his arms around his legs. He slowly made eye contact with his elder self.

“What do you need me to do?”

“There’s this process called merging. Basically we sort of combine ourselves into one new Sam, with my traits and your traits combined. I need your permission in order for it to work.”

Younger Sam bit his lower lip for a moment. He fixed his older self with a stony stare.

“Will you be able to save Dean? The world?”

“We’re going to sure as hell try.”

Sam watched as his younger self stood, making eye contact.

“You have my permission. I may be pissed at Dad right now, but I…I can’t let what happened to you happen all over again.”

Silence reigned over the room. The teenager shifted nervously.

“So how does th…?”

His question was cut off by his elder self’s mouth covering his own.

A bright light erupted from the pair in classic supernatural fashion.

“Sammy is a chubby twelve year old. It’s Sam okay?” –Sam “Pilot”

Here’s the problem with merging with your past self. It hurts…a lot. Even if you weren’t Sam Winchester and somehow merged with your past self it would still hurt. However, since Sam was absolutely himself it hurt a lot worse.

Let’s take a look at the facts.

At age twenty seven, Sam Winchester was six foot four and about two hundred and twenty pounds of what was basically, solid muscle. A few strands of gray were mingled in with the chestnut hair due to high stress (Apocalypses can be very stressful.) He had the knowledge of the wicked curses, rituals, and spells he'd learned locked in his brain, and a need for demon blood in some part of his soul, (even though he was on the wagon.) Not only that, but he also had his anti-demon tattoo and Enochian sigils carved into his ribs.

At age eighteen, Sam Winchester was six foot two and about one hundred and ninety pounds when wet. He had fairly long hair, (an act of rebellion.) He was book smart, and had never had a taste of demon blood…or not willingly at least. He didn’t know that angels could be major douches, or how tempting demons would become in his darkest hour, or how even the strongest faith can be shattered. He didn’t know a world without Dean.

So in conclusion: the merging promised to be very painful. You know those really gory horror movies? Movies Like Saw, or something with a lot of physical and psychological torture? The things that happen in those movies are a walk in the park compared to the merging of the two Sams.

Sam screamed as memories filled his head, as a rush of knowledge seeped into his brain. Images of Jessica on the ceiling, Dean’s mauled body, Lucifer telling him that there was no way out burned through his skull, making his head feel like it was about to explode. He screamed, until his throat was raw, and he could taste the coppery tang of his own blood.

Bones lengthened. Muscle mass was added. Sigils were carved into his ribs. Old and new wounds appeared on his body before healing at an amazing speed. He could feel the younger part of himself fighting against the addiction and winning. His heart thundered against his chest. He felt feverish and sick.

Monsters, demons, spirits, angels, people that they had saved, people that they had lost danced before his eyes. It was like a never ending horror movie. He could hear Lucifer’s voice saying that there was no hope, that he was going to say yes.

He heard Dean saying yes to Michael. He saw his brother’s body fall from the sky as he lost. The stench of blood and burnt flesh made it impossible to breathe.

With one final scream of utter agony, the process was completed. Sam collapsed half on and half off the bed. He was too weak to move his legs onto the mattress. He felt one of the angels do it for him as the other slipped a pillow under his head.

“Water,” he croaked out slowly, “Please, water.”

He felt utterly helpless as a pair of hands held him up, and someone pressed a cup of icy cold water against his dry, cracked lips. Sam took a couple of mouthfuls to relieve the burning in his throat, before his traumatized body sent his mind into the sweet embrace of oblivion.

Jeremy: (to Dean who is impersonating a police officer) I had this most vivid super intense dream, like a bad acid trip, you know…
Dean: Totally. (pauses) I mean, no.
“Dream a Little Dream of Me”

It was a dream and a memory mixed into one. Sam paused in the open doorway of the dingy room, and his heart jumped up into his throat as he saw Dean there.

Dean was sitting on a bed in crappy, abandoned house they'd found a few months prior to the Final Battle. He was bundled up in one of Sam’s old sweatshirts from Stanford. The lettering on it was fading, but Dean seemed to burrow into it as if looking for warmth. A pair of gray sweatpants hung low on his hips. Dirty blonde hair was sleep mussed, and green eyes were shadowed. Dean looked up as if sensing Sam’s presence in the room and stood.

Sam gulped as he saw the flash of sun-kissed skin as his brother stood up. He remembered that this was the night they'd finally got back together. Dean had just had a nightmare, which explained the utter vulnerability in his brother’s face.

Slowly, he moved toward Dean. They had been traveling together again for four days. The world was ending all around them, and Sam pushed back the guilt that came with that thought. It wasn’t going to happen this time. The youngest Winchester licked his lips. At this point in his life, it had been a year and three months since they had last touched as lovers. Sam remembered the night before Dean’s deal came through. Some dingy motel room, Dean’s eyes bright and face flushed as they slowly made love over and over again, until the sky had turned pink with the dawn.

Sam stood before Dean, feeling exposed and needy.

“Hey,” he said softly.

“Hey,” greeted Dean back, “I stole your sweatshirt.”

“I can see that.”

An uncomfortable silence rang clear in the air. They had been dancing around each other for months. Dean was pissed because of what Sam had done with Ruby, and Sam didn’t believe that he was worthy of that kind of love from Dean anymore.

“I stole it, because it smelled like you,” admitted Dean with his hand clenched at his side. “Christ, Sammy, I feel so fucking pathetic. I…”

He couldn’t finish his sentence. He didn’t need to. Sam heard the unspoken ‘I miss you’ loud and clear.

A sudden hypersensitivity overtook Sam’s senses. He could hear Dean’s breathing. He could smell the scent of motor oil, grease, Old Spice, and sweat in the air. His hands felt twitchy, and all he wanted to do was hold Dean. He allowed himself a very quick glance at his brother’s full lips, and tried to suppress the urge of lust that overtook him. Sam placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder and heard the other man’s breath catch.

“What the hell happened to us, Sammy?” whispered Dean sounding broken and defeated.

“Shit happened,” offered Sam nodding slowly before letting his hand drop.

Dean let out a humorless laugh.

“Don’t I know it...”

Sam was about to leave the room. Then Dean did something that Sam wasn’t expecting. He grabbed Sam’s hand and squeezed it tightly. The two knew that this was as a close as a heart-to-heart, full on Oprah moment as they were ever going to get. Sam missed this closeness, ached for it. On a sudden impulse, Sam leaned in and captured Dean’s lips with his own.

He felt Dean shudder against him. Their free hands met and tangled together, and they backed against the wall, kissing. Sam slowly pulled away as Dean looked up at him: face flushed and eyes dark with desire. They stared at each, heavy breaths the only sound in the entire house, and then Dean said the words that Sam had been waiting to hear.

“I’ve been waiting for you to get with the program, Sammy.”

Then Dean pounced and kissed Sam. The pair tumbled onto the bed laughing and kissing as they began to strip each other. The room filled with the overwhelming presence of happiness and joy as they made love.

The scene melted away in a haze of passion, pleasure, and love.

Sam knew that this wasn’t another memory. He was sitting in an overstuffed chair in a pleasantly colored room. Dean was across from him. However, his posture was off looking completely uncomfortable in his skin. His clothes were off too, he was dressed in a white button up and stiff new jeans. Sam leaned forward to greet him.

“Hello Michael.”

The archangel raised his head and gave a small smile.

“Hello Sam.”

Michael stood and moved closer to Sam. Sitting down in a chair next to him the archangel asked.

“What are you trying to do?”

“What does it look like? I’m trying to stop the Apocalypse from ever getting started.”

Michael nodded, and Sam sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Are you going to try and stop us? Gabe and Castiel are with me. We’re going to do this.”

“No, Sam, I’m not going to stop you. This is the best plan we have for Lucifer to fail.”

“I…,” began Sam. “I just want Dean back. Don’t you understand, Michael? I’m doing this for selfish reasons. I just want Dean safe. I’m so tired. I don’t know if I can keep fighting. It feels like I’m drowning in slow drying cement.”

“I know, Sam, I know. I cannot offer much help. But I can offer you some assistance.”

“In what way?”

“I can try to keep some of my more…eager brothers distracted from your journey.”

“Let me guess: Zachariah? Damn! I forgot about him.”

“Most of us try to do that.”

Sam huffed and raised an eyebrow. He and Michael both knew that Zachariah would still interfere, even if God Himself told him to stop.

“Can’t we just kill him? Or lock him up somewhere? The world would be a better place without him.”

“He's my brother.”

“He’s a douche.”

“The same could be said for Dean.”

“Dean’s not on Zachariah’s level.”

“How about we just let Gabriel deal with him?”

“I can live with that. He’ll probably take pleasure from it. Was Gabe always like that?”

“You bet, and those years as a pagan god did nothing to help.”

The pair sat in a comfortable silence, until Michael stood and smiled at Sam.

“Good luck, Sam. Hopefully Dean and I will never meet.”

“Thanks Michael.”

He watched as the archangel disappeared with a wink and snap of his fingers, leaving Sam alone in the room.

Then he woke up.

Sam: The question is why bugs and why now?
Dean: That’s two questions.
Bugs

The world felt out of whack. He hadn’t even opened his eyes yet, but he could feel the tingling in his skin. He felt as if he were on a boat, rocking with the waves but still feeling kind of woozy. Sam groaned and turned over in the bed, trying to ignore the ache of his muscles. Growing pains were a complete bitch.

He felt the bed dip as someone took a seat beside him, and a cool, wet cloth dabbed at his forehead. Sam shuddered, wanting more of the coolness against his forehead. His eyes fluttered open briefly, and he saw the outline of a man before shutting them tightly as the bright fluorescent lights blinded him.

“You're awake,” said Castiel drawing back the cold compress. Sam nodded, slowly pulling himself up. The sharp pains in his joints were dulling down to an almost forgotten ache.

“I’m awake,” confirmed Sam cracking open his eyes so they could adjust to the light. “I feel like I was run over by a train.”

“If you were run over by a train then you would be dead,” said Castiel clearly not understanding the metaphor.

“It’s a saying, bro,” said Gabriel casually as he strutted in. “Welcome back to the land of the living, Sam.”

“How long was I out for?”

“You were unconscious for three days,” answered Castiel, “The merging took a toll on your body. The fever you got from it only broke this morning,” the angel paused and stood, “I will heat you up some soup.”

Sam nodded, and Gabriel took Castiel’s spot on the bed.

“You okay, dumpling?”

“…That was really creepy, man.”

“I know but it’s been so boring! Castiel doesn’t respond to my tricks and annoyances like you do. He just kind of stares at me; he could probably just stare anyone to death.”

“Not something that I would want to try anytime soon.”

“Yeah I guess not. I had no clue what a mother hen he can be, until these past couple days. He kept on putting compresses on your head, straightening your pillows…”

“Before I was a warrior, I was a healer,” said Castiel simply as he carried in a bowl of steaming soup.

“You were?” asked Sam.

Castiel nodded and placed the bowl on a tray that Gabriel had conjured. Sam began to eat with gusto, stomach growling from the lack of nutrition and realized that it was Italian Wedding Soup, his favorite. He paused in his eating to give the angel a smile.

“Thanks, Cas.”

The angel beamed at him, or at least Sam assumed that was what the expression was meant to be. He wondered if Castiel had always had these mothering instincts, or if he'd picked them up from Dean. Sam took another spoonful of soup, trying to ignore the thump in his chest that overtook him when he thought about his brother.

“So what’s the plan?” asked Gabriel as Sam gulped down the rest of the broth.

“Stop the Apocalypse.”

“There’s that Stanford education kicking in,” snarked the archangel. “I meant what’s our game plan? What do we need to do?”

“Well first we need supplies,” said Sam cracking his neck, “Fake I.D.’s, weapons, salt, a couple of books on lore. I need to get a laptop. Then we need to make a list.”

“Like a hit list?” asked Gabriel excitedly. “Because if we’re going to whack some people then we need to get some nice suits. Maybe get a tommy gun or two?! Those things are fun!”

The ex-Trickster had way too much excitement in his voice. Sam slowly stood, cracked his back, and walked away from Gabriel, who was still grinning like a madman. He sighed and nodded his assent to the little rant.

“Yeah I suppose we should compile a list of bad guys we want out of the game. People I want to save. Cold Oak should never happen. We need some specific weapons too: the Colt, and Ruby’s knife. First though, I should make a timeline of what I remember.”

“No Tommy guns?” asked the archangel with a pout.

“Can you find a working one?”

“You forget who you are talking to, Winchester.”

“True, very scary, but very true. If you can find one, then go for it. Just make sure it's good with iron or silver rounds.”

“Who is Tommy? And why is Gabriel so enthusiastic about his guns?” asked Castiel.

“Ask your brother,” said Sam easily. He grabbed a pad of paper and a pen. He began to write out the list as Gabriel explained the sheer ‘awesomeness’ of tommy guns. Sam watched the brothers for a moment before making a mental note to call Dean. As he finished writing out the list, he silently promised his brother that this time he was going to save him.

Elsewhere, Dean Winchester slept on; unaware of what was going on with his brother, or what the future held for him. He had no memories of Hell, or of the Apocalypse. He was merely worried about Sam. That was fitting, because Sam was equally worried about Dean.

That was exactly the way the world ought to be.


Hint Three

 


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