Season Four

Episode Eight: Family Album

By irismay42

Part Three

Bowman Lake, MT

“My kids! You have to get my kids!”

John Winchester’s voice was desperate, his eyes wild as he lay on the shoreline, one hand gripping Dean’s shoulder, the other fisted in Sam’s t-shirt.

His grip was weak, and he was still coughing and hacking, and Sam could tell from the deathly pallor of his face that sooner or later he was going to crash completely.

Dean was looking out over the lake, his own color draining visibly.

“No way,” he muttered. “This never happened.”

Sam followed the direction of his brother’s gaze, just about able to make out another dark shape barely visible above the calm surface of the water.

It was bigger than a person.

It was bigger than an average car.

The Impala.

The Impala was in the water, and it was sinking fast.

How the hell…?

“It was—demon—” John was barely coherent, obviously fighting to stay conscious just long enough to get help for his boys. “Attacked us. Tried to—to strangle me. In the car. Got in the car. Don’t know how it got in the car. Charms. Wards. Don’t know how…”

“It’s okay,” Sam tried to reassure him. “It’s okay, just breathe—”

“I—strangling me. It was—strangling me. Lost—lost consciousness. Dean in the back with—with Sammy or—or he’d have grabbed the wheel. Know he would. Couldn’t—couldn’t get up front to help me and all the weapons in the trunk. Couldn’t…”

He trailed off for a second, and the brothers’ eyes met uncertainly.

“Passed out I think,” their dad continued breathlessly. “Guess the car went—went off the road and—and into the lake. I—I came to and I was in the water and I—I tried to get back to my kids but—passed out and—please! Please, my kids! You have to find my kids!”

Crap.

“We’re gonna get your kids,” Dean announced decisively, gently lowering his father towards the beach. “Just stay here. We’re gonna get your kids.”

Their gazes meeting once more, Sam instantly knew what he had to do.

Leaving their father barely conscious at the shoreline, the boys dove once again into the freezing depths of Lake Bowman, swimming as fast as they were able toward the dark shape that Sam was gradually becoming more and more convinced was the Impala.

It wasn’t much further out than where they’d found their dad floating, but it was mostly submerged, the whole car tipped at a crazy angle with just a few inches of the roof and the trunk on the driver’s side still visible above the water.

Taking a deep breath, Sam cast one more look in his brother’s direction before diving down beneath the surface of the painfully blue water, trying to keep his eyes open in order to assess his best course of action.

Both the front and the rear passenger side doors were crumpled completely out of shape, presumably from the impact with the rocks reaching up from the lake bottom like eerie claws trying to pull the big Chevy down to a watery grave.

Swimming around to the other side of the car, Sam could see that the driver’s door was open, and he figured that must have been how Dad got out of the car, presumably with the intention of trying to get his kids out through the rear driver’s side. Sam could see red staining on the corner of the driver’s door, and figured maybe his dad hit his head as he tried to scramble out of the car and that’s what had caused him to pass out.

Either that, or there was a shadow demon lurking down here somewhere.

Shoving his way into the car through the open door, Sam dragged in a lungful of much-needed oxygen as his head broke the surface of the water. The car was filling rapidly, only a few inches remaining between the rising flood and the roof, and he quickly took stock of the situation, trying to see whether the kids—John’s kids—were still in the car or had gotten out somehow.

Dean was struggling with the rear driver’s side door, trying to force it open, but it was stuck fast and Sam quickly realized no one was getting in—or out—that way.

Dean must have come to the same conclusion, finally giving up on the rear door and dragging himself in through the driver’s door behind Sam.

Sam felt the top of his head hit the Chevy’s metal roof as he tried to haul his brother into the little pocket of air still remaining in the front seat.

“Sammy, I swear this never happened!” Dean spluttered as he grabbed hold of the back of the seat and tried to pull himself further up out of the water, the front of the car filling faster than the back, which was still raised that little bit higher.

“The demon,” Sam said. “The demon caused the car to go off the road!”

“So where the hell are—are we?”

As if in answer to Dean’s question, both boys suddenly became aware of a small hand gripping the back of the front seat, not far from where Dean was hanging on for dear life, and they peered over into the back of the car, Sam almost dreading what he was going to see there.

A pale face peered back up at them.

It was a small boy, almond-shaped hazel eyes and dark brown curls plastered to pasty skin and Sam got a chill the length of his spine that had absolutely nothing to do with the temperature of the water.

It was kind of odd finding yourself looking at…yourself.

The little boy in the back seat was maybe eight years old, which fitted with Dean’s theory that this was Bowman Lake and the hunt for the water wraith John had taken them on with his old friend Jefferson. The kid was looking up at Sam as if he was the eighth wonder of the world, his face wet and pinched-looking, and although it was hard to tell for certain, the redness of his eyes suggested he’d been crying.

“Please,” he said in a small, insistent voice. “Please, you have to help him!”

Sam followed the direction of his younger self’s urgently gesturing hand, down to the opposite end of the rear seat, on the driver’s side of the Impala. The angle the car was currently listing at meant that side of the big Chevy was almost entirely under water now, but with the back end sticking up further out of the lake than the front, there was still a small pocket of air between the water’s surface and the roof of the car, and in that small pocket of air, Sam could see another face poking up out of the water.

It was unmistakably Dean, freckles stark against white skin as the boy, who Sam figured for maybe twelve years old, tried manfully to keep his head above water, scowling at the younger version of Sammy even as his eyes betrayed complete terror.

“Sammy, just go!” the kid said, choking as water flooded his mouth.

“No!” Sammy insisted, grabbing onto Dean’s sleeve and tugging at his arm. “I’m not going anywhere without you!”

Sam glanced over his shoulder at the older version of Dean, who was doing a pretty credible imitation of a goldfish, his mouth opening and closing mutely.

The younger version of Dean suddenly turned to look at him, his scowl turning to desperation. “Please, please get Sammy out of here!” he begged. “He won’t go!”

Younger Sam was shaking his head, mouth set into a determined line. “I told you, I’m not leaving you here, Dean!” he cried. “We stick together, right?” It was younger Sam’s turn to shift his attention to the two men in the front seat. “Please, he’s stuck on something! He can’t get out, and I’m not going without him!”

“Dammit, Sammy…” both younger and older Dean managed to curse in unison, but the rest of the younger version’s sentence was choked off as he went under the water again, older Dean reaching over the seatback and grabbing him by the collar of his jacket, pulling his head above the water once more and holding him there.

“What are you stuck on?” Sam asked, trying to help his brother keep the kid above water, suddenly aware of his younger self’s fingers tightening on his arm.

“I don’t know,” the older boy spluttered through a mouthful of water. “It’s my ankle. My ankle’s trapped.”

“Please!” younger Sam’s grip on the adult version tightened, wide, frightened eyes turned up to him imploringly. “Please, you have to get him out! Please!”

Sam exchanged a loaded glance with his brother, who was doing his best to keep his younger self’s head above the rising water, but there was no room and no time and the car was filling too darn fast.

“Okay,” Sam said finally, ducking his head toward his younger self. “Sam—Sammy?” he stumbled over the diminutive name, grimacing at the brief grin splitting his brother’s face. “You need to come with us now.”

“No!” younger Sam began to protest. “No way. I’m not leaving Dean!”

“Sammy, listen,” Sam said. “Look, we’re running out of time here. We’re going to get your brother out, but right now you’re in the way. You get me? You need to come out of there so we can see how to get your brother out, okay?”

Sammy’s face tightened, and he squinted at his older self suspiciously, reaffirming his grip on his brother’s sleeve and shaking his head resolutely. “Not leaving without him,” he once again insisted.

Sam gritted his teeth in frustration and, despite the dire circumstances, Dean snorted.

“Payback’s a bitch, ain’t it?” he observed. “Now you know what I’ve had to put up with for the past twenty-seven years.”

Sam threw a thunderous scowl in his brother’s direction before turning his attention back to the younger kid in the backseat and taking a calming breath. “Listen to me, Sammy,” he said, “if you don’t come out of there right now your brother’s going to drown. Understand me? You want us to help him, you gotta get outta the way. It’s that simple.”

Sammy returned Sam’s earlier scowl threefold before finally nodding his head.

“Alright,” he acquiesced dubiously. “But you’d better get my brother outta here or I’ll kick your ass.”

Dean snorted again and Sam studiously avoided looking at him.

“Deal,” he said instead, reaching into the backseat and grabbing hold of the boy, pulling him over the seat back and into the front, where he finally landed with a splash between Sam and Dean. “Okay,” Sam continued, pushing the boy to his brother before somehow managing to get his huge frame over into the backseat with the younger version of his big brother. “Get him to the shore and to—to his dad while I get his brother out of here.”

Both older Dean and Sammy turned twin grimaces of protest in his direction.

“No way, Sam. I’m not leaving you here.”

“I’m not leaving Dean. You can’t make me.”

Dean’s attention shifted to the kid at his side and he drew a tired hand through the wet spikes of his hair. “Man, this is so messed up.”

“Dean,” Sam insisted. “Go. Now.”

“Sammy, please, just go!” younger Dean weighed in.

“I told you, I’m not leaving!” Sammy insisted, and older Dean just sighed helplessly.

“Sam, I guess I was right. You’ve always been a stubborn little bitch.”

“And you’ve always been a self-sacrificing jerk,” Sam returned easily, no fire in his words, but a gritty determination in the set of his jaw. “Now go, both of you!” he admonished them, gulping in a deep breath before diving beneath the surface of the water in an attempt to figure out a way to get his little-big brother loose.

Taking a closer look, Sam realized Dean’s ankle was trapped between the crushed-in door and the seat back, but before he could try and remedy the situation, the kid was sliding back down into the water, and Sam had to grab hold of him and push him back up, surprised to see his older brother’s fingers still wrapped in the collar of younger Dean’s jacket when his head once again broke the surface.

“Dean, what didn’t you understand about ‘go now’?” Sam demanded, trying to keep the twelve-year-old’s head out of the water.

Grown-up Dean just looked at him, that tiny tension line between his eyes deepening.

“Dean,” Sam tried again. “If you don’t get Kid Me to safety, I’m not gonna be here to save Kid You and then neither one of us is going to be here at all, alright?”

Dean’s face twisted into something simultaneously pained and confused, as if he was trying to work out what the hell Sam just said. Then, as if finally figuring out what Sam was trying to tell him, he glanced at the kid at his side before reaching a decision. “C’mon, squirt,” he said with a sigh. “Time to go.”

Sammy’s eyes widened. “Wait—no! I’m not going anywhere without my brother, I’m not.”

“Well you’re a kid and I’m a grown-up, and you don’t get a vote,” Dean informed him shortly, grabbing hold of him and propelling him toward the open driver’s door. “Now take a deep breath.”

Sammy’s scowl could have melted iron, but he eventually relented. “Dean, I’ll see you soon!” he yelled back to his brother, before drawing in a breath and diving down under the water.

Dean glanced just once over his shoulder at his brother. “You die on me I’ll kill you,” he informed him, before adding, “And you let me die, I’ll kill you twice.”

Then he was gone, and Sam could finally concentrate on trying to get the trapped kid out of the backseat of the car.

Dean seemed a lot calmer now his little brother had at last been taken to safety, tilting back his head so his face stayed above the water and just breathing as slowly as he was able.

Sam reflected that had been one of the things he’d so admired about his big brother when they were kids. Dean had always seemed to keep his head in a crisis, and even if it was only an act, Sam had appreciated it, appreciated the illusion that his big brother always knew exactly what to do and would never let anything bad happen to him.

But now it was Sam’s turn.

Dean needed his help right now, and if Sam didn’t save this version of his brother, he wasn’t entirely sure what would happen to the adult version currently swimming back to the shore with Sam’s younger self.

Dean was right. This was messed up.

“Okay, just try to stay above the water, Dean,” he instructed the kid, who was clearly struggling to do just that, his lips having turned a little blue with the cold and the lack of oxygen. “Just hang on in there, kiddo,” Sam added, gently running his fingers through the boy’s hair. “I’m not gonna let you die, okay? Nothing bad’s going to happen to you while I’m here.”

“Okay,” Dean replied weakly, his eyes threatening to droop closed even as he fought to keep them open.

“You stay awake for me, Dean,” Sam admonished him, shaking him a little until he appeared to have his full attention. “I can’t do this by myself.”

Dean nodded ever-so-slightly, eyes widening in exhausted determination.

“Good boy,” Sam told him. “Now I’m just gonna go see what’s going on down there, okay? You stay awake for me.”

“Wait, wait!” Dean reached out to catch Sam’s arm, stopping him in his tracks. “You said my dad’s okay, right? You found my dad?”

Sam nodded. Same Dean, no matter what the age. “Yeah, we found your dad. He’s gonna be fine.”

Dean drew in a relieved breath before nodding once again. “Okay then,” he said softly, releasing his grip on Sam’s arm.

Sam nodded. “No going to sleep, kiddo,” he repeated, before diving once again into the water, determined that this time he was going to get the kid the hell out of here.

Taking a closer look at Dean’s trapped ankle, Sam thought about trying to get the boy’s sneaker off his foot, but he wasn’t sure the thin layer of fabric would make much difference, and right now it might be the only thing protecting his brother from the twisted metal crumpled against his flesh.

Okay, Plan B then.

Maybe he could force the metal back into shape, take the pressure off Dean’s ankle?

Figuring that might be his best option, Sam twisted himself until he was able to aim a kick at the door. The metal juddered beneath his foot, but otherwise remained unaffected, and Sam kicked at it a couple more times in frustration.

To his surprise, the crumpled metal began to buckle outwards just a tiny bit, and he continued kicking with renewed fervor until the metal gave and he was pretty sure Dean should be able to slide his foot free.

Problem was, Dean wasn’t moving anymore, either too cold or too out of it to muster the strength to wriggle free.

Sam could see the kid was sagging, and, unsure whether he’d gone under the surface of the water again, he went back up for a lungful of air, trying to pull Dean up with him. When he reached the surface, however, to his dismay he discovered only an inch or so between the surface of the water and the roof of the Chevy, and Dean had gone right under and didn’t seem to be able to get back up.

Dammit. If he didn’t get Dean out right now, he wasn’t getting out.

Grabbing Dean’s jacket and trying to pull him up, Sam recommenced kicking at the door, this time the metal whining and buckling until finally Dean’s ankle came free of its own accord, and the boy floated up to the surface of the water, his eyes closed and his lips an even more alarming shade of blue than they had been before.

“Dean, come on!” he instructed the kid, pulling him up into the miniscule pocket of air and tapping him lightly on both cheeks. “Wake up there, kiddo!”

Dean spluttered a little, his eyes finally fluttering open as Sam continued to call his name.

“Sammy?” the kid murmured, unfocused eyes looking right into Sam’s. “That you?”

Sam swallowed, not entirely sure he had an answer for that one. “Sam’s fine, Dean,” he assured the kid finally. “Don’t you worry about him, okay? Let’s just worry about you right now.”

“Have to worry about him,” Dean replied, his words becoming a little slurred. “’S my job.”

Sam smiled a little sadly, and pushed the kid’s wet hair out of his eyes. “I know Dean,” he said. “I know. Now you just take a deep breath for me, okay? ’Cause it’s time you and I blew this popsicle stand.”

* * * *

They should have been out by now.

Dean screwed up his eyes and tried to see out to where the Impala had finally gone under the surface of the lake, willing his brother to be there, to be safe.

Sammy, where the hell are you?

“Dean’s gonna be okay, right?” eight-year-old Sam asked for the hundredth time since he and Dean had crawled up onto the pebbly shoreline. “He’s gonna be okay?”

The little kid was clinging to Dean’s arm in a way he found oddly familiar and disturbingly comforting, and that was something he really didn’t want to analyze in further detail, knowing exactly what grown-up Sam would have to say about the matter.

“You can’t keep me a kid forever, Dean,” had been one of the last things Sam had said to him before he’d left for Stanford, and while Dean knew that was true, he also knew deep down in the most secret parts of himself that no matter what Sam did or where he went or how old he got, he would always be Dean’s baby brother, would always be that eight-year-old kid clinging on to his arm and trusting him to make everything okay.

And although he’d never admit it to anyone, especially himself, sometimes Dean missed that.

“Dean’s going to be fine, Sammy,” he found himself telling the little boy by his side, as if it was some kind of reflex to stop his kid brother from worrying.

Dean was worried enough for the both of them.

It had been too long and Sam should be out by now.

“C’mon, Sammy,” he muttered under his breath, the kid hanging onto his arm suddenly looking up at him quizzically.

“Your brother’s called Sam too?” he asked.

“Uh-huh,” Dean replied, nodding. “And he’s a real worry-wart, just like you are.”

“Dean always calls me that too,” Sammy said, sighing. “He’s gonna be alright isn’t he?”

Dean nodded, forcing a smile onto his lips. “Sure he is,” he assured the kid, almost convincing himself for a second. “My brother won’t let anything happen to him, I promise.”

But it had been too long and there was no denying Sam should be out by now.

He glanced behind him, at his father lying insensible on the beach, down at the little boy looking up at him as if he could solve all the ills of the world, and for a second he was torn. He had to stay here. Had to make sure Dad and Sammy were okay.

But the water was calling to him.

He had to make sure his Sammy was okay too.

“Listen, Sammy,” he began, reluctantly crouching down in front of the boy. “I think maybe—”

“That’s them!” Sammy suddenly burst out, looking beyond Dean’s shoulder, out onto the lake. “Look, they’re coming!”

Dean spun back toward the sunken Impala, his eyes roving the bright blue water until they locked on to what the kid had seen.

And he had never been so happy to see his little brother’s messy mop of hair in his life.

* * * *

Finally breaking the surface of the lake, Sam gulped in a huge breath of air, his arms tightening around Dean’s chest as he hauled the boy’s head and shoulders up out of the water.

Dean’s eyes fluttered a little, and although he was barely conscious, Sam could see he was hanging on in there, fighting the good fight until he was reunited with his dad and his brother. That was Dean’s whole reason for being, after all.

He smiled softly to himself before beginning the swim back toward the shore, where he could see his own version of Dean, not to mention the eight-year-old version of himself, waiting anxiously at the shoreline, the little boy clinging to Sam’s big brother’s arm.

Some things never changed.

As they approached the waterline, Dean came wading out to meet them, helping Sam lift his younger self out of the water and carry him to the beach, where they laid him down within arm’s reach of their dad.

The second Dean was on the ground, Sammy virtually launched himself at him, wrapping his arms around his neck and hanging on for dear life.

Choking on lake water and a mouthful of Sammy’s hair, Dean ruffled the kid’s unruly mop of curls before muttering, “One of these days I’m gonna teach you how to follow orders, Sammy.”

“Good luck with that,” older Dean muttered, causing Sam to elbow him in the ribs none-too-gently.

“C’mon, we better check you guys are in one piece,” Sam insisted, crouching down next to twelve-year-old Dean and pulling up the leg of his sodden jeans to get a look at his ankle.

The kid hissed through his teeth as Sam prodded at the broken skin.

“Don’t mind Nurse Sammy,” older Dean commented, kneeling down next to the boys. “He never did get a handle on that whole ‘bedside manner’ thing.”

Sam just looked at him, before turning his attention back to Dean’s younger counterpart. “I don’t think it’s broken, but you’re probably gonna need a tetanus shot, just to be safe.”

“Not another one,” Dean grumbled, rolling his eyes.

“Don’t want your foot to fall off,” Sammy told him with a grin.

“Sammy, your foot won’t actually fall off if you don’t get a tetanus shot,” younger Dean told him. “That’s just what Uncle Bobby told you when you started crying like a little girl when he said you had to have one.”

“Did not,” Sammy returned, sticking out his lower lip. “I don’t cry like a girl.”

“Do too,” both Deans managed to chorus, causing both Sams to huff.

Younger Dean’s eyes strayed to the motionless figure of his father at that point, all humor draining instantly from his face as he unconsciously reached out for his dad’s fingers.

“He’s not—he’s not—” It was as if he couldn’t bring himself to ask the question, and Dean quickly put him out of his misery.

“He’s going to be fine,” he assured him. “But we need to get him some help.”

“Can you tell us what happened?” Sam asked casually, still wary of the shadow demon coming back for another try. Getting help was one thing. Getting these boys out of here in one piece was something else entirely.

“Dad brought us camping,” Sammy began earnestly.

“Again,” younger Dean interjected. “’Cause we’ve only been, like, three thousand other times this year.”

Sammy grimaced at him to be quiet and continued. “He said he and Mr. Jefferson—”

“Jefferson’s his first name, doofus!”

“He and Jefferson—” Sammy rolled his eyes, “—were hunting a water wraith at Bowman Lake in, um, Missouri—”

“Montana.”

“And he said we could come with him because Dean said he was tired of being left behind in crap motel rooms—”

“Mouth, Sammy.”

“You say ‘crap’ all the time, Dean!”

“Because I’m awesome and older.”

“But Dean didn’t want to go camping either—”

“Freakin’ nature.”

“But Dad said we could go anyway. And we were heading for the camping ground—”

“It’s not far up the road.”

“When there was this, like, black shadow in the car with us, and Dad was yelling—”

“We didn’t have any holy water.”

“And then he was choking, and Dean was sitting in the backseat with me—”

“Because you wouldn’t stop whining that I always sit up front with Dad—”

“So he couldn’t grab the wheel when Dad lost control, and then we went into the lake and there was water everywhere and—”

“I don’t know how we got so far into the lake, we weren’t goin’ that fast.”

“And Dad wasn’t there anymore and Dean was stuck and we couldn’t get out and there was more and more water and I thought Dean was gonna drown and I didn’t know what to do and—”

“Sammy, take a breath, dude, your eyeballs are gonna explode.”

Sammy took a breath, and looked up at the older version of the Winchesters, who were just staring at him patiently. “And then you came.”

“Happy endings all around,” his brother added.

Sam exchanged a quick look with the grown-up version of his brother, who was smirking at him. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say nothin’.”

“Well stop thinking so loudly.” Sam shook his head, blowing out a long-suffering sigh. “Okay, so your dad told us pretty much the same story,” he informed the boys, casting his gaze in the direction of where younger Dean had indicated the camping ground to be. Looking back at his brother, he lowered his voice before pointing out, “If we’re right about which photograph we’re in, we’re not gonna be able to get that far, man.”

Dean nodded his agreement, before indicating his younger self’s injury. “And he’s not going anywhere on that ankle.”

Sam nodded, blowing out a breath before turning to his younger counterpart. “Okay, Sammy,” he said carefully. “I think this is going to be down to you.”

Sammy blinked at him. “What’s going to be down to me?”

“We need you to go to the camping ground and get some help for your dad and your brother, okay?”

Sammy frowned uncertainly. “Can’t I stay here with Dean while you go?”

“Uh—”

“Sorry, little dude,” older Dean put in. “We gotta stay here with your dad and your brother, just in case that shadow creature comes back.”

Sammy’s eyes widened. “It could come back?”

Sam shrugged. “We hope not,” he tried to reassure the boy.

“But it could?” Sammy appeared a little bit on the freaked out side. “But—but what if it tries to get me while I’m going for help?”

Sam glanced back at his brother, who frowned.

“That’s not gonna happen,” Dean pronounced with some authority. “But just in case, how about I walk with you as far as I can?”

Sammy thought about that for a second. “Mm. Okay. I guess.” He rose to his feet, briefly turning his attention back to Sam. “You’ll look after my brother and my dad, right?” he asked. “You won’t let the monster get ’em?”

Sam drew a cross over his heart. “Cross my heart and hope to—well. Not die.”

Sammy nodded. “Okay then.”

The little boy grabbed hold of Dean’s arm as the older version of his big brother scrambled stiffly to his feet, and Dean rolled his eyes. But Sam could see there was genuine affection in the gesture.

“Okay, Sam, you watch out for—for Dean and his dad, I’ll take care of the munchkin.”

“I’m not a munchkin,” Sammy piped up as he began leading the way to the camping ground.

“Midget?”

“Not a midget either!”

“Smurf?”

“You know my big brother’ll kick your ass if you don’t stop calling me names.”

“Mouth, Sammy.”

Sam smiled softly at his brother’s retreating back, before his focus slid back to the lake, to the spot where the Impala was now completely submerged.

He kinda remembered something like this now. The Impala going into a lake. Dad had to get her towed out and they had to stay for months in this little town in Montana while he got her fixed up again. Which had been cool because he’d gotten to stay in the same school for a whole semester.

Huh.

How come he’d not remembered that until now?

“You know, you look kinda like my dad,” younger Dean said suddenly, and Sam’s attention screeched back to the boy struggling to sit up on the beach.

“I—that’s—” Sam wasn’t entirely sure how to respond to that. “Thanks. I think.”

“He’s gonna be okay, right?” Dean asked yet again.

“He’s gonna be fine, Dean,” Sam once again reassured him.

“Okay.”

Reynolds house
Lynchburg, TN

Okay, so Bonnie knew John’s line of work meant more often than not he was dealing with the out and out weird, but this was so beyond weird she wasn’t entirely sure she had a word for it.

Bobby Singer was currently circling the photograph album. He had an old book open in his left hand while he scattered something—something that smelt really bad—with his right, and he was chanting in a language Bonnie thought might be Latin, but only ever having heard Latin on TV she couldn’t be a hundred percent certain of that.

“Look, I know you’re a friend of John’s, Mr. Singer—” she began.

“Bobby,” Bobby corrected her, pausing for a second in his chanting.

“Bobby,” Bonnie smiled awkwardly. “I’m sorry, it’s just I—I don’t understand why you want to trap John’s boys in the book with the thing that put them in there in the first place.”

“To be honest, ma’am—”

“Bonnie.”

“Bonnie. Trapping those idjit boys of John’s in there with that thing is the last thing I want to do. But I have to. It’s the only way to get them out of this. It’s just temporary, I promise.”

Bonnie took a breath. “I’d hate for anything to happen to them. Especially with their father—well.” She rubbed at her arms, a sudden chill overcoming her. “Couldn’t they get stuck there?” she asked. “Couldn’t they get hurt?”

Bobby nodded. “Yes they could,” he told her honestly. “But that’s just part of the job.”

“It sounds like a crappy job to me.”

“Most of the time, yeah it is. But those boys were raised to do this, they know the risks.” He smiled softly at her. “And believe me, as far as I’m able, I ain’t gonna let nothin’ bad happen to either one of ’em. Because their Daddy’d kill me.”

Bonnie returned his smile, nodding. “That he would.”

Bobby bobbed his head just once, before returning to his chanting, circling the album twice more before a loud pop and a bright flare of light like an old fashioned camera flash going off caused Bonnie to jump back a step.

Blinking, she looked down at the photo album.

“It’s not glowing anymore,” she observed.

Bobby’s grin widened. “That’s the general idea,” he said, crouching down and gingerly touching one of the plastic-covered pages.

“Wait—!”

But nothing happened, and Bobby’s grin widened still further.

“So far so good,” he commented, before suddenly adding, “You got a camera I could borrow?”

Bowman Lake, MT

“Goddammit!”

Dean beat his fist against the barrier standing between him and delivering the eight-year-old version of his kid brother to the camping ground safely.

“What’s wrong?” Sammy asked, walking straight through the invisible wall without hesitation, and turning back to squint at Dean oddly.

Dean shrugged. “End of the line for me, kid,” he said. “You’ll have to go the rest of the way alone.”

Sammy glanced over his shoulder at the camping ground, which was just visible in the distance.

“It’s not far,” Dean added. “I’ll be able to see you the whole way.”

Sammy let out a shuddering little breath. “Okay I guess.”

“So you’re gonna go straight to the campsite office, right?” Dean prodded. “There’s bound to be someone there who can help—”

A ranger.

Sammy had come back with a park ranger, and they’d taken him and Dad to hospital and they’d told him his ankle wasn’t broken but it hurt like a bitch for days and when Dad finally got the Impala up out of the lake it took him months to get it roadworthy again. He’d had to stay in that same crappy school for a whole freakin’ semester.

Dean scratched his head thoughtfully.

How come he’d only remembered this now?

Sammy was looking at him as if he was an escaped mental patient. “You okay, mister?” he asked.

Dean shrugged. “Sure I am,” he assured the youngster. “Just wanna make sure you get where you’re goin’ in one piece is all.”

Sammy nodded. “Okay, I can take a hint.” He turned and began to head toward the camping ground, before suddenly stopping and turning back. “Thanks for saving me and my brother,” he said. “I don’t know what I’d have done if he’d died.”

Dean swallowed. “Yeah,” he agreed. “I know the feeling.”

Sammy smiled weakly before turning back in the direction of the camping ground once more and beginning the short walk to get help for his dad and his brother.

Just like he’d promised, Dean stood and watched him all the way to the parking lot. Just because he suddenly remembered his kid brother bringing back a park ranger to help them didn’t mean the shadow demon couldn’t change history yet again.

Finally, reassured Sammy was safe, Dean turned and headed back to the lakeshore where he’d left Sam and the twelve-year-old version of himself, grumbling to himself all the way about how camping sucked ass as his feet squelched in his boots and his jeans stuck to him in places he really didn’t want them sticking.

“Help! You gotta help!”

Dean looked up sharply at the hail, eyes widening as he caught sight of his younger self hobbling desperately in his direction, his face as waxy as it had been when he was trapped in the sinking Impala, an air of panic about him that immediately set Dean on edge.

“Dean?” Dean called out to his younger self. “What’s goin’ on? Where’s Sam?” He broke into a run as the panic in the twelve-year-old’s eyes blazed into full-on terror.

“Please!” the boy cried out, virtually falling into Dean’s arms when the two of them finally collided. “You gotta come! You gotta come help!”

“Okay, okay, calm down,” Dean instructed the kid, holding him gently but firmly by his upper arms. “Tell me what happened, Dean. What’s wrong?”

“It’s—it’s the shadow monster!” Dean burst out, clearly freaking the hell out. “It came back!”

“It what?”

“It came back!” Dean repeated. “It came back and it—it took Sam!”

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The Winchester Chronicles