Author's Notes: So, this story needs a little explanation about it beforehand, because if you clicked it, you're probably wondering how everything is going to work out. Well, I'm glad to share! Basically, this story is a revised (and modified for the sake of the flow of prose) version of a roleplay between me and a dear friend of mine. This started way back in February of 2008, right around the time he started getting heavily into Supernatural. I was kind of straddling the line between SPN and Charmed, myself, so I was back and forth. We came up with the idea of basically plucking Dean and Sam from the present day time line and throwing them into the "changed future" time line of Charmed, i.e. when Chris is about 22 and Wyatt, about 23.
As stated, this story will have eventual slash, and, what surprised my friend and me (we don't always know which way our characters might go--they tend to deviate frequently from what we want them to do) was that Dean and Sam occasionally got busy, too. So, this story will have Wincest. But, for the most part, it focuses on Dean/Chris. Two snarky, A-type personalities clashing just gets my senses all tingly. Haha!
This story really deviates from everything I usually write now--and by that I mean I try to stick as closely to the canon as possible, etc. All the characters remain true to themselves, but some liberties have been taken, and the two canons have more or less been melded together. It is important for readers to know that this story takes place AFTER the end of Charmed and DURING season 3 of Supernatural, predominantly after the episode "Jus in Bello". Time references are vague in the fic after that, and we did change some things (e.g. Sam still gets the occasional vision), so consider this a relatively heavy AU.
I'm posting this because I thought most people would find it fun and interesting to read. So, if it tickles your fancy, leave me a review letting me know what you think! I have a lot of threads of RP to go through (we played this storyline out for months), which I'll be editing to fill in blanks of where we plotted and didn't actually write into the stories, but left as backstory. POVs will change constantly--this will be a challenge for me, since he's the Dean and Wyatt to my Chris and Sam, and as such, some scenes will be seen only through the eyes of one--or maybe two--of the characters. This story pretty much revolves around the four of them. Other characters make appearances, but don't expect too many cameos!
I don't own either Supernatural or Charmed, nor do I own any of the characters therein. Alas.
This story is totally dedicated to him. Zane! :3
They had been driving all night. Their destination at this point was unknown, save for the fact that it was on the west coast. Sam had become the sudden victim of visions once again, and this time, they came to him while he slept. Dean recalled his brother's fury and discomfort at having suffered through what Sam had called 'a living nightmare'. In his vision, he had seen distorted, broken images of injured children, crying desperately for their parents. The only clue that they had to it being on the west coast was the strange flashes of a certain type of tree whose name had escaped both of them, but that they knew was found only along the edge of the Pacific Ocean.
It was needless to say that the vision was powerful enough to spark their interest. Things had been quiet, too quiet for Dean's liking. With Lilith on the move, they had to keep themselves on the ready. However, they couldn't forget their duty in the meantime.
Having driven for several hours without taking so much as a five-minute break, Dean soon could no longer ignore the call of nature. He pulled off of the interstate and headed down a somewhat busy street, the morning sunlight bursting past the thick, billowing clouds in the sky above. Within minutes he had found a diner for them to go to. His stomach gave a needy growl in anticipation.
Once Dean pulled into the parking lot, he reached over and nudged his brother. When Sam didn't budge, he nudged him again. "Hey, Sammy, c'mon, wake up. We're gonna get some breakfast."
The aforementioned vision wasn't the only thing from which Sam had suffered. Nightmares plagued his sleep, reminding him of the people killed in the police station not too long ago by Lilith. Dean had managed to shove it all under a metaphorical rug, whereas his brother couldn't seem to. About the only time he slept nowadays was when they were in the impala.
Sam stirred after a moment. He reached up and wiped his hand over the side of his face in a move Dean recognized as covertly wiping the drool from his cheek. He said nothing of it.
"C'mon," he repeated, before pocketing the keys in his worn, faded jeans and climbing out of the car.
Outside, he stretched his tense muscles and listened to the sound of his bones cracking and shifting. It would be nice to get out and move around a little.
"Where are we?" Sam asked, although his yawn distorted a good portion of his question.
"Somewhere off the interstate," Dean replied. "San Francisco, I think." He headed toward the diner's entrance and slipped inside. The bells hanging above jingled and alerted the servers to their presence, and soon Dean and Sam were led to a table nestled in the corner, near the front of the diner. The place had a real 50's feel to it, complete with the red, padded seats and the barstools lined up along the bar that dominated the middle of the place. What really did it for him were the triangular paper hats the servers were wearing.
A woman dressed in what looked like a poodle-skirt knock off approached their table. She had black, coke-bottle glasses with powder-white skin and bright red lips. Her voice was oddly melodic.
"How can I help you gentlemen today?"
Dean, with his patented grin, said, "How 'bout some coffee to start?"
"Sounds good." The waitress smiled. "I'll be right back with that, along with your menus for you." When she gave a wink, Dean gave her one back, and that was when Sam snorted.
"What?" Dean asked.
"Do you ever turn it off?"
"I could, but then, where's the fun in that?" The older Winchester shook his head and moved to stand. "Be right back. Nature calls."
In the time it took him to go to and come back from the bathroom, the waitress had brought their coffee and menus. Along the way out, Dean snatched today's newspaper from a nearby stand. With Sam's laptop in the car, they would have to use it as a means of gathering information for the time being. He slipped back into the booth and dropped the paper, heading right for the coffee before him.
Dean was used to running most mornings on coffee. The pungent aroma woke up his senses, and the taste of it felt like a healthy slap to the face. All the fatigue from driving seemed distant now. While his brother was busy looking up what he wanted on the menu, he opted for looking through the newspaper, heading straight for the obituaries. What he saw at the top of the page reminded him of exactly why they were there. It was the picture of a boy—no older than seven or eight—who, according to the obituary, had been murdered, and whose parents were still searching for the killer.
"Take a look at this," he said, folding the paper and extending it across the table to Sam, who picked it up curiously.
Although Dean couldn't be sure, the way that Sam winced a little and massaged his temple made him think that the image of the kid recalled what he saw in his vision. He took a quick swig of his coffee.
"This kid looks like the one in my vision," Sam confessed quietly, confirming Dean's suspicions. "At least we know we're on the trail."
It was good to hear that, in a way. Dean always had the feeling they were chasing shadows when they went after the hunches Sam had. But then, chasing shadows was a completely different problem, and Sam had a disturbingly accurate record as far as this stuff went. And when his visions were involved, there really was no doubting these things, even if he really wanted to.
Before Dean could say anything, their waitress came to take their order. Giving her a disarming sort of grin, he ordered some bacon and hash browns for himself, along with pancakes for Sam. When she left, he reached into the folds of his jacket, retrieving their father's journal. He could see the surprise registered on his brother's face.
"I don't feel comfortable leaving it in the car." That was all Dean said before he opened it up and started looking through it. He would have done so before they left Monument, Colorado, but they had been in such a hurry to get out of there that it had been impossible.
Hindsight's always twenty-twenty, he thought.
"Find anything?" Sam pressed after a little while.
"No," Dean sighed. "Nothing good, anyway. There's a lot of demons we could be going up against that do in kids. We could even be dealing with spirits. We'll need to try and narrow down the possibilities by getting more information. After we eat, we try and find the parents' house."
Sam nodded. He said nothing further, because soon thereafter their waitress came back with their breakfast plates.
Dean and Sam ate quickly, and in silence. When the time came for them to leave, their waitress gave them their bill, but they let her go, Sam cleared his throat and said to his brother:
"It sure is a real downer to read about kids getting killed in times like these, isn't it?"
It had been an intentional hook to catch the woman's attention, and to illicit information from her so they could narrow their search. As no address was given in the obituary—Dean knew it was a smart move on his brother's part. He nodded in agreement and said, "God, seriously."
That seemed to be enough to catch her attention. Turning, she sighed, and nodded fervently. "Isn't it? I just can't believe someone would murder an innocent little boy like that. I heard they had been planning on moving before this all happened…think of how hard that must be for them!"
Sam asked, "They lived right here in the city, didn't they?"
"Oh, yes," the waitress said. "I think it was near the waterfront? A really nice property…" She sounded somewhat envious. "Anyway, those poor people. Losing a kid…I can't even imagine." With that she turned, heading toward the cash register.
Dean and Sam shared a look. Sometimes, it was almost disturbing how easy information fell into their lap.
When the waitress returned with their money, the two Winchesters left her a decent tip, slipped out of the diner and headed right back for the impala, Dean sliding into the driver's side and Sam, the passenger's. From the glove box the younger one retrieved their huge collection of maps, sorting through to find one for California. Meanwhile, Dean started up the car and pulled out of the parking lot, heading for the waterfront. Sam fed him directions all the while, and within about ten minutes, they found themselves driving along the street that was home to some of San Francisco's most luxurious waterfront homes.
"Jesus," Dean muttered as he glanced out his window. "You know, people would kill for homes like these. They probably even do. This place creeps me out a little."
"Yeah," Sam agreed. "It's too…quiet. And I can't think of a better word than pristine. It's like nothing's out of place."
As they drove past, both paid special attention to any signs outside on the lawns that would signify that the house was for sale. After a few moments, they were in luck. A large, white, rectangular sign with the words FOR SALE in bold red letters stood in the middle of one of the lush, green lawns. Sam pointed to it and Dean pulled up alongside the curb on the other side of the street. He killed the engine, which seemed obnoxiously loud in the disturbingly quiet neighborhood.
He turned to Sam. "What angle should we work, Mister Drama Club? Jehova's Witnesses? Mormons?" He smirked. "Boy scouts?"
All it took was one look from his brother to know that the wheels were turning inside his head. The taller one grunted a snort in response before saying, "Church goers seems best. Christians. Something about this neighborhood screams conservative Christian to me. I dunno why." He glanced over his shoulder at the back seat. "Our bibles are still back there, right?"
"Then let's go with that. We're trying to find people to help pay for our fundraiser for children."
It always amused Dean to see how easy it was for Sam to come up with these elaborate tales about who they were and what they did. In any normal circumstance, this should have been completely abhorrent; they were going to the grieving family to pry out information, after all. But it was the fact that they would use that information to destroy a demon that made it okay in Dean's eyes.
"Let's get to it, then," he said.
In a matter of minutes, Dean and Sam expertly changed out of their street clothes and into the suits that they often wore when it came to acting as religious folk. Their suits were neat, clean and free of wrinkles, as they kept these in a dry-clean bag in the back in order to prevent that from happening. The fresh smell of the dry cleaners itself still clung to them.
"Got any names thought up, Sammy?" Dean asked once they were standing on the street. He adjusted his collar.
"I was thinking Chris and Adam." Sam smirked. "Unless you think those scream fanatical religious nuts."
Dean snorted. "Nah. They work fine. Chris sounds like a geek's name, but whatever. S'better than Adam." He ran a hand through his short air and then over his face, murmuring, "Wish I'd shaved." But then he looked up at Sam, his posture straight and a classic good-boy smile plastered on his face. "Ready, Adam?"
"Ready as I'll ever be, Chris."
The two Winchesters crossed the empty street and made their way toward the house with the FOR SALE sign pitched in the front lawn. The house itself was absolutely gorgeous—the entire house was set on a higher foundation, with a set of steps leading up to a large, open patio. There were four columns—two on each side—of the front, which attached to the rim around the patio and that supported the upstairs. The entire house was painted a cream color, which contrasted against the vibrant blue sky behind it. It had a classic, yet somehow modern feel to it.
When Dean and Sam approached the front door, both weren't surprised that it sported a thick pane of painted glass. The floral design within was surprisingly beautiful, with tulips, roses and a variety of other flowers all stretching outward from the center.
Dean was just about to ring the doorbell when he heard Sam whisper, "Let me do the talking this time." Not about to argue—Sam usually was more eloquent than him—he simply made an 'It's all yours' hand gesture, and then rang the bell.
A few moments after, a woman opened the door just slightly, peering out at the two of them. She looked thin, a little ragged, and had somewhat dark bags beneath her eyes. Her blonde hair—or what was visible of it—draped over her shoulders and around her face.
"Can I help you…?" she asked tentatively.
"Good morning, ma'am," Sam said, with all the ease of the world rolling his words along, "My name's Adam, and this is Chris. We're with the First Christian Church. We were wondering if we could have a few moments of your time to talk to you about a fundraiser we have for the children's program?"
Dean almost couldn't help the wince he felt as Sam spoke those words, because the look on the woman's face showed it all. She stared at them as her eyes teared up, and she then briefly covered her mouth with her hand.
"F-Fundraiser?" she asked, like she didn't quite understand what they were asking. Dean eyed her with concern, but she seemed to pull herself together and cough a little. "Yes…yes, please come in," she offered, stepping aside.
Once they were inside, the woman was nice enough to ask them to sit down. Both Dean and Sam sat up properly on the couch, with the latter looking at her with a smile.
"Chris and I, we've been a part of this church since we were little kids. And this fundraiser is designed to help bring money back into the programs for teaching the younger members of the church. Normally we don't go door to door like this," he added with a slightly uncomfortable chuckle, "but we're currently in the process of moving with our family, and our mom wanted us to go out and help the church while she and our dad worked on packing things up around the house."
As he'd motioned to his brother before knocking, Dean was letting Sam take the lead, and all the while he was scanning the interior of the home for anything suspicious with the EMF reader he had safely tucked away within the folds of his jacket. But nothing looked out of the ordinary. Everything appeared to be in the beginning phases of being packed up, and it was all painfully...normal.
The woman seemed to be buying it, though, and she looked at the two of them with a sad, but polite expression. Dean figured Sam had the talking bit down pretty good, so he thought it would be an opportune time for him to do a little work of his own.
"I'm sorry," he broke in, looking apologetic, "but do you have a restroom I could use? Too much orange juice with breakfast." He smiled, figuring that that sounded wholesome and churchy.
"Oh, oh yes." The woman seemed a little surprised, but she gestured to the right. "It's just past the entry hall. Take a left, and you'll see the door by the stairs…"
With the go ahead from the woman, Dean made his way through the house, though instead of entering the bathroom he headed toward the stairs nearby. He pulled out the small device, sticking one headphone nub into his ear and holding the EMF reader in his palm as he crept up the stairs. Unfortunately, a quick sweep over the upstairs hall got zero readings, which pretty much ruled out spirit activity. He quickly zoomed through the other rooms up there—not failing to note just how many damn rooms the place had—and then made his way to the stairs' landing.
Dean cursed under his breath, making his way silently down the stairs again. No spirits meant it was something corporeal, like a demon. But, that was what he had figured it was before. Now, he just had confirmation. "Fucking demons," he muttered, making his way back towards the living room and taking the headphone out of his ear.
About the time that Dean returned, Sam was offering the woman his condolences, and was saying something about how the Lord must have had something in plan, and that it would all turn out all right in the end. Not exactly sure what they had talked about, Dean just apologized for having taken so long.
The sight of the woman crying, which normally didn't affect him so much, seemed to hit Dean square in the heart right then and there. He felt mildly uncomfortable, and so he cleared his throat. "I see we've caught you at an awkward time…" he started, moving over to Sam. "We'll go on and get out of your hair. We know how tedious it can be, trying to get things packed up." He took Sam's arm and began guiding him back towards the door, smiling all the while.
"Thank you for your time," Sam said, to which the woman just nodded and politely guided them back toward the door.
She shut the door behind them, and for a moment, the two boys stood on her porch before finally heading back to the car.
"So, what'd you find out?" Dean asked Sam while they crossed the street.
The younger one scratched the end of his nose, shrugging just a little. "She...was really reluctant to give too much up, but she told me that he never came home one night, and then they found him in an alleyway near the port, next to one of the big warehouses. No one knows what he was doing out there, apparently. That's all I got."
"Weird," Dean said. "What the hell's a kid that young doing all the way down on the port?" He shook his head. "Anyway, guess the next question is, do we go down to the port next, or do we go to the coroner and get the autopsy report?"
"The autopsy report would probably be smarter…" Sam mused. "How about autopsy today, then the port tonight?"
Dean nodded. It sounded like a solid plan. Undoing the tight collar of his suit, he then climbed into the impala again and gave a grunt of comfort when he slouched in the seat. He waited until Sam was inside as well before he said, "Let's go find a place to stay."
. . . . . . . . . .
It was surprising how quickly night fell.
It seemed like not too long ago, Dean and Sam were checking into a hotel near the waterfront, with Sam checking websites about other occurrences while his brother pretended to be a child services agent with the coroner in order to get more information. When he came back and shared what he had gathered, the two of them decided to go to the port that night for sure, since there now was no doubt in their mind that they were chasing a demon.
Sam was wearing a pair of loose jeans, a somewhat loose shirt and a jacket, too, just so he could move freely that night, in case they came across anything. He had a knife concealed and hooked to the side of his ankle, but part of him hoped that tonight they weren't going to run into the demon, and would be able to scope the place out in order to get themselves acquainted with the warehouse. That would give them the upper hand for sure...
When they pulled up to the port, Sam looked over it somewhat worriedly. He had learned earlier that another child had died here, too, the sad thing was that nobody even knew what in the world was truly going on. He couldn't wait to fix this.
"Ready, Dean?" he asked his brother.
"'Course I'm ready," Dean replied, giving Sam a smile and shutting off the car. He got out, slamming the door and moving directly to the trunk. With the knowledge of a demon being afoot, he armed himself with his favorite gun and a knife. Once Sam had gathered up a crossbow for himself out of the back, Dean said, "Alright, let's get in there and check this shit out," and then turned, glancing towards the large, dark warehouses that lined the port.
Sam took in a breath. "All right. So it looks like the main door is over there...and then the smaller side entry door is on the eastern side, by the alleyway where the kids were killed." When he stared over at it, he saw the strange light dipping overhead, casting an eerie glow on the wet concrete below it.
"Side door," was all Dean said, slipping his hand into his pocket and taking out the crooked paperclips he always kept there. "I doubt there's an alarm on a place this badly cared for. It looks like nobody's been here since the police were…"
The two of them approached the side entry door after that. Dean was on it quickly, fidgeting with the lock. It only took a minute to pick it, and once the door was open he moved in, turning on his flashlight.
And then he cried out.
"What?" Sam nearly yelped.
But then he saw it: the gigantic, ridiculous clown-face leering at them right in front of them. His reaction was instantaneous—the crossbow was up and he shot one of the bolts right at the clown's face. It bounced off the colorful, hard plastic and sprung off into the distance, hitting the floor with a loud, resounding clatter.
Sam chased the bolt with his eyes, but was immediately frozen in place by a strange collection of floating, white-blue lights that descended from the ceiling. He reached out and grabbed his brother's arm, jerking him behind several large, wooden crates that were stacked atop one another.
Dean had obviously been too absorbed by staring at the clown's face, because when Sam gripped hold of him, he tried smacking at him and muttered, "What the hell, bitch?"
"Shh!" Sam hissed.
Soon, a boyish voice echoed within the large, cavernous warehouse. Whoever it belonged to sounded annoyed. "What the hell was that? Is this place booby-trapped?"
Another voice, somewhat deeper, but also softer, soon replied, "Demons don't usually booby-trap with arrows, Chris." Annoyance laced his next few words. "Where is this thing? I wanna find it, vanquish it, and get out of here."
"All I know is that it's right here, somewhere in the warehouse," The first voice—Chris—offered, "When I scryed for it, that's what I got, so I bet it's just hiding, waiting to attack us. Come on, Wyatt."
Scrying? Demons? Sam wondered what in the hell these two guys were talking about. Well, no, he knew what they were talking about. The question was, why? Had they chanced on another pair of hunters? That was the last thing they needed right now. Running into other hunters had caused nothing but problems…
"Sam—" Dean began.
"Shh!" Sam said immediately, nudging his brother again. "You hear 'em?"
"'Course I do, Sam, I'm not deaf. Jesus," Dean muttered irritably.
From not too far away, the second voice—Wyatt—tensed. "It's not the only thing here, Chris…"
Before Sam had a chance to react to that, from above came a high-pitched, shrill shriek, followed by a collection of deafening crashes. His eyes shot immediately upward, and he caught sight of the demon in question. It was black, slender, with a beast-like form. What struck him was the golden glow of its eyes. Without a thought to it, he pointed his crossbow upward and shot a bolt at it, missing it by just a hair.
"Damn it!" he growled.
Nearby, Chris reacted much the same as Sam had. His eyes shot up toward the demon in question, but the sight of the bolt in its direction was enough to shift his attention. He gestured silently from whence it came, then looked to Wyatt. It was his way of saying "I'll go for that while you go for the demon".
He jogged across the warehouse and soon happened upon the mysterious addition in question. When he appeared by the other two brothers, Chris was fully prepared to use his power, but upon seeing that they were mortals, he paused, hands held out. His expressed was yet again perplexed.
Dean was reacting now, too, aiming his gun up at the demon. Having not yet noticed Chris, he pressed against Sam and yelled, his voice deep and harsh, "Get down!" and took a shot at the agile beast. His shot went wide, missing it, but also near hitting the tall blonde nearby. When Dean looked back down, he was met with the image of the tall, somewhat slender brunette who wore an acidic expression on his face.
Neither Sam nor Dean knew what to think when they saw the brunette turn toward the demon and wave his arm. It seemed like such a stupid move, but when the beast went flying across the warehouse, colliding into a wooden crate that shattered upon impact, they both froze in place. Something was definitely afoot here.
Their hesitation gave the demon just enough time to escape. But unlike any other demon that Sam and Dean had seen before, this one simply faded out of view, as if it were a ripple in the water.
"Damn it!" Chris cursed suddenly. He turned toward the Winchesters, throwing his hands up in the air. "Who the hell are you, and what're you doing here?"
Before Sam could reply, Dean was up in arms. He stalked up to Chris, arms out and eyes narrowed. "Funny," he said, voice sarcastic, "I was gonna ask you the same thing! Do you know what you just did? Now that thing's gone!"
Chris shrieked angrily, "Because of you!" Nearby, the sound of Wyatt's sudden curse caught his attention. He turned to look and see if he was okay.
Sam used this time to step up beside Dean. Although angry, too, that the demon had gotten away, there were a number of questions jostling about in his head. He reached up and scratched the side of it, unsure of where to start. They were all on the offense and defense. Any sudden movements were likely to get one of them gravely hurt.
Although he doubted Dean cared at that moment.
"Do you have telekinesis?" Sam asked abruptly. It was the only explanation he could think of to fit why the one named Chris had been able to do what he could.
"And a hell of a lot of other tricks," Chris replied, tone flat. He pointed to Dean. "Tell this guy to put his gun away unless he wants to see another, huh?" But he turned to Wyatt then, asking, "Wyatt, did you sense where it went? Can you follow it?"
"Was a little distracted by the nearly getting shot part, little bro…" Wyatt approached the group and stood tall beside him.
Was it odd for Sam to notice how he and Wyatt were the same height, just like Chris and Dean were? He tossed that thought quickly from his head.
Dean, always the aggressor of a situation, gave a grunt, looking at Chris with a scathing expression in his eyes. "I'll put my gun away when you tell me who the hell you two are, and why you're here." As he spoke he edged in front of Sam.
"We're witches," was all Chris offered. "And you almost shot my brother, so I have half a mind to throw you into the crate like I did the demon. Now are you gonna put the gun away or do I have to do it myself?" He held up his hand almost warningly.
Sam knew almost immediately that, when Dean groaned, it was because they had said they were witches. Inside he, too, felt a distinct sense of disgust. Witches were nothing but trouble. However these two were different in some striking ways. First, they were males. Second, they were chasing a demon. And third, they must have been what he saw coming in from that strange, white-blue light from before. He didn't know how he knew that, but it just felt true.
Despite this find, the issue of the demon still remained prevalent. It had escaped, and that spelled serious trouble if they didn't find it soon. That quickly quelled Sam's curiosity and reminded him that there was a mission afoot.
"Fuck," Dean cursed. "Witches?"
Chris, obviously bristled by Dean's statement, folded his arms over his chest and shook his head. That was when Sam said, "Fuck is right. Now we're gonna have to find the demon again before it kills another kid."
The dark haired witch was having none of that, however. "Correction," he said. "We'll find the demon and vanquish it before it kills any more children. Right, Wy?"
Wyatt was clearly irritated by the two opposite them. Raising an eyebrow and not hiding a snort that followed their statement, he said, "Right. We find it, vanquish it, then no more kids'll die. Easy as that."
The confusion Dean felt rang obvious by the expression on his face. Sam figured he had pegged them as Wiccans instead of actual witches. "Thanks, guys, but we've got it under control," he said with a snort. "Why don't you go home and hug some trees, huh? Burn some sage or whatever the fuck you Wiccans do." He shifted and pulled at the hem of his jacket, looking back and gesturing Sam to follow him.
"Burn some sage?" Chris sounded as offended as he looked, and he scoffed disbelievingly. "We only do that when there's a good reason," he said defensively, "and we don't hug trees."
"Whatever," Sam groaned with a shrug, as he started to move to follow Dean.
But when the door they had come through suddenly shut as if on its own accord he looked back, noticing that the darker haired witch had his hand out.
Sam's fingers gripped the crossbow instinctively.
"Listen," Chris began, "I don't know who the hell you two think you are, coming in here and fighting a demon with guns and crossbows, but you have no idea what you're dealing with. You're way out of your league."
Dean was up and in Chris' face before Sam had the chance to react. Nostrils flaring and the muscles in his jaw line flexing, the older Winchester brother stared the dark haired witch in the eyes. But then, in a surprisingly well-restrained move, he stepped back, turning slowly away. He let out a disbelieving snort and cocked an eyebrow.
"I think you need to shut the hell up right now, witch." He spoke in a low voice, tone threatening.
Wyatt stepped closer to his brother then. But, Chris ignored him, and in an aggressive move, he lifted his arms somewhat into the air as if to say, 'Bring it'. What he actually said was, "Why don't you make me, mortal?"
"Hey." Sam, who had remained quiet up until that point, soon moved close. He stood up straight and took in a breath, which made him look more imposing. The testosterone flaring up in the room had grabbed hold of him, too. "Nobody talks to my brother like that." And Sam knew exactly how Dean—who held being mortal as something very dear—was going to react. This was a stand off…one where none of the parties seemed to show any intent of backing down.
Dean, so incensed that he lost his calm, whipped out his gun and extended the barrel toward the shorter witch. "Oh hell yeah, bitch." As it was loaded with iron, it wasn't exactly the right thing, but that didn't seem to matter.
Just what I thought, Sam said inwardly.
He wasn't going to have any of that. He gripped Dean's forearm tightly and lowered it to the ground, trying to keep the gun pointed at the floor so nobody got shot. While Sam may have disliked where this was going and how these two were acting, this wasn't the answer. "Come on, Dean. Let's just go. We don't have time to waste with these guys. Screw them."
The look Dean gave him showed both his frustration and his anger. It would be hard for Dean to back down, he knew, but they stood no chance against a guy—and maybe even guys—with magic powers. They needed to regroup first before they even tried to go after them, too.
The older Winchester sighed sharply. "You're right, Sammy. Don't wanna waste blessed iron, anyways. Damn shit's so hard to get a hold of…" He uncocked his gun and reholstered it, taking a step back so he could look the other two up and down. "Besides, I came here to kill a demon, not some"—he waved his hand up and down at Wyatt and Chris—"interfering asshole of a witch."
"Exactly," was all Sam said, glad that Dean was giving in and listening to him. Though in his position, Sam had to wonder if for a brief second, he wouldn't have wanted to shoot the darker haired witch, too. He gave the both of them a look, not appreciating the sudden scowl on the blond one's face. "We're getting out of your hair. Now stay out of ours."
At that point, Sam began pulling Dean away.
And at that point, Chris turned to Wyatt. He stood there, looking somewhat surprised, but also a little disappointed at how their fight had de-escalated so quickly. He said nothing in response to their veiled threat, instead choosing to antagonize further by asking intentionally loud enough for the others to hear, "Since when do mortals fight demons? Wonder how many times they've almost died…"
Sam knew that they could have gotten out okay had Chris not said anything further. The fact that he did was incredibly frustrating, and he felt angered by the words. They had both died at least one apiece, and had nearly died dozens of times both before and after those deaths, all due to fighting evil and saving innocent people. What did these two know?
Sam turned, wanting to say something, but his brother's voice overpowered his, asking, "Since when to witches give a fuck about what anyone else does or cares about?" Thankfully, however, Dean didn't turn around, and just kept on walking.
Chris opted not to respond to that. Instead he gripped his brother's wrist, saying, "Come on, let's go home." After Wyatt nodded, the two of them disappeared in a flutter of white-blue light.
Sam, having turned briefly around as a sort of sign of rebellion against their attitudes, managed to catch the two witches disappearing in the familiar white-blue lights. He watched, transfixed, until they were gone, at which point he nudged Dean. "Dean…Dean, look. They're gone."
No witch they had ever seen had that kind of power. None.
Dean, obviously irritable still, smacked at the hand nudging him, but he looked nonetheless. Soon he, too, stood there, eyes transfixed and perplexed at what he had just seen occur before him. His mouth hung partially open as he tried to make sense of it.
He looked at his brother, frowning in concern. "I have never seen a witch do that, Sam…"