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Mission

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The sun was rising now, they’d been walking for hours and they still didn’t know where they were except that they were no longer in Purgatory. Dean glanced over at Cas who was shifting his shoulders uncomfortably.

“Cas, you okay?” he asked, even though he knew damn well that was a stupid question.

Cas sighed “I’ll be all right” his voice was rougher than usual “I believe it’s called phantom limb syndrome.”

“Damn Cas. I wish you hadn’t done that.”

“It was the only way for me to leave Purgatory with you. Can we please not discuss it again?” Cas had become human by chopping off his wings. He’d planned to stay in that monster hell as punishment for what he did but Dean begged him to come with him. Cas then decided the more fitting punishment for him was to lose his wings.

But now they were out. Dean would figure out how to make Cas an angel again. First though, they needed to find out where they were, get to Benny’s grave in Louisiana to resurrect him and then find Sammy.

Dean put a hand on Cas’s shoulder to stop him walking “You hear that? Sounds like a highway. Thank God, the sooner we get to Louisiana the better; my arm is hurting like a son of a bitch."

They walked along the highway and soon figured out they were in Maine, if ten license plates in a row was any indication.

“Bunch of old cars in Maine” Dean muttered as yet another vehicle ignored their request to be picked up. He couldn’t blame them, Cas looked like an escaped mental patient and Dean probably looked like a serial killer. “Out of the one hundred cars that’ve passed us, the newest one I’ve seen was a ’91 Impala.”

“Was that the one you made a gagging sound at?”

“Yep. I mean, how dare they change the design?”

“Dean, we need to find food and water.”

“No shit, Cas. I’m parched. You know what sounds good? Double bacon cheeseburger—hey, since we’re in Maine we should find that place with the bacon happy hour. You remember that?”

Cas smiled slightly “Yes. I hope my human tongue enjoys bacon.”

“If you’re human tongue don’t like bacon we got problems.”

“Dean?” Cas was squinting at something behind Dean.

“Yeah?”

“Isn’t that Bobby’s car?”

Dean turned around. A faded 1971 Chevelle had pulled over to the side of the road, not far from them. “Nah, Bobby’s car is in worse shape than that. That one still has paint on it, see?” but the fucking license plate sure looked the same.

A man in his 40s stepped out of the car. “You fellas lost? You look like shit, the both of ya.”

Dean’s knees gave out. Holy shit, that WAS Bobby; twenty years younger but that was him all right.

Cas had grabbed Dean before he hit the ground “Dean, we may have a situation.”

“No shit” Dean straightened up, cleared his throat and said “You could say that. This may sound like a stupid question, but, uh, what year is it?”

“How long were you two in the woods?”

“Good question.”

Bobby walked closer to them, looking suspicious “1991.”

“Shit.”

“What year is it supposed to be?”

“What do we do?” Dean whispered to Cas.

“I don’t know, Dean. I’ve never been back in time as a human. Perhaps we should be truthful.”

“I can’t tell him who I am. Can I?”

“Somewhat truthful then.” Cas turned back to Bobby “Two thousand and—what was it, Dean? Eleven or twelve?”

“I wanna say twelve.”

Bobby’s eyebrows shot up “2012? You two traveled twenty-one years back in time?”

“We didn’t mean to!” Dean exclaimed.

“We were trapped in Purgatory” Cas explained “and we escaped. We thought we would return to the proper year. Obviously not.”

“Who are you?”

Oh crap. “Dean Carver” Dean spit out without thinking “This is Cas Edlund. You can test us if you want. We’re hunters too.”

“Hunters? And what makes you think I’m a hunter?”

“You’re Bobby Singer” Cas said.

“We met?”

“No” Dean said “no, but you’re kinda famous. We recognize you from stories.”

Bobby rolled his eyes and scoffed “Great” he was close enough now to splash them both with holy water. Satisfied, he pulled out a silver knife. Finally, he let them in the Chevelle “You’re both sitting in the back. First thing we’re gonna do is get you cleaned up, you’re stinkin’ to high heaven.”

“Thanks man” Dean told him “so what brings you to Maine?”

“What d’ya think?”

“Hunting?”

“Very good.”

“What are you hunting? We can help.”

“No thanks, meeting a friend.”

Dean really hoped it wasn’t his dad. Then again…