Chapter 1
Dean wakes up feeling like he’d just been thrown through a building. He groans and tries to remove his arm from where it’s pinned uncomfortably under his own body weight, grimacing as the readjustment presses his face further into the wet gravel below. His whole body aches something mean, particularly the part of his chest where that werewolf had got a good hit in while Dean was playing bait-and-distract with the thing.
Of course, if Dean’s laying on the floor playing sleeping beauty, then Sam was probably getting one hell of an introduction to solo hunting nearby, and with that thought, Dean is stumbling to his feet as fast as lightning, head spinning and vision blurring from the movement and the concussion he’s probably sporting. He clutches his right arm tightly, attempting to get blood flow back into it, enough to actually move the damn thing.
Scanning his surroundings as quickly as possible to assess the threat level, he pushes down his panic instinctively as it reveals unfamiliar terrain, and a sasquatch shaped mound lying pitifully about a foot away. Recognising the lump as something distinctly Sam shaped, he shuffles as fast as his aching body allows to kneel next to him. He flips the body over, a touch more rough than he probably should be as he takes in his brother.
“Sam. Sammy!” Dean grits out, eyes flicking from assessing his unconscious brother’s condition to their surroundings.
Sam’s eyes are closed, and his expression could almost be considered serene. His hair- it’s really is starting to get long now- is damp with a mixture of water and blood from the cut running across his hairline, and there's a nasty bruise forming around his throat from what Dean assumes was the werewolf, but the kid seems to be fine, no life threatening injuries in sight.
Still not feeling reassured, Dean leans down to check for a pulse, but just as he’s dragged his uncooperative arm towards Sam’s neck, Sam gasps awake, eyes bulging as he heaves deep breaths of air. As Sam valiantly attempts to hyperventilate and cough up a lung at the same time, Dean lets out a sigh of relief, falling backwards to sit on his ass as he rolls his eyes at the situation.
“Dean?” Sam heaves once he’s given up on a world record for longest cough possible, sounding more like a rusty lawn mower than a human.
Dean’s eyes are drawn back to assess his brother again, noting slightly fondly about how Sam’s hair is sticking to his forehead and the side of his face, probably thanks to the puddle he’d been getting intimately acquainted with less than five minutes ago.
Feeling a little bit lighter now that he’s confirmed his brother wasn’t turned into dog food, Dean closes his eyes in an attempt to stop the ground from spinning out from under him.
“Yeah Sammy, I’m here,” he replies after a minute. “Where’s the werewolf? You put it down while I was out?”
Silence. It goes on so long, Dean cracks open an eye just to make sure Sam hadn’t magically disappeared or died in the few seconds he’d closed his eyes, which sounds ridiculous but Dean’s learning very quickly that anything is possible and adaptability should start being more of a priority in his life.
Sam is staring at him quizzically, eyebrows drawn together like they always do when he’s particularly tickled about something, and to top off the whole look, he’s even tilted his head in a pose startlingly reminiscent of a puppy.
“Uh… I was gonna ask you the same thing Dean,” Sam eventually manages to work out of his throat.
Dean is instantly back on alert, shoving down the panic and his body’s protests as he forces himself upright, reaching his now slightly more cooperative arm to his back to pull out the pistol stashed in his waistband.
Sam is by his side in less than a second, hardened eyes scrutinising their surroundings even with the blood that's dripping across his forehead and down into his eye. They scan the area, almost back to back as they wait for the threat to jump at them, but when no big bad wolf comes bounding out of the trees to attack them, Dean relaxes somewhat, before putting away the gun all together.
“Dean, there’s no way that this thing just disappeared on us-” Sam begins from behind him, exasperation clouding his tone despite the shredded quality to his voice. Dean rolls his eyes, annoyed, before turning around to cut him off.
“Hey, I’m running the show here, cowboy. If I say the thing’s gone, then it’s gone,” he spins around in a circle just once more, eyeballing where they are distrustfully. “‘Sides, I think we have a bigger problem on our hands,”
“Like what, Dean?” Sam argues, crossing his arms pissily.
“Like how we’re standing in the rain in some backwater paddock, when” –Dean gestures around them with frustration– “last I checked, we were in the middle of an Arizonian heatwave, Sam.”
The grim set to Sam's mouth reveals that the unfamiliar location and unusual chill hadn’t escaped his notice either, but unlike Dean, he was probably trying to ignore it.
No point in trying though, he thinks privately. They definitely aren’t in Phoenix, Arizona anymore, and they should be thinking about the game plan from here on in.
Dean’s brought out of his thoughts when Sam brings a hand up to wipe the blood and water from his eye, running a bruised hand through his hair. His eyes are closed but stress is cracking across his features, and before he knows it, he’s guiding them both to sit back down on the wet gravel.
“How ‘bout we get you cleaned up first, and then we can figure this thing out, alright? Sound good, Sammy?” Dean murmurs, attempting to soften the gruffness in his voice.
Sam huffs a laugh at Dean while folding his limbs up to end the strain on his back from their position on the ground. He tilts his head to the side and allows Dean to mop at his face with the light overshirt he’d thrown over his t-shirt before the hunt, and keeps his eyes closed peacefully.
“What next?” Sam questions, voice soft despite the persistent wind that threatens to blow the words away.
Dean doesn’t have a concrete answer, so he settles for standing up again and dragging Sam with him. They look presentable enough for normal people, and probably shouldn’t look like crazies when they eventually stumble their way onto civilization.
Sam makes an unhappy sound at Dean’s not-answer, but otherwise remains silent. Throat must be hurting like a bitch.
Dean turns, once again analysing the paddock. The gravel they’ve been making friends with for the past while is part of a gravel path surrounded either side by yellowing grass atop of small mounds that block their view of beyond the mini-valley they’re in. The sky is heavy with rain, but it doesn't look like it’s about to open the gates for a while, considering the dirt and grass are all recently wet. It must’ve rained while Dean and Sam were down for the count.
With an appraising frown, Dean moves to scale the small hills either side of the path, trying not to slip on the muddy and dying grass below. Sam scrambles up after him and they both stop for a second to observe where they are now, no longer in the small hole the path had been in.
It’s frankly, a little underwhelming. Past the half-mile of paddock and hill ridden paddock surrounding them, a small town is visible. Everything’s built in cobblestone, which, first off, is so last century, and second off, would be freezing in this weather. The buildings are all outfitted with matching red tiled roofs, and despite it being daytime, the place looks deserted. Honestly it’s a bit sad.
“Doesn’t look very Arizonian, Dean,” Sam points out helpfully.
“You don’t say,” Dean mutters as he starts walking towards the place. “You don’t happen to have any of our stuff on you, right?”
“Nope. I had the shotgun when fighting the werewolf, but I think I dropped it around the time it started trying to crack my skull open. You?” Sam snarks at him.
“I’ve got my pistol, and” –he reaches into his pocket to dig around for a second– “bingo! One fake wallet!” Dean exclaims triumphantly.
He rifles through it as they trek through the muddy paddock, slowly approaching the town ahead. He finds just under a hundred dollars and his fake drivers licence for one Dean Smith.
Dean waves the money in front of Sam. “This is apparently all we’ve got on us. Enough for a drink and maybe a motel room.”
Sam sighs wistfully. “I miss financial stability. No phone either?”
Dean snorts as he tucks the money away while shaking his head. “Nah, that’s long gone.”
They finally reach the end of the paddock. Dean jumps the wire fence blocking off the paddock, ignoring the twinge in his back and lower arms at the action, and gestures for Sam to follow.
The town proves to be less of a town and more of an almost town, with a few small buildings spread out across the flat part of town. From what Dean can identify, there’s a quaint shop which also seems to double as a bar, a few houses further down, and a slightly bigger stone building with a wooden sign reading ‘Town Hall’ hung across it.
Sam nudges him, gesturing to the town hall with an assessing look. “That looks promising,” he offers quietly.
Dean shrugs. “What’s the worst that can happen? After this, we’re checking out the bar. I’m dying for a drink.”
Ignoring the eyeroll Sam sends his way, they walk towards the building. In the back of his mind, Dean notes how they haven’t seen a single person since they entered the place, but it doesn’t seem to be deserted. They’ve even got fresh footprints on the dirt, meaning someone walked this way recently.
Sam opens the wooden door to the town hall without fanfare, stepping inside quietly and wiping his mud coated shoes on the welcome mat at the door. Dean steps in afterwards, relishing in the warmth of the room, and relaxes a fraction.
“Hello?” Sam calls loudly, as Dean finishes wiping his shoes and begins checking the place out.
His eyes trail the room, taking in the dark wood furnishing of the couch and fireplace on one wall, the high counter that cuts the room in half, and the giant grandfather clock next to the only other door in the building apart from the entrance, calendar pinned next to it. As he’s trying to pick apart the weird engravings on the door, it opens, and a frail old woman steps through.
She’s dressed in a dress that looks almost as old as her, her silver hair pulled into a severe bun at the back of her head. She has a bright red headband resting gracefully on her hair and a thick gold watch on her round wrist, which is attached to a hand that’s gripping an ornate walking cane tightly.
Dean whistles quietly as the woman shuffles her way over slowly. “Grandma over here has got to be over a hundred,” he whispers to Sam, the smirk on his face shifting into a charismatic grin as the woman meets his gaze
“Hello, boys. How may I help you?” Grandma starts, and Dean raises his eyebrows at the British accent. He flicks his eyes to Sam’s, and signals that he’ll talk. Sam inclines his head minutely in agreement, and Dean turns back to Grandma.
“Hi there ma’am. I’m Dean, and this is my brother Sam,” he gestures to Sam with his head and Sam smiles politely. “Our car broke down a few miles out, and our map is a bit outdated, see. We were wondering if you had any idea of where this place is, and how close it is to the nearest city?” Dean says as he smiles as disarmingly as he can, upping the charm to one hundred.
Grandma raises an unimpressed eyebrow at the two of them, eyes flicking back and forth before settling back on him.
“Did you try to murder each other on the way here too? Or did the car strangle your… brother,” she intones, sounding vaguely disapproving. Dean catches Sam wince out of the corner of his eye, but he keeps his eyes on Grandma, holding back his own grimace at the misunderstanding
“It’s not like that, we uh,” Sam stutters for a second, voice raspy. “Dean didn’t do this. This was somethin- someone else,” he eventually settles on, an awkward smile on his face.
Dean almost facepalms at the almost painful lie. He’s going to have to have a talk with Sam about his lying skills after this, there’s no reason as to why he should’ve fumbled that so badly.
Grandma doesn’t seem to buy it either, if her narrowed eyes are any indication, but Dean and Sam keep up their smiles, and Dean prays the old lady will just move on.
After a moment of deliberation, they seem to pass Grandma’s test, and she nods her head slightly.
“Eileen. Pleased to meet you,” Grandma, now identified as Eileen, turns away from them and walks to behind the wooden counter dividing the room. “Your car broke down, you say? A shame, considering you’re a day's walk from the city. You’d struggle to find a replacement in a place like this, too,” Dean hears her raise from behind the counter that is just taller than her.
Dean turns to Sam at the new information, raising his eyebrows as Sam furrows his. ‘Ask’ Sam mouths at him, and Dean rolls his eyes discreetly before approaching the counter to peer over it.
Just as he leans over to peek, Eileen pops up to shove a map into his face. Startled, Dean jumps back and lets out a very manly yell, one arm clutching his chest in alarm and the other reaching to the gun tucked into his waistband.
Sam chuckles from behind him, and Dean snatches the map from Eileen with a blush, avoiding her disappointed expression. “Thank you,” he coughs, before heading back to Sam in embarrassment.
As Dean unfolds the map, handing half to Sam to look at, he notes the name of the town with a red circle on it, which he assumes would be where they are now. The map itself is old and more than a little worn, so it takes Dean a moment to read the name of the place properly.
“Bigglesburn…?” Dean whispers in equal parts confusion and elation at the name. Sam makes a vague sound in agreement, eyes scanning over the map, trying to absorb the information as fast as possible.
Dean can feel Sam’s confusion hit at the same time his own does, both of them seeming to catch the familiar names placed on other parts of the map in unison.
“If you’re heading to London, it’s only a few hours drive. Otherwise, I’d recommend you stay the night and start the trek tomorrow morning,” Eileen says from somewhere behind the counter, placing more maps out for them, but Dean tunes her out as he begins to put the puzzle pieces together.
“Sammy…” Dean whispers in alarm. He drags his eyes from the map to stare at his brother. Snatching the map, he slams it down on the counter as gently as he can manage in his increasingly panicked state, and mumbles something about needing a second, before dragging Sam bodily out the door.
He walks them around the side of the building before whirling to his brother with wide eyes.
“I’m gonna need confirmation that we both read a map that said we were in a town called Bigglesburn, which is an hour's drive from London, which I’m pretty sure is in England,” Dean just short of yells, feeling slightly frantic.
Sam looks dazed, big eyes dancing between the sky, Dean, the town, and then back to the sky. “Yeah, I saw that too,” he confirms, but his voice sounds slightly shaky.
“How in god’s name did we end up in England! We were in Arizona hunting a goddamn werewolf, and we get knocked out for what couldn't have been longer than ten minutes, and then we’re suddenly in frickin’ England?” Dean throws his arms up in the air, confusion quickly being replaced by anger.
“I don’t know Dean! I can’t even remember being knocked out, let alone somehow being transported to England and dumped in a muddy paddock in the middle of nowhere,” Sam snaps at him, running an anxious hand through his hair.
“Okay, okay, let’s just… Think about this one,” Dean says, turning his back to the door. His panic is already settling, survival instincts kicking in, forcing him to focus on what to do next. He can see Sam do the same, manually kicking everything into that little box in his head with practised ease.
“What next? I mean, it’s probably just a matter of finding our way to an airport and taking the soonest flight back, right?” Sam starts, eyeing the dirt critically.
Dean shudders at the thought, which Sam snorts at. He punches Sam’s shoulder, annoyed.
“Shut up. No. Yes. Maybe, I don’t know,” he grits out, dread curling in his gut thinking about flying.
“Let’s start by doing some research. And by that, I mean, you ask Grandma in there if there’s any way we can hitch a ride into the city,” –Dean then gestures to himself– “and I’ll try and call Bobby and find out if we can crash somewhere for the night.”
Sam stares at him in disbelief for a second, before tiredly rubbing a spot of dried blood from his hairline with a sigh.
“Fine. Fine, do that. I’ll be with Eileen if you need something. Surely there’s a library here somewhere,” he says, muttering the last part to himself as he turns towards the door.
Victory at successfully conning his brother into doing the heavy lifting, Dean spins on his heel to gaze lovingly at the building across the square with the alcohol symbol on it.
“And Dean?” he hears Sam call from behind him, clearly not having started his job and gone inside like Dean told him to.
Dean turns, eye twitching slightly. “Yeah?”
“You did see the date on the calendar back there, right?” Sam says, expression shuttered from where he stands just two steps from the door.
Dean’s blood moves sluggishly through his veins, and he feels the smile slip off his face. He did see the date on the calendar, the year too. In fact, it was one of the first things that had clued him in that something was wrong, but he probably subconsciously ignored it, to protect his brain from freaking out too early.
“Dean?” Sam asks again, big eyes staring at him a little helplessly.
“Yeah, Sammy. I saw it,” Dean chokes out, good mood long gone.
Sam’s eyes flicker to the floor, before he turns back to the door and steps through it wordlessly. Dean swallows as he walks towards the shop turned bar, expression grim.
Shaking his head, he tries and ignores the image of the calendar, clearly marking the date as mid July, 1995.