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Free Supernatural Fanfiction – Chapter Summary:

The haunted painting is finally laid to rest, Sera shares her Nephilim truth, and Cas arrives with dire warnings about Heaven’s growing chaos

Rating: PG-13
Contains:   For supernatural peril, emotional intensity, and mild language/tension. No graphic violence or adult content

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE:  
It’s Not Him

AS WE WAITED FOR DEAN to return from the cemetery, Sera told Sam the truth about being a Nephilim. I admitted that I’d known, but only because I could feel it. Dean could too.

“And no one told me?” Sam asked, more flustered than angry—thankfully.

“I asked them not to,” Sera said gently. She explained how she’d kept herself a secret for so long, afraid of what might happen if the angels ever found out about her.

We talked a little more about it. Sam assured her she’d always be safe around us—though he mostly meant himself. He mentioned we sometimes had contact with one particular angel—Castiel. We hoped that if Cas came around while she was with us, he wouldn’t hurt her.

Dean finally arrived at the house and was filled in on everything. We took the painting out to the backyard, dug a hole, and burned it. Just to be safe, we agreed to meet up the next day to make sure it didn’t reappear—but that seemed unlikely.

Back at the motel, we got a call from Sera not long after. She couldn’t sleep, so she’d done some research. She found records showing that Isaiah had adopted the daughter, Melanie. Her biological parents had been murdered in their beds—no one suspected a little girl. Eventually, she killed Isaiah and his family. He got the blame and had been trying to warn people ever since, through the painting.

THE NEXT MORNING, we met up with Sera. The painting remained destroyed and the ghost at rest.

Dean and I let Sam and Sera talk. We planned to stick around a little longer. Sam had finally let go of his reservations about dating Sera. Well, they hadn’t officially said they were dating, but he was willing to give the relationship a shot. He really liked her—and after realizing she wasn’t oblivious to the supernatural world, he was persuaded to try a few dates and see what happened.

Sera took Sam on a tour around town. Dean and I decided to catch a movie. I teased him about seeing the new Twilight film—I knew he hated the idea. He liked killing vampires, not watching them get romanticized. There wasn’t anything we were dying to see, so we ended up watching The Muppet Movie—though Dean swore me to secrecy about it.

We met up with the lovebirds for dinner and ended the night playing cards back at the motel.

WE GOT A CALL FROM BOBBY. We knew we’d have to head out soon to help him get his soul back from Crowley. But we didn’t expect him to call so urgently. From the sound of it, he hadn’t gotten his soul back—and something else was wrong.

“Hello,” Dean answered. There was a pause as Bobby spoke on the other line.

“Wait! What?… No, that’s not possible… He died… That was like five years ago! It isn’t him. It can’t be him… Did you… Yeah, I know… Alright, we’ll leave now… Yeah?… No, don’t tell him anything about that yet. We need to make sure he is who he says he is. The less he knows about that, the better.”

Dean hung up and ran a hand over his face.

“What happened?” Sam asked tentatively. No one moved.

Dean blew out a breath. “That was Bobby.”

Sam raised his eyebrows, waiting.

“He said Dad’s back.”

The conversation didn’t get much further than that.

I knew the story. John had traded his life with the yellow-eyed demon, Azazel, so Dean could live after the car accident. That was back in 2006. John died the next day and was taken to Hell. They told me they’d seen a ghost version of him escaping the Devil’s Gate with hundreds of demons in 2007—the same night Dean killed Azazel with the Colt. They assumed John’s soul went to Heaven after that. They were sure the John they saw wasn’t corporal, and his body had been given a hunter’s funeral.

There was no way it could be him now.

Sam barely had time to call Sera and tell her we had to leave immediately. He promised to call her later. Dean went quiet, but the muscles in his neck were tense as we raced from New York to Bobby’s.

“Bobby must be wrong,” Dean finally muttered, speeding down the empty road.

“But what if he’s not?” Sam asked. “Bobby said he did all the tests, right? He’s not a ghost, demon, shifter—”

“Maybe it’s something else we’ve never encountered,” Dean shot back.

“But what if it’s him?” Sam pressed.

I stayed quiet in the backseat. I had a feeling we wouldn’t know anything until we got there. Even then, it seemed unlikely we’d get a straight answer.

“It’s been almost five years since he escaped! Why wouldn’t he come back sooner?”

“It’s Dad. When has he ever been around?” Sam countered.

“Yeah, and Dad taught us about hunting. When something doesn’t seem right, it usually isn’t. And this definitely doesn’t feel right.”

They passed the next half hour in silence.

WE STOPPED FOR FOOD and checked into a motel late that evening. The strain was starting to show. Dean said we were only stopping for about four hours—just enough time to sleep. But he didn’t look like he was going to sleep at all.

As I settled on the bed, I tried to help him relax. This had to be hard on both of them. Dean had looked up to his dad all his life, being the only parent he really knew. Even if others didn’t see him as a good father, Dean loved him just the same.

“Dean, we need to be ready for whichever way this ends up,” I said gently. “Whether it is or isn’t your dad.”

“It’s not,” he said firmly, like if he kept saying it, it would become true.

“Well, if it’s not your father, we’ll need to find out who—or what—he is. But Dean… if it is your father, are you mentally preparing yourself for that?”

“He’s been dead for over five years,” he argued, sounding exhausted. “I saw his soul float away… It can’t be him.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed. I moved closer. He glanced at me.

“If he’s really back, why didn’t he come to us sooner?”

I shrugged. “Maybe he was lost. Or couldn’t remember who he was. Maybe something happened when Lucifer and Michael went into the cage. There are a lot of maybes to consider.”

He thought for a moment. “Do you think Cas would know?”

I cringed a little. “I tried to call him when we first found out, but he hasn’t responded. He might be in the middle of something with the angels.”

He nodded and reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone.

“I don’t think Cas has a phone number,” I said.

He let out a loud sigh. “I’m not calling Cas.”

Dean dialed a number and waited. “Hey, Chuck. It’s Dean… Yeah, thanks. We’re doing better, considering everything. I, uh, wanted to ask you about something. Maybe you saw… What? They just stopped? For how long? So you haven’t seen anything about my dad… Yeah, I know that,” he said, frustration creeping into his voice. “So it can’t be him, right?”

He listened for a while longer. “Yeah, well, thanks for nothing, I guess… Yeah, I know… Bye, Chuck.”

He stared at his phone. “Chuck said he hasn’t been getting any visions since the apocalypse ended.”

“What?”

“That’s what he said. They stopped about a month ago. He has no idea what’s going on with us anymore.”

“How’s that possible? Is he no longer a prophet?” I asked. It was strange—unsettling.

“Beats the hell out of me.”

“You can look on the bright side,” I offered.

“What?”

“He won’t be able to publish any more books.”

I managed to get a weak smile out of him, but his mind was elsewhere.

“I guess that takes us back to square one.” Dean shifted, then raised his eyes. “Uh, Cas? We have a problem here. We could really use your help.”

Nothing. I didn’t feel anything.

He cleared his throat, glanced at me, closed his eyes, and tried again. “Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray to Castiel to get his feathery ass down here.”

“Dean,” I scolded quietly.

He opened one eye. “What?”

“He does a lot for us,” I said gently. “He’s not some personal angel servant. He could be dealing with the other angels—or in trouble himself.”

Dean started to respond, “I don’t—”

“She’s right, Dean.”

Cas appeared in the room with the sound of fast-beating wings. He looked even more stressed than Dean.

“I’ve been a little busy. And I don’t serve you.”

“Listen—” Dean stood up, facing him.

“No, you listen, Dean,” Cas interrupted, his voice sharp. “Heaven is in total anarchy. Raphael is gaining more followers by the day. If he gains enough support, there will be another apocalypse. One that will not be stopped.”

My heart froze. Dean blinked in surprise, then steadied himself. His face showed the conflict—his personal crisis colliding with the possibility that everything we’d fought for could be undone. Not by demons. By angels.

“So excuse me if I don’t answer right away,” Cas finished.

“Cas, we’re sorry…” I started, unsure if Dean would say it.

He held up a hand. “What’s the problem now? I don’t have much time.”

Dean didn’t hesitate. “My dad. He’s back. Or so Bobby says. We’re on our way to see him.”

Cas looked puzzled.

“Do you know if any angels had something to do with this?” I asked.

Cas looked down, thinking. “I didn’t hear anything about this.” He looked back up. “Are you sure it’s him?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Dean said.

“So this wasn’t Heaven’s doing?” I asked.

Cas looked up, as if someone had called his name.

“Not that I’m aware,” he confirmed. He sighed. “I have to get back. I’ll check in soon.”

With that, he vanished, leaving Dean and me standing in the motel room with more questions than answers.

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