"He's terrified."

"Sounds like Dean," Sam said from the passenger's seat. They'd been trading off driving shifts. Dean had to admit: this car was a smooth sailor. True vintage beauty. "He never likes for people to know it, though. He tries to hide it."

"In my body, he doesn't do a great job. I know my own voice pretty well." The last time Dean heard that sort of qualm in his inflection was the night he and Roman called out Seth Rollins on stabbing them in the back and joining the Authority. "This Cas guy's a big deal, huh?"

"Yeah." Sam stared forward, saddened by some old thought or memory. "He and Dean have a special bond. It...it can't compare to much else in the world."

"Well, except for your bond with him, right? Brothers?"

Sam smiled, resonance still glum. He was concerned for Cas, too, but above all, Dean sensed he badly missed his brother. Especially living the precarious life of a professional wrestler. "Yeah. He likes me a lot, too."

"Well, Dean's putting a lot on the line for my sake, and I intend to return the favor. Cas is gonna be okay. And so are you, Sam."

"Thanks, Ambrose. Er, Dean. Other Dean."

"Just Dean is fine."

"Okay, just Dean."

Dean chuckled. Sam was a dear.

He stretched a hand into the backseat and slapped Nash's leg, who spurred from what couldn't have been a pacific sleep. "Hey. Sit up. Tell me where to go next."

"Uh, what street are we on?" Nash grumbled. He took almost five minutes to sit up from a slumped position. Kid must have been wiped. Dean didn't care.

"Still on Main."

"Did you pass Chambers Street yet?"

Dean frowned at a red light though there were literally no other cars around. He nearly ran it. Why not? "No. We're at Pendleton."

"We're close. Think it's Patten, then Tibbetts, then Century, and you turn left on Chambers. It's across the way from a taco shop."

Tacos sounded wonderful. Dean realized they hadn't eaten in many, many hours. No wonder he felt so weak. It was his resolve that kept him going here through hunger, through fatigue, the way it always did. "Alright, hang tight, then."

"Where's Rebecca?" It was the question of the day. "I want to see her. Please. Can I just talk to her? So I know she's okay?"

"She's fine. Hush up."

Nash's head slumped like a dying flower. Poor sap. Must have been crazy about the broad.

"There," Sam said, lifting a hand past the intersection.

The sign posted near the street said "Safeway" but the naked exterior of the building and its neighboring former businesses simulated a ghost town. Perfect place for mischief. Dean parked the car close to the building, and he and Sam lugged the debilitated Nash from the backseat. "Faster you work, faster you're free," Dean had told him. Nash's word alone was all they had in this place.

The door was chained shut. Sam looked to Dean. "Got those pliers?"

"They won't work," Nash said between them. "It's a magic chain. Opens by spell only."

"Well then, hop to it," Dean said, bouncing in place. "Freezing my nads off out here."

"Magicae catenam posui hic levare."

The chains vibrated against the door, then dropped noisily to the ground like deadweight.

"What do you know?" Dean said, taking hold of Nash's arms from behind while Sam held the door open. "He does knows what he's doing sometimes." He steered Nash into the building.

The air was putrid, like this was a planet that couldn't contain life on its own. The beam of Sam's flashlight shredded through the darkness. Checkout lanes were still standing with no customers nor cashiers. Aisles still divided the width of the former grocery store with nothing to sell.

"God, this is creepy as hell," Dean stated, irritating the quietude.

"Where would they be?" Sam interrogated Nash.

"If they're here, they'd be in the back. We converted the offices into bedrooms so we'd have a safe place to sleep and hide away from the mortals."

"Mortals?" Dean scoffed. "You're mortals. You're nothing special."

"We're witches," Nash growled. "We have our place in the world among humans, but they don't understand us."

"Not even your fellow witches understand you. That's why you went all Breakfast Club and started sneaking down the halls when Vernon wasn't looking."

Sam started to laugh. "What?" Dean questioned.

"Nothing. It's just...you're really starting to sound like my brother."

Dean grinned. "Lead the way, Nash."

And he did. Sam and Dean followed Nash past the abandoned aisles towards the back of the store. Dean had taken on borderline-paranoid awareness, checking behind them every so often, eyes sifting down each foot of space all around. No tricks. No surprises. They had to be the ones in charge. The dominant force.

Nash approached a closed door and knocked five times, each rap slow and strong like it was a pattern.

Dean and Sam raised their guns.

Initially there was no answer.

But as soon as the knob twisted, Nash leaped to the side, still bound, cowering against the wall.

Dean didn't have time to wonder what the hell he was doing before the door pulled open and a female's voice screamed in the dark, "Ventilabit aere!"

Sam and Dean shot backwards like bullets out of a gun. Dean's skull smacked the wall, and he slumped to the floor. The flashlight and guns rattled against the hard ground. Used to more than a little roughing up, Dean pushed up to his knees and twisted his head to check on Sam, who was left disoriented on the floor.

"You really wanna play with us—!?" Dean tried, but his windpipe closed up suddenly, and he could neither speak nor take in another breath. The same gal who'd flung them across the corridor now held a hand in the air, and as she closed it into a fist, his throat was fully constricted. The darkness was soon somehow even darker.

"Good work, Nash," was the last thing he heard before succumbing to unconsciousness. Like dealing with that ghastly Braun Strowman all over again...

He had no idea what time it was when he awoke. But he felt mildly refreshed, so he must have been out a while.

Not good, considering the boys were on a timetable.

Dean lifted his head. Pain spread through his cranium, nearly knocking him right back out. He could handle it. This was the touch of a feather compared to shit he'd felt before. He blinked to adjust his focus to his surroundings.

He couldn't move. His limbs were strapped behind him.

Goddammit.

Dean noticed Sam across the room, tethered in the same fashion, stretching across the tile floor. He'd yet to waken. The space was cramped, remnants of an office before its adaption to living quarters as Nash had stated. Beds lined all four walls of the tiny space, closing in whatever little room there was before the furniture was brought in. Dean felt a bit claustrophobic.

A group of teens stood in a crooked line between him and his brother—Winchester's brother. Dean counted them. Four total, if you counted the blond bastard who'd somehow concocted this ambush. He did the math in his head. There were still nine unaccounted for that Rowena was after. Assuming these were the droids she was looking for.

Dean felt they were.

Perfect.

"Comfortable?" the male at the end of the line asked. Dean dubbed them to keep track without knowing their names. Larry would be the one who'd just spoken. Moe was the stocky guy next to him. Curly—she had dark curly hair, made sense in some way—was the one who'd led the barrage, knocking Sam and Dean out. Beside her stood Nash, still looking tired, yet relieved he was no longer a prisoner.

"How did this happen?" Dean groaned.

"Telepathy," Moe stated. "Some of us have mastered the art. Others are a bit behind in their lessons."

Nash must have been one of the aces. He'd managed to get into psychic contact with his buddies and warn them about the hunters in his company. No wonder he'd been so compliant with the boys: he'd led them right into a trap.

Dean realized the witches hadn't just confiscated their weapons. The watch was no longer on his wrist. He had no idea how long he and Sam had left before Rowena would...do whatever she was going to do to Cas. Hurt him? Kill him?

Dean couldn't let that happen.

"What time is it?" Dean asked.

The group traded perplexed glances which eventually all cast to Nash.

"They're trying to save some dude by turning us in to Rowena," he blabbed. "Guessing they don't have all the time in the world to get it done."

"Time's up," Curly said, one hand on her hip. "We're safe here, and they're not going anywhere."

Dean pulled against the ropes. This must have been some magic shit, too—he wasn't budging. "Look, we honestly don't care one way or another about you guys. We're not exactly Rowena's faithful servants over here. We're just doing this for our buddy."

She smiled. "Then I'm very sorry for him. But this ends here, now. After everything you've put our friends through, the damage you've done...you're lucky we don't snap your neck right here, right now."

"You won't, though," Dean dared, licking his lips. "That's not why you do this. You're not in the world of bizzaro magic to cause harm to anyone or anything, right? You may be witches, but you've got morals. From what I understand through Nash here."

Nash frowned. "But you're here to cause harm to us. You have already, and you would have again if I hadn't stopped you."

"If we hadn't stopped you," Curly stated.

"Right."

"We weren't gonna come in and blow you all away!" Dean said.

"Oh? Is that why you were both armed with these fancy guns?" Curly waved a hand towards a bed, which contained everything they'd seized from the hunters: the weapons, their wallets, and the watch. Dean wished he could make out the numbers on it from here. Winchester didn't have great eyesight. "We may stand for peace unlike most of our brethren, but we know how to protect ourselves."

"It's like I told you before, bitch. Safety first. You're about defending yourselves, so are we. That's what the guns are for, dumbass. This isn't about you. This is about saving someone we know who's in trouble."

"I'd watch your language with her," Nash said. "You don't want to test her."

"Or what?" He had to find some way out of this. Or at least get one of these assholes close enough where he could take a shot with his head, his only functioning, free body part at the moment. "She gonna get in my head and screw with me the way you did?"

"Oh, this is the one you cast the spell on, Nash?" Curly asked. She glided closer to Dean, sticking her head in his face just far enough away where she could dodge a headbutt if he attempted one. She studied him in place.

"Yeah. I don't remember which spell it was, but I guess it swapped his body with someone else's."

"That so?" The story seemed to amuse her. "So who are you then, honey?"

"Don't tell her—" Nash said at the same time Dean answered: "I'm Dean Ambrose, someone you don't want to test either, honey."

Curly blinked. She cocked her head and looked into his eyes. "Did you...did you say...Dean Ambrose?"

"Yeah?"

Her lips parted in surprise. "Shut up. There's no way you're Dean Ambrose. The WWE Superstar?"

"Yes, it's me," Dean said, about to roll his eyes—when he thought of something. "You a fan?"

"I...yeah, I am, actually. A huge fan."

Nash put his hands to his face. No wonder he hadn't wanted Curly here to know his identity. She wasn't going to try to bring suffering to someone she admired.

"Wait, wait, wait," Larry said, stepping up beside Curly. "How the hell do we know this is actually Dean Ambrose? And he isn't just pulling our leg?"

"Because I'm not a mind reader," Dean stated, glaring up at Larry. "I couldn't read her thoughts and think, 'Hmm, which idol should I say I am so she'll go easy on me?' You're a dumbass, too."

Larry kicked him in the chest. Dean crumpled, folding his body up as best he could, but Larry would pay for it: Curly shoved him with impressive strength for someone her petite size.

"Okay," she huffed. "Just in case. I can find out if you're the real Dean Ambrose."

"Go for it." If escape was impossible, which down here he felt it might be, all he had to go on now was trust.

She hunched down, close to him now. "WrestleMania twenty-eight."

Dean was confused, but he rolled with it. "Okay?"

"The Superstars and Raw episode to follow the event. You had a match that night. It was April 2012. Who did you fight, and who won?"

Dean had to ponder it for a moment, but it came to him in the moment. "It was JTG. And I won. Because I'm amazing. That right?"

Curly's hazel eyes sparkled with new emotion. "That's right."

"How'd you remember that, though? That was a while ago."
"I was there. I'd gone to WrestleMania, too, and that Raw. I saw it all that week." Curly stood up and faced her friends. "This is him, guys. This is the real Dean Ambrose."

"How do you know?" Moe asked, baffled.

"That match was a dark match. It didn't air on TV. Even crazy rabid fans like us would have a hard time knowing that happened." Suddenly her hands went over her mouth. Her demeanor erupted. "Dean Ambrose, my name is Macy, and it's an honor to meet you. Seriously. Like I said, I'm such a huge fan. My entire Tumblr account is dedicated to you. I run an RP account."

Dean had no idea what Tumblr was, but he nodded along with her enthusiasm.

She twisted one of her curls around her pointer finger. "I was a supporter of the Shield, devastated when Seth Rollins broke them up..."

"We all were."

"Justin here is crazy about John Cena." She squeezed Moe's arm with both hands. "He has t-shirts and wristbands and everything."

Dean almost started laughing. Wow. "Alright, that's cool and all, but look where we are. We have to get something figured out."

Sam groaned behind the witches. At last he was coming around.

"Sam," Dean said. "You okay?"

"I—I think so," Sam groaned. He was irritated to find himself in the bondage. Capture must have happened far too often for the fact to just irk him, not frighten him or make him panic.

"Things are getting a little better in here. Don't you worry. Turns out we got a couple wrestling fans in the house." Dean couldn't believe this was happening. This situation as a whole was challenging everything he believed in the world. At last, though, he'd received some positive, beneficial information.

"Great," Sam said. "Now what about Cas?"

"Look, Macy," Dean said. "Rowena doesn't just have our friend held prisoner. There's this other guy, Crowley, and he's got a hold of your friends, too. Rebecca something, and others."

"Rebecca got caught?" she asked, color draining from her rosy cheeks.

Nash bit his lip. "Yeah. Thanks to—"

"We're not with Rowena, Macy," Dean interjected. "Believe me. We're doing what she told us to do for Cas. This whole thing is about getting me and the guy who's in my body right now, switched back, after your buddy Nash cast that freak spell on us. That's it. That's all we want. I want to get back to wrestling, to Roman. And Sam here, he wants his friends safe."

"Someone else is in your body..." Macy said. "So whoever fought on Raw last night, that wasn't you?"

"No. Wasn't me."

"That's so weird!" she cried. "Even for me, weird. He did a good job, if it means anything. He won the title from Owens."

"Good." Dean was impatient. "Now could you please untie us so we can—"

The door slammed open.

"What the—!" Justin/Moe cried.

A blonde woman entered the room and lifted both hands in the air, one of which was clutching a long oak stick. All four witches bashed against the floor, each one taking their head in a hold, hands mashed over their ears as though to block out a nasty noise. Macy screamed, body wrenching, wanting whatever pain she was in to stop.

She twisted onto her side and flagged for help with her wide eyes.

"Hey!" Dean shouted, not knowing whether this blonde was with them or against. "What the hell are you doing?"

The stranger smiled, then reeled a hand in the air and spoke soft, dark, "Iota unum omnes."

Nash, Macy, Justin and...that guy Dean had dubbed Larry...disappeared. As though evaporating into an abyss.

Dean blinked. They were gone like that?

What the hell—?

"Good work, Dean Winchester," she said. With a snap of her slim fingers, Dean was freed from his bondage. He scrambled to his feet.

"Who are you?"

"Rowena sent me. You found a few more witches. She's very proud. Keep it up."

"You her lackey?"

"Don't be ridiculous. I just work for her. I'm no slave."

She snapped again. The watch lifted into the air by an invisible hold and carried over to Dean. It dropped in his waiting hand.

The clock had been reset. 12:00:00 blinked in a dim light.

"She's giving me more time?"

"You work best under pressure, but if you crack, she's out of luck. And given your circumstances, what with your angel helpless under her, your breaking point might be closer than she first guessed."

Dean glowered at her. "She doesn't know who I am. She underestimates me."

"Whoever you are, you bear weakness. And it's acceptable as long as you don't succumb to it."

The woman wandered over to Sam, squatted beside him, and ran the back of her hand over his forehead, brushing back the long brown hair.

"Get your hand off him," Dean growled. She'd freed him from nearly across the room. What was up with the touching?

She smiled, grim. "Like I said. Weakness."

Snap.

Sam was freed, too.

The woman returned to her original place in the doorway. "You're doing great, lads. Keep up the good work. Dogs do work for their treats, after all."

With a dramatic wave of her hand, her form evaporated as quickly as the witches.

Dean scampered across the room to help Sam to his feet. "You okay?"

"Fine," Sam said. "Where the hell did she take the kids?"

"Probably bippity-boppity-boo'd their asses back to Rowena. Wherever she's stashing them."

"That's not good."

Dean stared at him, lips pursed, giving a nod. Nash had been their advantage in this manhunt. Without him, they had no clues, no leads, no guesses where the hell to track down and round up the rest of the youngsters.

They were screwed.