#people who come onto my unhappy ending fics and write a comment that is essentially their pitch for a coda that makes it happy

[liamgallaghermpreg]

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[thefragileblackdahlia]

In the Beginning: Part one

Chapter Summary: Dean is transported back in time and finds that his newfound grandfather may be hiding a secret that is key to Sam and Dean's predicament. While dreaming, he finds a familiar face. Castiel seems to have trouble remembering, and Ariel deals with her time in the Mal'ak box.

Pairing(s): Eventual Dean x Archangel!OFC

Warning(s): Self-loathing, Fluff, Angst, Typical Supernatural violence, Mild Language

A/N: I wasn't sure how to write this one. It isn't one of my favorite episodes, but still, the story is essential. Thanks to everyone who is keeping up with the fic. This episode will have LOTS of Dean x Ariel content, teehee.

Beta'd by Katieartist

Word count: 3,117

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"Let. Me. Out!!" Her screech carried through the metal walls and reverberated off the white walls surrounding the box. Ariel kicked at the box with all her energy.

"MICHAEL!" She bellowed, striking the door repeatedly, trying to falter one of the hinges at least. "MICHAEL, YOU SON OF A BITCH!" The red-head roared, pounding incessantly at the door. Each time her fist or foot united with the door, all of heaven wavered.

Michael clenched his jaw with each tremor; there was nothing he could do to stop it but let her out. He of all people knew that he could not do that. He just hoped no one would come with questions and investigate the noise further.

Ariel kept going, hammering away at the door. There was no way she would stay put this time, not when she can avert the apocalypse. An inextinguishable fire burned within her. She huffed, stretching her wings as best she could. They were getting achy, it was hard enough having her knuckles bleeding as well as the heel of her foot, but that didn't deter her. With one last try, Ariel rammed her fist into the thick sheet of metal, hearing a small creak.

Alas, let there be light.

. . .

Dean murmured in his sleep, rolling over onto his back with his leather jacket wrapped around his form.

Sam stood in the mirror, observing his brother from afar. He gently retrieved his jacket and peeped at his brother one more time before leaving for the exit.

Dean rolled over to his side, sweating bullets in his sleep. He subconsciously gripped the comforter below him, desperate for comfort to take him away from his nightmares.

. . .

"Sammy!" Dean bellowed while examining his surroundings and finding himself suspended in the air by hooks. A few in his side and one in his shoulder. He shut his eyes tightly, praying and wishing someone could wake him. Melodious singing filled his ears, drowning out the screams of the damned.

Hey Jude, don't make it bad

Take a sad song and make it better

Remember to let her into your heart

Then you can start to make it better

Hey Jude, don't be afraid

You were made to go out and get her

The minute you let her under your skin

Then you begin to make it better

And anytime you feel the pain

Hey Jude, refrain

Don't carry the world upon your shoulders

For well you know that it's a fool

Who plays it cool

By making his world a little colder

Her voice drifted off once she neared the end of the chorus. Dean squinted, sunlight obstructing his view, but with what he could see in that short moment, he greeted the woman's azure eyes.

The human slowly opened his eyes, shifting on his back foot and dipping his head down so he could ogle at her properly.

Her hair shimmered in the sun, the stray whiskers fluttering in the breeze. She looked unhappy, he could tell. Her eyes were red, and her knuckles bruised as if she repeatedly punched a steel wall—her silk dress torn, exposing more of her cleavage.

"Dean," He heard her whisper in a hoarse voice. Ariel intertwined their fingers and tentatively raised his calloused hand to her tear-stained cheeks.

Could angels emote? Why had she been crying? So many questions raced through Dean's mind, but none came out. All he was able to do was gaze at her intently with wide eyes. Occasionally he would run his tongue over his bottom lip to prevent it from chapping and cracking.

"I need your help..." She breathed as she lifted a delicate hand to his cheek. Her thumb smoothed over the stubble on his chin as she strived to comfort him as well.

Dean winced once her fingers grazed his skin. He wasn't afraid of her; he was scared of what someone like him could do to someone like her. Someone that didn't matter and was toxic for everyone around him, but he couldn't pull away from her. There was this magnetic pull, pushing them together. Nothing felt right if he weren't touching her somehow.

He curled and uncurled his fingers, gradually closing the space between them. His emerald gems darted from her orbs to her lips; they were kissable and swollen plump from her weeping.

Dean eased into Ariel's touch. "Why are you in my dream? What happened to you?"

"I don't know...I was worried." Ariel confessed with fondness in her voice. "I am okay." She lied. Her eyelashes fluttered frantically, trying to blink away the tears that were forming.

"Where are you?" Dean asked as he gingerly wiped away her tears.

"In heaven, locked away. Tell Castiel." Ariel whispered.

"Okay." Dean leaned his forehead on hers, the tips of their noses barely grazing. He studied her eyes with furrowed brows. She inched closer to him, his short breaths brushing her lips. This felt right. It felt needed. Before they could lock lips, Ariel's form flickered and faded away.

. . .

Dean's eyes shot open, his breathing labored. He guided his hands to his eyes, massaging them to help him adjust to reality.

"Hello, Dean." Castiel greeted.

Dean swiftly turned over, marking Castiel sitting leisurely on the other side of the bed.

"And what were you dreaming about?" Cas teased flatly.

Dean rolled his eyes at the comment while sitting up. He didn't know what to say to that. That he was just about to kiss his best friend before he woke up? "Ariel. She needs help." He breathed as he tore his leather jacket off his upper half.

"Who?" Castiel asked, genuinely confused.

"Super Model Archangel, pretty red hair. Kinda is the walking description of the sun." Dean could've unearthed more ways to praise her, but he decided to cut it short once he noticed Castiel's expression.

"What about her? What does she need?" Cas narrowed his eyes.

Dean stretched a brow. "She wanted me to tell you that she is in Heaven, locked away."

The blue-eyed man looked to Dean with uncertainty.

"What did you want? What, do you get your freak on by watching other people sleep? What did you want?" He queried.

The trench-coated angel answered him evasively, "Listen to me. You have to stop it."

Dean scoffed at the ambiguity. "Stop what?"

Cas pressed two fingers to Dean's forehead.

. . .

Sergeant Fowler approached the sleeping man, nudging him with his baton."Move it, buddy- You can't sleep here."

Dean groggily replied, "Okay. Sleep where?" His eyes darted around.

"Anywhere but here." The officer affirmed and carried on his way.

Dean slowly sat up and reached into the inner pocket of his coat, retrieving John's journal and his cellphone. He flipped it open, ready to call Sam, yet there was no signal. He stared at the phone bewildered and instinctively held it up to the sky, searching for a signal. Dean kissed his teeth while snapping the flip phone shut.

"Perfect," He scoffed.

Dean gazed ahead and, just across the street, resided a Jay Bird's Diner. He gathered his things and looked both ways before crossing over to the diner's entrance.

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Entering the restaurant was like taking a dip back to earlier times. The Allman Brothers Band's 'Ramblin' Man'  played overhead, giving the restaurant a lovely, classic feeling.

Dean closed the door behind him, eyeing everything dubiously. He noticed a young man who looked about his age, sitting at the counter with a newspaper in hand.

His hair was dark, and he donned a blue plaid shirt with a thin jacket.

The righteous man approached the counter and took a seat directly next to the young man. "Hey, Where the hell am I?" He quizzed.

The young man responded, "Jay Bird's Diner." They made eye contact. His eyes were a hazel-green, similar to Dean's.

Dean looked to his hands, dumbfounded by that obvious response. He returned the man's gaze, "Yeah, thanks. I mean uh...city and state."

The dark-haired man laughed at Dean's behavior. Why was he here if he didn't know where he was? "Lawrence, Kansas."

This city always made Dean's eye twitch. He loathed being in the same town where his mother died. It disturbed him that he was in Lawrence, Kansas, with no cell service or guide. He veered away from the man, "Lawrence." He confirmed in a disconcerted tone.

The gentleman's face wrinkled in confusion, "Are you okay, buddy?" He leaned in expectantly.

The leather-clad hunter brought his hand to his face in exhaustion and confusion. He wasn't sure what to reply with, so he let out a small sigh. "Yeah...tough night."

"Hey, uh, coffee here, Reg." The young man ordered for Dean.

At that moment, the conversation was going nowhere, so the gruff 30-year-old, scoured through his jacket pocket for his cell phone. He snapped it open and leaned over to the man, "Can you tell me where I can get reception on this thing?"

The hazel-eyed man scoffed his reply, The U.S.S. Enterprise."

Dean only raised a brow at the answer; either he was crazy, or the man was mad. Dean thought the latter. Before he could think of a reply, the waiter sat a cup of joe in front of him. "Thanks." He acknowledged while looking up at his waiter.

"Nice threads." Dean commented to the waiter, bringing the steaming cup to his lips. "You know Sonny and Cher broke up, right?" He quipped.

The young man stared at Dean, appalled by his statement, "Sonny and Cher broke up?"

Dean eyed the man for a moment, realizing his question was genuine as if he didn't know. Something clicked in his mind, and he took a look at everyone in the eatery. They were all dressed according to the 70s fashion trends. His eyes filled with panic; he only needed one last thing to confirm his suspicions. He moved his eyes over to the newspaper, still perched up in the young man's hands. The date read, Monday, April 30th, 1973. Dean mouthed the year 1973, eyes wide.

The sound of the diner's door opening and closing filled Dean's ears, but he did not turn around until he heard, "Hey, Winchester."

Surprisingly, both men turned to find the face that called to them. Dean looked at the man expectantly, ready to ask him how did he know him, but the older man just walked around Dean and straight to the young man.

"Son of a bitch! How you doin', Corporal." The man greeted the so-called Winchester, shaking his hand with glee.

Dean stirred in his seat to watch the scene take place. Who was this mysterious Winchester? All Dean could think of was 'Dad?' But that couldn't be possible. No way he was in 1973, sitting next to his father and casually drinking coffee.

"Hey, Mr. D," The other Winchester greeted.

"I heard you were back."

"Yeah, a little while now," Winchester confirmed.

Mr. D smiled at the man, confirming for Dean what he had been wondering all along, "Good to have you home, John, damn good."

Dean gaped at John. Who was this giddy young man before him? No way that could've been John Winchester, saving people, hunting things, the family business- John Winchester. But it was. Dean managed to get out a small, "Dad?"

Mr.D and John continued their conversation, "Well, say hello to your old man for me."

John nodded, "You got it, Mr. D." He returned to his original position before peering over to Dean.

Dean never once took his eyes off his father, watching like an idiot.

"Do we know each other?" He questioned, certainly confused by Dean's staring.

Shit! Dean swallowed hard, eyes wide. 'Say something!' Dean smacked his lips and inhaled sharply before speaking, "I guess not." He sipped his coffee, awkwardly.

John sat for a moment to think it over before getting up from the counter. "Take it easy, pal." He told Dean and strolled over to the door. He shared one last puzzled look with Dean before exiting the diner. John casually walked down the sidewalk with his hands shoved into his jacket pockets. A few feet behind John, Dean, was tailing him.

Dean's mission had something to do with John, but what could that be? His father rounded the corner, and as Dean did, he stopped in his tracks, coming face to face with the angel, Castiel.

Dean grew furious, his breathing becoming shallow, "What is this?" He queried.

"What does it look like?" Castiel replied blankly.

"Is it real?" Dean charged.

"Very."

"Okay, so, what, angels got their hands on some DeLoreans? How did I get here?" Dean appended.

Castiel smacked his lips and looked away from the clueless human. 'This would go much smoother if Ariel were here.' He always thought in these moments. Dean asked too many questions, and it bothered him. "Time is fluid, Dean." Castiel sighed, "It's not easy, but we can bend it on occasion."

"Well, Bend it back. Or tell me what the hell I'm doing here." The hunter demanded.

"I told you. You have to stop it." Castiel put it vaguely, infuriating Dean further.

Dean cross-examined, "Stop what? Huh? What is there something nasty after my dad?" A car horn blared along with tires screeching, stealing Dean's attention away from the angel and allowing Castiel time to 'escape.'

Dean returned his gaze toward the last place Cas had been standing and lifted his arms, "Come on. What, are you allergic to straight answers, you son of a bitch?!" He unobtrusively shouted. The only clue Dean could follow was his father.

He carried on, noticing a large sign Rainbow Motors Car Dealership. He caught a glimpse of a familiar car, and a small smile danced across his face. He hastily made his way over to his future car, admiring her beauty in the spring sun. The boy perched himself against the hood of Baby, waiting for his father to finish his conversation. Dean focused on the ground, deep in thought. Once he saw the car dealer walk away, Dean knew it was his turn to talk.

"That's not that one you want," Dean suggested.

John whipped around and stepped to Dean, "You following me?"

'Yes, I am, but you don't need to know that or why.' Dean thought to himself before actually responding, "No, no, I was just passing by. I never got to thank you for that cup of coffee this morning. I was a little out of it."

"More than a little." John joked with a half-smile.

"Let me repay the favor." Dean pivoted on his heel and knocked on the midnight black '67 impala. "This is the one you want."

John grinned, "Oh yeah? You - You know something about cars?"

Dean gave John a slight nod, starting to disassociate due to the nostalgia. "Yeah...yeah, my Dad taught me everything I know." John nodded his head toward the car, and Dean took that as a hint to continue. "And this- this is a great car."

He placed both hands on the hood longingly before opening it and leaning in. Eager to hear what Dean had to say, John, accompanied him on the side of the car.

"327 four-barrel, 275 horses. A little T.L.C., this thing is cherry." Dean drawled.

"You know, man..." John inspected the car as if he were thinking of someone else, "You're right."

"Then what are you buying that thing for?" The hunter motioned to the microvan.

John slightly shrugged, "I kinda promised someone I would."

"Over a '67 chevy?" Dean questioned while laughing. "I mean, come on. This is the car of a lifetime." He paused, "Trust me, this thing's still gonna be badass when it's 40." The 30-year-old concluded with a knowing nod.

John pulled his lips into a thin line, unsure of what to buy. He fixed his hazel eyes on Dean and smiled. "John Winchester." He greeted as he held out his hand for Dean to shake. "Thanks."

Dean flashed his father his pearly whites and returned the gesture. "Dean Van Halen- and thank you." His eyes lingered on John for a moment before he went to close the hood. All of this was trippy for him. Was he the initial reason John bought the impala? Time travel confused Dean. He gathered that he hated it.

John traced his fingers over the silver trim of Baby's window, leaning into the window to get a feel for the car.

Dean thought of Castiel's words. You need to stop it. It was very questionable, but he knew he had to figure it out on his own. "I was in pretty rough shape this morning, huh?" He chortled.

"No, kidding." John laughed, still admiring Baby's interior design.

The leather-clad hunter resumed, "I've been hungover before, but, hey, I was getting chills in that diner. You didn't feel any of those cold spots, did you?" Dean poked, wondering if maybe a spirit was after him.

"Nope."

Dean continued to pry, "I swore I smelled something weird, too, you know? Like rotten eggs. You didn't happen to smell any sulfur, by chance?"

John arched his brows at Dean's persistence. "No." He chuckled.

Dean grimaced but persisted, "Have there been any cattle mutilations in town?"

John inhaled sharply, obviously disturbed. "Okay, mister, stop it."

Dean shifted on his other foot, staring down at the ground. "Yeah...If only I knew what to stop." He had a scared look in his eyes as he studied the clueless John. "Listen, uh...watch out for yourself, okay?"

The civilian just looked at Dean with a look of utter bewilderment and furrowed brows. Dean was crazy. John decided it was best to just agree with the man, "Yeah. Sure."

. . .

The impala smoothly traveled down the road and pulled over next to a house. In the far distance, a brown car parks on the opposite side of the way. A young blonde woman ran out of the house, ready to greet her boyfriend but noticed the car behind him.

"Hey," John greeted.

"What's this?" The woman stepped around the back of the car with John right behind her.

"My car." He said with a laugh, looking to her face and searching for approval.

"What happened to the van?" The blonde asked, slightly upset.

John could sense her uneasiness, making his way over to her and placing a light hand on the back window. "Mary, This is better than the van! This has got a 327, a four-barrel carburetor."

Dean's eyes widened at the realization of who the blonde woman was. He sat back in his seat, trying to regain any composure he once had as it breathed out a soft, "Mom?"

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