Echoes of the Past

Chapter 1

Dean Winchester sneezed loudly, his head buried in his pillow, as he lay sprawled out in his room at the bunker. "Ugh... should've let Sam drive the damn car," he grumbled, sniffling as he reached for yet another tissue. "Damn vampires."

The crash of tissues into the wastebasket signaled the state of his health—under the weather was putting it mildly. The trash can was nearly overflowing with balled-up tissues, a testament to the cold that had sidelined him.

He sneezed again, letting out a groan. "If this is what happens after a hunt, I swear I'll—achoo!—burn those bloodsuckers twice."

Meanwhile, in the study room, Sam Winchester sat at one of the desks, his laptop open in front of him. He adjusted his headset, watching the screen as Veronica Conroy's face appeared in a video call. He smiled, it had been a few years since they had last crossed paths.

"Long time, no see," Sam greeted with a grin.

Veronica chuckled from her end, her familiar smirk evident. "Yeah, not since Chicago. Remember those supposed werewolf sightings?"

Sam laughed, shaking his head. "Turned out to be nothing but a bunch of wild dogs scavenging through the neighborhood."

"Good times," Veronica sighed. "Though I could've done without the extra scratches."

"So, what's got you reaching out? You got a case for us?"

Veronica shifted, the smirk on her face giving way to a more serious expression. "I think I might. I'm in England as we speak. Got wind of some... suspicious activity at a little place called Downton Abbey."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Downton Abbey? Seriously?"

Veronica nodded. "Yep. My contact informed me a few days ago. There's been some weird stuff going on there for weeks. Ghosts, by the sound of it."

Leaning back in his chair, Sam mulled it over. "Downton Abbey, huh... Let's see, what do I know? It's been owned by the Crawley family for centuries, right? Dating back to the 18th century? They're pretty loaded, with ties to the royal family if I remember right."

Veronica grinned. "Good, you're up to speed. I can book tickets for you and Dean. You can be across the pond by tomorrow."

Sam shifted awkwardly. "Yeah, about that... Dean isn't exactly fit to travel."

Veronica rolled her eyes. "Let me guess. He's still too chicken to get on a plane?"

Sam chuckled, shaking his head. "No, no. He's just caught a cold."

As if on cue, a loud sneeze echoed from the corridor, and moments later, Dean appeared, wrapped in a robe, blowing into a tissue. His voice was hoarse as he waved tiredly at the camera. "Hey, V... Sorry I look like hell, but yeah, not exactly in tip-top shape right now."

Veronica smirked. "So I noticed. By the way, if you and Cas ever decide to get together, make sure you invite me to the wedding. I want a front-row seat."

Sam stifled a laugh, muttering under his breath, "Destiel."

Dean, already looking half-dead, rolled his eyes. "For the last time, Cas and I are not—" He paused mid-sentence, realizing he'd walked right into it again. "Oh, why do I even bother?" With a dramatic sigh, Dean turned and shuffled toward the kitchen, muttering under his breath, "Someday I'm gonna get my hands on the guy that started this 'Destiel' crap in the first place."

Shaking his head, Sam turned back to the screen. "Every. Single. Time."

Veronica grinned, leaning closer to the camera. "This whole 'Destiel' thing has really gotten under his skin, hasn't it?"