Rewritten

Rewritten: Chapter 1

Notes: 3,000 views! Wow! Thank you :D

So my original note was "omg finally writing something where stuff happens, instead of pwp / pure fluff / pointlessly putting the character through angst and not much plot happens otherwise" or something like that. Welp, I jumped the gun - there's kind of a lot of talking in here but not a significantly large plot. :/ Still, people seem to like, so thank you all :)

 Cross posted on ao3 under sonofabitch_awesome, as always!

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Rewritten

 There's no dramatic swoosh of air around him, no blacking out and waking back up to a new world, no sudden flickering environment. At first, Dean doesn't even know anything has changed. He's in the shower when he idly (stupidly) attempts the incantation, so his eyes are shut and he's a little distracted listening to the roar of the water and taking a moment to relish the awesome pressure against his back.

 It's the little things at this point. If he's on his way out – and he's 99% sure he is – his hot showers are limited. Along with everything else. He might as well just try to enjoy them while he's still alive again.

 Dean had been in the library, paging through some old books in one of the last few boxes of unsorted crap. The particular book he's thinking of now was unlabeled, black cover so faded it was slightly gray, vague lines along the spine suggesting where letters had been once before they'd faded. He was damn sure smart enough not to recite spells whose purpose he didn't know, so he leafed through it and set it aside.

 Now, though, Dean's preoccupied by the stabs of water on his back and smell of shampoo in the air. And he finds himself wondering about the pronunciation of a particular invocation, rolling syllables and letters through his lips. He tips his head back and begins to rinse the shampoo from his hair.

 He makes another attempt a few minutes later, after turning the water off and running the towel over his head. No, that wasn't anywhere close. Dean shrugs and pulls the shower curtain aside, drying off quickly and looping the towel over the top of the curtain rod.

 He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes for a moment, groaning, trying to ignore the constant burn of the Mark pleading for attention, as always. Tries one more version, more to distract himself than because he really gives a damn now. That sounds like it's closer, he thinks, yawning.

 And only then does it really register that the bathroom light is off. Dean pulls his hands from his eyes to check, and yep. So is the light from outside the room.

 He frowns and grabs for the pile of his clothes on the toilet lid. Gone. He reaches for where he'd hung the towel, and it's gone from the curtain rod too.

 Weird.

 Dean's confused frown smooths out into a look of disbelief as understanding dawns. Shit. Obviously he'd done something, hadn't he?

 The air smells different, too, Dean realizes, breathing it in as he covers himself and pokes his head out the doorway. "Sam? Either you or Cas around?" he yells, already knowing the answer.

 Every light in the hallway, and in fact, every light in the entire Bunker, is out. Darkness has settled in so completely that it really doesn't matter that Dean's naked – he can't even see himself. The Bunker feels very much the same way it did when he and Sam first started exploring: stale air and oppressing blackness before they'd hit the switches.

 He hits the bathroom switch and examines the area of the hallway he can see. There's dust along the floor, just as thick as it had been two years earlier.

 Dean shakes his head, mouth still ajar. He exhales roughly. "I'm a fucking idiot," he says. "Time travel? Again?!!"