Rewritten

Chapter 3

When they appear in Bobby’s living room, Cas’s hand still on his forearm, Sam and Bobby are in the kitchen. Dean’s past self, on the other hand, is nowhere to be found. Fortunately. Dean has a feeling that if he were sitting around the Bunker and an older version of himself showed up claiming to be from 2020, he wouldn’t exactly handle it well. And if Past Dean reacts to Current Dean the way Alternate Future Dean had reacted back when Dean was Past Dean—

Headache. Stopping there.

Sam is leaning against the counter, arms crossed, in the middle of a sentence, but he stops when they walk in. “Dean, h—Dean?” He glances over, his brow furrowing. “You okay?” Bobby twists the chair over to face them, slightly suspicious.

“Is this the part where everyone says I look tired or something?” Dean scoffs.

“This is not our Dean,” Cas says, dropping his arm.

Bobby snatches a silver knife out of a pocket hanging off his chair. “I knew it,” he growls, and wheels forward. Sam spins and grabs a container of holy water from a cabinet.

Cas holds a hand out. “Stop! Both of you. It’s really him, just… older.”

Jesus. “I’m not that much older,” Dean mutters, reaching forward for the knife Bobby’s still holding. “Long story short, I read a spell and it launched me back here.” Bobby glares at him, but lets him take the knife.

Dean cuts a short line into his left forearm. “See? Not a shifter.” He hands the knife back and accepts the holy water from Sam before splashing it on his face. “Not a demon.” Anymore, he adds, with a sense of morbid humor. “You gonna believe me now?”

Sam takes the bottle back slowly, still frowning. “What year are you from?” Bobby tucks the knife away again and wheels his chair back a bit.

“2015. Right after Valentine’s Day, actually,” Dean says, wiping his face off. “Don’t know why you couldn’t take Cas at his word.”

“Never said we wouldn’t,” Sam smirks.

Dean looks behind him toward the rest of the house. “So, where’s Past Me? Uh, Present Me to you guys, I guess?”

“Still sleeping,” Bobby says, darting a glance in the general direction of the living room stairs. “He was up late last night trying to find new cases.”

“Any luck?” Dean asks. Maybe if Past Dean found one, he could tag along. Old cases for old times’ sake.

Sam exhales. “Nope. Nothing. So, you read a spell? Were you trying to get somewhere else, or is this the time you were trying to get back to?”

Cas’s lips quirk.

“No,” Dean admits, his head inclined and his hand on the nape of his neck. “I… didn’t know what it was going to do.”

There’s a very loud, stunned silence.

Dean sighs and holds out both hands. “Go on, let me have it.”

“Are you out of your mind?!”

“What kind of idjit are you?!”

“I know, believe me, I know. I wasn’t really paying attention to what I was doing at the time,” Dean explains. “Kind of talking to myself.” God, he’s missed that confused, judgey look Bobby’s giving him right now. “Well, I couldn’t figure out how to pronounce it in the book, so I set it aside, thinking I’d ask Sam later. And then in the shower, I’m washing my hair and sounding it out… I know, I know, okay!”

Bobby scoffs and rolls his chair over to the refrigerator to get a beer. “How many brain cells did you lose in the last five years?”

“Well, why didn’t Cas just—” Sam gestures vaguely. “…you back to your own time?”