Rewritten

Chapter 7

For once in his life, Dean’s glad the Impala’s engine is so loud. It roars through the silence outside and straight into the house.

He and Cas part and hurriedly climb into a sitting position. Dean rubs at his lips to dry them, and adjusts to tuck and hide his erection. Cas scoots all the way to the other end of the sofa and sits facing away from him, pulling the edges of his trench coat forward.

“Hey, guys,” Sam says way too cheerfully as he walks in, Past Dean a few steps behind him. Sam stops short and narrows his eyes.

Dean waves a hand in one quick motion. “Sorry it wasn’t a real case.”

“Yeah, well, you couldn’t have told us that?” Past Dean complains, setting down his duffle bag of various backup weapons and rock salt. “Where’s Bobby?”

“I’m here, I’m here,” the man in question drawls, rolling into the library. “Slept too long,” he adds, glaring at Dean and Cas. “Somebody didn’t wake me.”

Dean scoffs. “It’s not our job to act as your alarm clock.”

Bobby rolls his eyes and looks away.

“I gotta talk to you,” Sam suddenly says in his no-nonsense voice.

Dean lifts an eyebrow. “Okay. Sure.”

They head outside in silence. Dean waits to make sure he’s no longer excited, and then leans back against the Impala, crossing his arms. “Shoot.”

Sam struggles with words. “I want to kn… I mean, if…” He raises a hand and drops it uselessly. “If I, or if Lucifer…”

Damn, this is strange. The struggle to keep the angels from pushing Dean into saying yes, and the search for Lucifer, had seemed so intense at the time. And it was. But despite the gravity of the situation, Dean is hit with a sudden wave of nostalgia. Things are simpler here. Not easier, certainly, but the lines are less ill-defined.

Not for the first time, it strikes Dean how insane their lives really are, that worries about Lucifer seem almost quaint.

“You wanna know if you ever say yes to Lucifer, and if I ever say yes to Michael,” Dean clarifies. Sam nods without meeting his gaze. “Sammy, you know I can’t tell you that.”

“Yeah, yeah, I guess, sorry.” Sam nervously smooths his hair back.

Dean considers what he can tell him. “I don’t… Just think about this: I’m here. I’m from 2015. So obviously I made it out alive.”

“But Bobby doesn’t.” There’s a slight question mark at the end of Sam’s sentence as he cocks his head in uncertainty.

“He does for a while,” Dean admits. “Look, in my time, everything’s o—Well, I’m not gonna be ridiculous and say everything’s okay, but… You did your part. You undid freeing Lucifer.” And then some, he thinks, cringing at the memory of Sam’s soul stuck in Hell for eighteen months, and the calculation of how many years that is downstairs. You saved the world, but goddammit, Sammy, the price it took on you… It’s been four years since that time Sam was losing sleep and bleeding sanity, but to this day Dean sometimes has nightmares of how fast his brother was falling apart. Or nightmares of his brother's soul trapped downstairs. The time with the Trials had only kicked them back as once again Dean had been helpless to do anything but stand by and watch Sam’s disintegration.

He glances up at Sam now. Sam is haunted, although it’s a pale imitation of how he will be in a few years’ time. “No, seriously, little brother,” Dean says, reaching out to hang onto his shoulder. “Things are okay.”

Sam attempts a smile. “Thanks, Dean.” He lifts his chin. “So. You. You and Cas there, huh?”

Dean drops his hand and frowns in confusion. “What are y—How did you—”

“I’m your brother, moron. I know you. This version of you is different when you’re with him.” Sam’s lips quirk. “Not to mention how very determined you both were to maintain extra distance after your past self and I got back.”

“Fuck,” Dean says, rubbing both palms over his hair. “Yeah. I kissed him. I kind of… can’t, with the way things are in my time. Everything’s …” He shakes his head. “But I mean, I’m here, and I guess I just thought…”

Sam leans back on the side of the Impala next to him. “Aren’t you worried about changing things?”

“Yeah, actually,” Dean nods. “Maybe it was stupid. But I… It’s impossible in the future. I wasted so much fucking time. Such an idiot.” He exhales roughly, frustrated. Three goddamn years in denial, one off the grid with Lisa, months of mourning or angst about Cas’s insanity or searching Purgatory for him… There’s always something in the way. Naomi, Gadreel, Metatron. Even Dean, running around as a demon and clinging to the inhumanity because it was simply easier than hurting over everything else (not just Cas).

And now, the Mark, leading him slowly to his death or worse. Anything he does in 2015 is going to be too painful. Worse than not starting anything at all. He can’t do that to Cas.

“Dean?”

And maybe things can turn out differently if he changes this small thing. If they can figure out a way to take down Abaddon without him having to ac—

“Dean? Dean!”

He blinks, snapping back to attention. “Sorry.”

Sam stares over at him. “Hey, don’t get me wrong, I’ve known the whole time there was something between you two. And I’ll be the first one throwing the rice at your wedding.”

“Shut up, Sammy,” Dean says with a good eye roll.

“I’m only saying, what if you screw something up by doing this?” Sam asks. “You ever think of that?”

Dean lifts his shoulders helplessly. “Seriously? If you saw the way we were – um, are? – between now and my time, it…” His eyes unfocus for a second and he falls into silence before speaking again. “I really don’t think it’ll change much. We’re already pretty gross around each other.”

The corner of Sam’s mouth lifts when Dean looks over. “I know what you mean.”

“No, you have no idea,” Dean insists. “I remember it being bad at this point, but it gets so much worse. It’s embarrassing. The number of times you’ve had to cough or something, let us know you’re still in the room… I’m thinking of you here, Sammy. If this does happen, and I actually do change things… It’s for your sake, really. The sooner we get over ourselves, the better.”

Sam laughs, turning to face him and leaning sideways against the Impala. “Whatever. And, Dean, like I said, I’m happy for you both. But if things get too fucked up? You should come back and make sure things are the same. Well, the way they were before. Or will be. You know?”

“I will,” Dean says, hoping he’s doing the right thing.