Rewritten

Chapter 10

Notes:

This last chapter, I felt, was a little long. Not enough to really justify splitting it, but then again I did want to rewrite part of the second section. So here you go with the first part for now! :)

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At ten AM the next morning, they’re all waiting in the library, not sure how precise the spell’s limitations will be. Sam’s standing near Dean, while Cas and Past Dean are on the couch again, closer than before but still a bit of distance between them. Boxes are lined up against the wall by the door: extra or outdated or irrelevant books from the days of work. Bobby is seated next to them, peeking at the books he can see in the top and making sure there’s nothing accidentally discarded.

“It’s good knowing you make it that far, Dean,” he says, breaking the silence and looking up. When Dean starts to stutter out a reply, he glares. “No, don’t start with that about me, I don’t care. I’m glad you and Sam and even Cas make it that far.” Cas looks over in surprise at being included

Bobby extends his hand to Dean in request. Dean shakes it solidly.

“Yeah, Dean,” Sam agrees. “Makes it easier to deal with going back to things here when you leave.” He hesitates. “So, you’re sure you can’t tel—”

“No,” Dean says immediately.

Sam shrugs. “Worth one last shot.” He sighs. “It’s—uh, Bobby’s right. It’s good seeing you’re around that far in the future.” He steps closer and hugs Dean.

This version of Sam has definitely put on more weight and muscle than he’d had at first, but he’ll get even more in the years to come. Dean grins and backs away.

“So one last thing,” Past Dean asks.

Dean lifts his chin in acknowledgment.

“What’s with the voice? You trying to compete with Cas or something?” Cas actually smiles at this, but Past Dean isn’t paying attention.

Sam laughs. “I wasn’t going to say anything, but…”

“I don’t know,” Dean shrugs, self-conscious now about how low he’d actually let it get. “Kinda just happened. And yours is getting there too,” he adds as an afterthought.

Past Dean pulls the face that Dean does when he’s recognizing a good point.

Cas shifts position a fraction of an inch closer to Past Dean, still looking over at Current Dean. “In case you get back, and things are too different, and you have to come back so this excursion never happened – thank you.”

“Yeah, Cas,” Dean nods awkwardly. “Yeah, I’ll, uh, see you s—”

It happens very suddenly, for Dean. He’s in the middle of his sentence – and then the outdated warmth of Bobby’s awful red wallpaper is replaced by white walls, the change so jarring that for a half-second he wonders if he’s fainting. But it’s only the shower around him, echoing with the dripping of water not quite shut off all the way.

Dean turns and tightens the knob, stopping the dripping faucet.

It was – is – night in 2015 when he said the spell, so although he’s barely been up for a couple hours he’s suddenly weary now, the present time affecting him more than Dean thinks it should. He shakes his head and grabs the T shirt and boxers he’d intended to sleep in the first time around.

Originally in 2015, Sam was on a grocery run, so if everything is basically the same, Dean’s going to go ahead and assume Sam is still out.

The Mark is still on his arm, of course. He’d known that wouldn’t change.

Dean spends a short time online, scanning news articles for differences in this (new?) timeline. After a while, he gets into bed and puts his headphones on. He’s lying there, too awake to fall asleep yet but too tired to give up and go do something else.

He stares up at the ceiling, doubting if he did anything different at all. Kevin’s room is the same way they’d left it in a sort of memorial to him, the Mark is still there burning away on his arm, and the Internet search had turned up plenty of articles on a “freak meteor shower” a year and a half ago.

Nothing seems to have changed. And Sam’s not around either, so he can’t simply ask. He could call/pray for Cas to show. And he will, in a second here. He’s just really enjoying whatever song’s playing. He’s definitely not thinking so hard that he can’t even register what band is playing.

He’s not stalling. He’s not lying here because he’s afraid to find out what changed. He’s not lying here because he’s worried his past self wussed out or something. He’s no coward, and his past self wasn’t one either. So there’s no reason for worry in the first place, right?

Vague noises slide past the music, and Dean takes his headphones off to listen. Somebody’s in the Bunker. He shifts to get off the bed, but stops. Speak of the devil – or the angel, rather. It’s Cas, walking in wearing that too-short, too-dark replacement trench coat. “H-hey,” Dean greets him shakily, a tiny bubble of hope in his chest.

Cas smiles warmly at him. “Hello, Dean. How are you?”

“I’m good,” Dean nods. “Got a lot of downtime back in 2009. It was… It was good to get a break from all the angst.”

“Ah, yes, the peace and contentment of Lucifer and the Apocalypse,” Cas says dryly, slipping his trench coat and suit jacket off. He sets them on the back of the chair by the bed, and then steps out of his shoes before beginning to unbutton the dress shirt.

Dean’s eyes are wide. “Cas, what are you…?”

Cas is down to boxers now. He drapes the pants with the rest of his clothes on the chair and walks over to the bed. “Scoot,” he says, lifting the sheets.

Holy hell. Dean slides over wordlessly, his heart starting to pick up a little. “Cas?”

“Dean?” Cas volleys back in the same tone as he settles in on his side. He searches Dean’s face. “I’m glad you’re back,” he says, and kisses him.