Chapter Text
Dean stood, swaying lightly as he tried to muster up a glare. But all he could manage was the shell shocked expression. Cas had let Sam out of the panic room. Cas had altered the voice mail Dean had sent. Cas. Castiel. All these years, his primary theory had been that Sam had managed to muster up enough power to free himself, that he’d been too angry at Dean to heed the message. But Cas…
Suddenly, he was overcome with the urge to scream. Or break the angel's limbs.
He moved forward, hands clenched. Chuck stood fast, but before he could get in between or Bobby could say anything, Dean stopped himself. It just wasn’t worth it. Not really. Dean was as much to blame as Cas. It wasn't as if he could go back and teach his past self a lesson.
But he couldn’t stay in the same room as his friend. Not now. So, he turned on his heel and stumbled out the door. He didn’t stop walking until he was at the edge of the Camp, where Baby lay in rest, alone and desolate, with her doors and other parts taken off for repurposing. He rested his head against the top of the car, one hand coming up to clutch at the amulet. The only thing he had left of Sam.
“Why?” He whispered. “Why?” He looked up slowly, at the night sky. With half of the world population gone, engines and factories stopped, air pollution had faded as well. Countless stars made a dome above his head, a sight that used to be visible only in forest clearings or country roads. Those were the kind of places he and Sam would stop for the night and just sit together in silence.
“WHY?! He screamed suddenly. “Why ME? Why HIM? Why…? He broke out in a sob, alcohol lowering his inhibitions. “Help me,” he pleaded. “Please… Just… I can’t do this anymore. I can’t…”
“Dean.”
He startled, looking around to see Chuck standing behind him, watching him thoughtfully. Maybe even sadly.
“Chuck? What's it?” Dean asked, blinking to clear the tears and the fog in his head away.
Chuck sighed. He shoved his hands in his pockets, came closer, and looked up at the sky. “Did you know, that car of yours was once owned by a guy who used to drive around every weekend distributing Bibles?”
Dean shook his head, confused.
“Yeah. He used to say he was preparing people for Judgement Day.”
It wasn’t funny, but the irony of it had Dean huffing in sorrowful amusement. “How’d ya know that?” He asked, glad the semi-pleasant buzz of drunkenness was still present. It made it easier to switch moods.
Chuck didn’t reply, just kept staring at the sky. “Something went wrong,” he muttered. “I posed a test and somebody made the wrong choice. When it started going to crap, I just… Gave up. Writer’s block, you know, I can’t see any satisfying way to finish this. Because you and Lucifer… Well, I’ve already done that ending.”
Dean had no idea what he was talking about. “Uh, Chuck?”
Now, the former alcoholic looked at him. There was something different about him, from Dean’s whiskey-impaired point of view. He seemed… Bigger, even though he was several inches shorter. Had he always glowed like that?
“But I don’t want to abandon this story just yet,” he went on. “You guys had potential, you were supposed to be different. Maybe… The last time you guys talked…”
Chuck reached out with a hand towards Dean’s face. Dean tried to move out of reach, but the car at his back didn’t leave him with much space.
“One chance, Dean, just one chance to change things how you see fit. You’ve got two days. Make it count.” Chuck smiled. “Give me a reason to hit Backspace.” His hand landed on his forehead, hot and featherweight. Dean’s vision went white.
“I’ll come back in some time to ask for an extra key,” Dean told the man at the counter. In case he fell asleep, his past self would need to be able to get in.
Sam was still unconscious, though he’d begun to stir, eyelids fluttering with nightmares. Dean only managed to half-carry, half-drag him to the motel room because he was so light. Seriously, how much of his crazy bulk after Dean had come back from Hell had been due to the demon blood? After releasing Lucifer, according to Sam, something had wiped out all traces of the foreign blood from his body and negated the trouble of withdrawal. But it had also left him visibly weakened. In his time, Sam’s body was fit, strong, if more lean than bulky. Was that due to Lucifer, or had Sam kept himself in shape before saying ‘yes’?
Whatever the case, he painstakingly arranged Sam on the bed, salted the door, warded the room with sigils and hex bags he’d learned over the years.
It was with only a split second of hesitation that he was sliding into the same bed as Sam, half-reclining, turned towards him. But he knew it was the right decision, when Sam whimpered and Dean’s hand stroking through his hair calmed him down.
It also made his eyes flicker open slowly and Dean lost his breath for a moment when Sam gazed up at him through lowered lashes, scared and lost and trusting.
“Dean,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “It hurts.”
Dean swallowed. “I know. I know, Sammy, I’m sorry. You’re detoxing.”
The fear turned to terror. “No,” he cried, voice cracking, barely able to speak. “No, I didn’t drink. I’m sorry. I was just… You were going to get hurt. Please, don’t get mad at me. Not you too. I didn’t mean to-”
“I know, I know, I’m not angry,” Dean tried to soothe, his own voice shaking. “I promise, Sammy, I’m not angry, I can’t be. You saved our lives.”
Sam’s gaze moved to somewhere behind Dean. He flinched. “Does he hate me?”
There was nobody else in the room, but Dean remembered what Crowley had said about hallucinations and he knew instantly who Sam was seeing. “Not even a little,” he answered firmly, making a mental note to make sure his past self knew better than to upset Sam over this.
Sam began to shake in his arms. “Not the panic room,” he begged. “Please. Please, not the panic room.”
“Of course, not,” Dean promised. “Look, see, we’re in a motel and we’re going to stay here. It’ll take you a couple hours, then you’ll be good as new. Just you and me.” He smoothed his hand over his hair again, watching Sam lean into the touch with a neediness that pushed all the wrong buttons. “I should never have locked you in there alone.”
Sam shuddered. “I killed Lilith,” he reminded in a whisper.
“You didn’t know,” Dean argued softly. “And I broke in Hell first.”
“You didn’t know, either,” Sam said, touching Dean’s cheek with a trembling hand. It was something he’d always done as a kid, trying to comfort him through touch when he didn’t know how to fix his big brother's sadness.
Dean wondered whether this was muscle memory or deliberate.
“You were only in Hell, because of me,” Sam mumbled. He paused for a second. Another side glance and another flinch. “I wasn’t worth it,” he said, monotonous like he was repeating someone else’s words, but with complete conviction. “You should have killed me, let me stay dead.” He looked at Dean. “Do you regret it?”
The question was so ridiculous that Dean would have laughed if it weren’t for the lump in his throat. “Who’s telling you all this, Sammy?” He asked.
“Dean is,” he answered, guileless and confused. “And Dad. And... Mom.”
“Well, you tell them to shut up,” Dean growls. “They’re not real, Sammy. Dad loved you. Even if he was an ass a lot of the time. And Mom... she would never.”
“Dad said you should kill me,” Sam said, still uncertain.
“Well, he obviously didn’t know me very well then,” he muttered. Then he sighed and thumbed Sam’s lips, pressing a soft kiss to them. “Go to sleep, Sammy,” he whispered. “I’m not leaving.” Sam’s eyes dropped close, curling in closer so his head was a comfortable weight at Dean’s side. Dean pressed another kiss to the top of Sam’s hair. “I don’t regret it,” he murmured. “Never will. And I’d do it again if I had to.”
Sam’s breath was warm across his neck, even though his body trembled like he was cold, despite the covers Dean had pulled over them both.
Dean drifted between sleep and wakefulness, unwilling to miss a moment of watching Sam, but lulled into drowsiness by the hazy, dreamlike aura created by the soft glow of the lamp on the bedside. Every time Sam shivered, whimpered, even begged in quiet whispers for forgiveness, Dean would jerk back to consciousness, murmuring promises and platitudes into his ear.
A couple times, Sam would be half-awake, watching him with an expression of confusion, like he couldn’t figure out why Dean was there, and it would break Dean’s heart a little, except the confusion was always tempered by the loving, child-like smile Sam wore, like it didn’t matter why Dean was there, just that he was. And Dean would find himself helpless to do anything but kiss him, to taste that smile and maybe commit it to memory.
They might never find out who or what sent him here to 2009, but Dean would always owe his life to them. Literally. He knew himself well enough to know how close he’d been to his breaking point, to giving up and eating a bullet, maybe only waiting long enough to see Lucifer dead first. But this… This miraculous opportunity to not just see Sam, but also to love him in the way he wanted to… It would never be enough, but it was more than what he'd ever thought he'd get. If he hadn’t changed the future like he was supposed to, this was what would give him the strength to keep fighting, even if for just a little while more.
The peacefulness was broken when, hours later, Sam finally sleeping fitfully, there was the sound of a key being turned. The door opened slow and even though Dean’s first reaction was to grab his gun, he knew who it was.
Sure enough, his past self was there. He didn’t take more than a step further, just stood there. His eyes tracked over the two of them, curled up against each other, lingered on Sam, then stared him down.
Dean stared back, waiting for the accusations sure to be hurled in furious whispers.
But his past self slumped ever so slightly, like all the fight had just left him. “Stay with him,” he whispered. “I’ll sleep in the car.”
He was gone before Dean could tell him to take the extra bed.
Dean let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He looked down at Sam, curled up and humming softly in his sleep. That meant good dreams. Finally.
He looked at his watch. There were forty minutes left till 5 AM, till his time here was up.
He looked back at his brother. His heart clenched painfully at the thought of leaving the bed. But… But there was a conversation that absolutely needed to happen.
Gently, reluctantly, he extracted himself from Sam’s grip. Sam stirred, hand flopping about mindlessly, then stilled when Dean pressed a light kiss to his sweaty hairline. “I’ll be back to say goodbye, Sammy,” he whispered.
Then, he stepped out of the motel room.
His past self was in the parking lot, sitting on the hood with beer in his hand. He cast a confused glance at Dean. “Did Sam wake up?”
“No,” Dean said. “The detox was mild, but it tired him out. He had hallucinations, but he was lucid and there was nothing flinging his body around the room. He’ll probably wake up soon enough.”
His past self nodded. “Good. He needs rest. He felt too thin.”
Dean only hummed. He didn’t join his past self on the hood- the guy’s tolerance was low anyway- but he grabbed a beer for himself.
His past self broke the silence. “So, I guess Cas never did find God, huh?” He glanced pointedly at Dean’s chest.
Dean nodded, reaching up to touch the amulet. “Yeah, he gave it back to me a month after Sam…” He trailed off.
His past self tilted his head. There was a hard edge to his voice when he spoke again. “You know, Cas told me that your memories will start to merge with my mind.”
Dean stilled.
“And twice now, I’ve dreamt about Sam decked out in a white suit.” He waited for a few seconds. “Sam’s not dead, is he?”
Dean closed his eyes, knowing he couldn’t lie, shook his head slowly.
“Is he…?” His voice cracked. “He said yes?”
Dean nodded.
“Why?” It was a demand and a plea rolled into one.
Dean didn’t reply. Hands gripped the collar of his jacket, making him open his yes. His past self was standing in front of him, eyes wide in desperation.
“Why?” He repeated, shaking him threateningly. “Why would he do that?”
Dean forced his past self's fingers to unclench, taking a step back. “Cas talked to me too. He told me I couldn’t tell you any details.”
And he knew he shouldn’t. But the pain etched into the face he saw in the mirror was familiar, the only kinship he felt with the man he used to be.
“Sam had a plan,” Dean said, remembering the video message he’d received, by magic, courtesy of the Archangel Gabriel, hours before finding out about Detroit. “A crazy, reckless, galactically stupid plan. The kind of plan that, if anyone could pull off, it was Sam.”
His past self swallowed. “What went wrong then?”
“If you wanna believe Lucifer’s words, it’s our fault.” Dean met his gaze squarely.
“And you do? You believe him?”
Dean smiled bitterly. “He’s the Prince of Lies. He only tells the truth when it’ll hurt more.”
“What was the plan?” His past self asked in a hushed whisper.
Dean hesitated. “I don’t think I can tell you that.”
“If I don’t know it, then I can’t-”
“Dean!” The opening of the motel room revealed Sam jogging the short distance to them. “I thought you left,” he panted.
Dean smiled, feeling the edges of his lips trembling. “Wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye.”
Sam, with his hair mussed from sleep and chest heaving slightly, like he’d panicked at Dean’s absence, looked hesitantly at his past self.
His past self, to his credit, offered Sam a lazy smile, expertly covering up the frantic desperation from half a minute ago. Sam, distracted with the prospect of farewell, didn’t notice the grief in his eyes as he normally would have.
“Come here,” Dean muttered, gripping Sam close.
Just like the morning two days ago, Sam fell into him easily, head dropping onto his shoulder and arms clutching tightly at his waist. Dean turned his head into Sam’s neck, breathing him in. He couldn’t feel his past self watching them, knew he was looking away to give them their space, and Dean was grateful.
“Remember what I told you,” he whispered, feeling Sam shiver. “He’s an idiot, but he’s all yours. Always has been.”
Sam didn’t reply to that. He pulled back slightly, just enough to look him in the eye, and surprised Dean by kissing him. Dean didn’t waste a second, returning the kiss with fervor. He pulled Sam impossibly closer, like he could carry the imprint of him back into his future.
“Stay,” Sam whispered over his lips.
Dean wondered whose tears were responsible for the salt on his tongue. “I wish I could. But you’ve got him.”
He kissed Sam once more, and then once more, reluctant to stop. Then, he lightly shoved him away. Sam hadn’t been expecting it and he stumbled back. Dean watched as his past self caught Sam easily, pulling him to keep him steady.
Dean took a deep breath. There was a burning sensation on his chest. White light began to spread all around him. Instinct made him want to close his eyes, but he stubbornly kept them open as long as he could, watching Sam turn his tear-streaked face away, watched him hide in his brother’s embrace.
Dean couldn’t hold back his sob at the sight and the last thing he was aware of before the light got too bright was his past self mouthing the words, “I promise.”