Chapter 1: Introductions

"Mom?" The words are off of Dean's lips before he can stop them. He's frozen in place, unsure of what to do, what to say, or if he can even believe his own friggin' eyes. Amara had said she'd give him what he needed most… at the time that message had been cryptic enough, but now—standing in the middle of this forest clearing he can't form any thoughts past 'what the hell'.

Mary furrows her brow then, confused. Her head is tilting to the side and her eyes are searching Dean's face for answers. She comes up with one suddenly, remembering a very similar looking young man near the time her father died. "Dean?" She asked, breathlessly. Even more confused now that she swore the word 'mom' had come out of his mouth. And she couldn't be his mother, could she? Her Dean was four, with sandy blonde hair and bright green eyes. Her Dean never looked so shocked to see her.

"I-" Dean started, still lost of what to say. His face softened and he took a step closer. It had been years, decades, since he last saw his mom, alive and well. Dean wanted to reach out, to hug her, but he restrained himself, dropping his slightly out-stretched arm back to his side. "You probably don't know what's going on," he said instead, "or where you are. I don't really know where we are either, my phone can't get a signal and—"

"Phone?" Mary asked, looking at the small, flat thing in the man's hand. "That thing is a phone?"

Dean nodded, holding it out and unlocking it on for her to look.

"When- what year is this?" She asked, flipping it over and tapping the screen with awe.

"2016." Dean answered, "I, um, if you didn't-"

"You're my son." She finished.

"Yeah."

"That's not possible." And it wasn't. Sure, Mary had seen a lot of crazy shit in her life, she had seen demons and vampires, ghosts and other monsters, but never in her life had she experienced time travel. Or had she? If this Dean is the same as the one way back in 1973, and is also the same Dean she left back in 1983- then she had experienced time travel before.

"What is the last thing you remember?" Dean wondered.

Mary looked up, "I'm not sure, I was… it was-"

"November second, 1983." Dean whispered, eyes trained down toward the ground.

"Yes, I had heard a noise. I thought Sam had woken up, when I got there John was tending to him. Except, it wasn't John, the TV was on and he was asleep… it was" Mary struggled to remember the details, it was all fading back to her slowly, and in pieces.

"A demon, a yellow eyed demon who you made a deal with in 1973 to save John's life. He was in the nursery with Sam that night." Dean continued, helping Mary on.

"I burned. There was a fire and then I showed up here." Mary stopped, and met eyes with Dean. "Did Sam, is Sam okay?"

"He's fine," Dean sighed, "If I had a signal I could call him and tell him what's going on. He's probably a mess right about now."

"And you two are hunters?" Mary asked, "And John too?"

"Dad is dead. He uh, kicked it about ten years ago now." Dean said softly, "but yeah, me and Sam are hunters, made quite a name for ourselves at least."

"I'm sorry," Mary breathed, "I never wanted that life for you." It's heartbreaking for her, knowing that the life she hated as a kid is the life her children lived into their adulthood.

"It's not your fault, not really." Dean explained, "Dad was a mess after your death, he was convinced what happened wasn't natural. So he went looking, he dug around in old lore, even found a psychic, he did anything to get answers. We just got caught in the mess I guess."

Mary nodded, understanding, but the fact still weighed heavy on her chest.

"We should probably get going now," Dean stated, "try to find a way out of here, or a phone signal at least."

They started off in the direction Dean had been heading.

About twenty minutes later they reached a road, the walk had been made slower by the fact Mary was in a nightgown and lacked any shoes, but they made it. The pair headed down the road a little farther until they reached the nearest town, it was small, and about thirty miles out of Topeka. There the two hotwired a car and headed about ten miles farther 'til Dean finally got a chance to call his brother.

The phone rang, and rang, Dean kept calling, and each time he received his brother's voice in return—telling him to "Leave a message, and if it's an emergency, call my brother Dean". He let out a frustrated sigh of exasperation. An unsettling fear grew in the pit of his stomach.

"Is everything alright?" Mary asked, shifting in her seat as to adjust more towards Dean. "Why is he not picking up?"

"I'm hoping he just fell asleep, hell, too drunk to dial would be great in this situation too—" Dean answered, gripping the steering wheel tighter, and pushing a little harder down on the gas.

"But if it's not?" Mary prodded.

"If it's not then it's not good."

Mary could see the tension between Dean's shoulders grow visibly then, her own fear building in response. Dean seemed to be genuinely worried about Sam's radio silence, and that worry was quickly feeding her own.

They arrived in Lebanon a couple hours later, Dean killed the engine, threw open the driver's side door, and ran to the entrance. He stopped there, checking his pistol before opening the door, slowly, it creaked on its hinges. Mary stayed close behind as Dean entered.

"Sam?" Dean called out, eyes searching. "Sammy?" No reply. It seemed to Dean that the bunker was empty. Until he reached the bottom of the stairs. "Sam!"

Crumpled in a heap of long limbs near the edge of the room was his brother. I puddle of blood sitting stickily underneath him.