Disclaimer: Charmed belongs to Constance M Burge, Aaron Spelling television company and the WB. Supernatural and other related entities belong to Eric Kripke and Warner Brothers in association with Wonderland sound and vision. All transcripts were found at TwizTv. No infringement intended.

Spoilers: All through season 1 of Charmed and up to the first episode of season 5 of Supernatural.

A/N: This is a re-write of a fic I lost a while back, I think the re-write is better but I'm going to leave that up to you to decide. Please R&R :)

Rating for later chapters!

Ifs and buts

Chapter 1. At the end of days

He breathed heavily in his sleep.

"Something went wrong, your paths were supposed to intertwine."

He felt tears burning his cheeks as they ran down his face, the pillow getting moist under him.

"She's dead."

He tossed and turned, barely breathing at all.

Sam had stood there, the pool of blood on the floor and-

Dean sat up in a bed he didn't recognize. What else was new, he thought to himself and looked around the room. Strange thing was, he really had no idea as to where he was. Normally he remembered something from the night before-

A flash of white, very bright light.

A faint memory of the world ending...

"Oh!" Dean's head was pounding - the headache was out this world and he felt like someone had stuffed a couple of pounds of cotton in his head. And his mouth.

He clicked his gums, feeling his dry throat only getting drier.

He got out of the bed, his feet hitting the wooden floor and he stopped. Wooden floor? In a motel? He looked around once more, trying to take in the room. It looked normal enough, but it wasn't like the motel rooms he usually stayed at. It was cleaner and it smelled different; like strawberries and spices. And unlike so many other times when he woke up, he didn't wake to a grey sky. He stumbled forward to the window and pulled away the sheer white curtain. Strange, he thought and looked out over the bay. Hey, wait, he thought, his mind churning desperatly to remember where he had seen this before.

"San Fransisco," he mumbled.

Prue turned the page, trying to look distracted by the paper, but for real she was listening to the exercise instructor on the Tv saying "Keep going. And press. And press. And press. Keep working through it."

And in front of the small TV, the real source of the distraction was Piper, repeating the movements on the TV-set and sighing heavily before she finally bubbled over.

"Unh! I give up." She turned around and put the weights on the floor and looked Prue, who looked up quickly over the edge of the paper. "Two weeks, and nothing strengthened but my temper," Piper huffed.

Prue put her paper down and picked up the case for the tape next to her on the table. "Piper, see, here's the problem. You didn't read the fine print. It says it right here, 19,95 for the video, and 20 grand for the plastic surgeon." She smiled at Piper as she stretched out on the exercise mat, her head resting on the plastic step stool she'd been using moments earlier.

"Yeah, well, it's worked for her," Piper sighed. "She's the most desired female in Amercia, what every man wants."

Prue looked at the bouncy woman. "That woman? Of course men want her. Men are no different than women. We all want what we can't have, which is why we need to stop thinking about what men want and start thinking about what we want in a man." Prue already knew the answer to her wants. Patience, strength and a nice smile.

"Tons of fun, lots of heat and no strings attached," Phoebe said, coming through the doors to the conservatory. "That's what I want." She took a mouthful of her cereal and smiled.

"Oh, I know this may not sound very P.C., but I want romance. Long, slow kisses, late-night talks, candlelight, I love love!" She looked at her older sister and smiled. "I'd take what Prue has in a flat second." Prue winced, thinking about Andy and all the secrets she had to keep from him on a daily basis. She wished he could handle the truth, but she knew he wasn't ready for it all to come undone on him.

"Mm, but then you'd have to deal with the family secret, which isn't exactly normal, now is it?" Prue picked up her mug of coffee and shook her head bitterly, leaving the room. She desperately wanted Andy to be the one, she did. That meant she had been right way back when, that meant she was with Him right now. But for some reason, she knew that her One wouldn't really have an issue with her being a witch, or everything she had to face every day. Andy would mind, he'd have issues. There was no doubt in her mind. And so the low throbbing headache set in. Just in time for her to have to go to work.

Dean stretched and looked around the room once more. He wasn't in a motel room, he'd managed to figure as much out. This was a real hotel room. He laughed as he realized he must have gotten more than drunk last night - the headache was solid proof after all. He reached into his pocket, looking for his cell. Only it wasn't there. How could it not be there? He always had his cell in his pocket, and he needed to call Sam and let him know where the hell he had gone to. Sam would be worried sick by now, if Dean knew him right.

He looked down, not reacting to this until now. He had bare feet. And a bare chest.

Where were his clothes?

Another look around the hotel room, and no sign of them anywhere. In normal cases spread across a chair, lying on the floor, maybe even hanging from the light in the ceiling. But nope.

Water. Bathroom, he thought and stumbled in the direction of the door that was slightly open. A nice white, tiled bathroom with an orange lighting fixture in the ceiling and fluffy towels hanging by the sink. He smiled as he touched the soft towels and drew a deep breath of the nice fragrance coming off them. Finally! He saw his shirt, only it didn't really look like his shirt, it looked more like those shirts normal guys had. Not flannel but soft cotton. The print was the same as all Dean's shirts, so the resemblance was incredible, but he knew what his shirts felt like - and this wasn't it. He hung it back on the hanger and looked into the shower.

Nice.

He jumped in the shower, the hot water rinsing all his worries from his mind and the dirt off his body. How had he gotten so dirty? He hadn't been digging up any graves lately, so why all the dust and dirt? He reached for the soap, feeling the bubbles forming on his skin and felt like he was in some kind of heaven.

Andy looked up from the file in his hands at his friend and colleague, Darryl Morris, and put it down on the desk. "Did you see the coroner's report?" he said, almost a little too careful.

"Mm-hmm, Skye Russell died of massive internal hemorrhaging. Her body literally imploded upon itself."

Andy wet his lips and flipped through the file. "Ever seen anything like it before?"

Darryl nodded. "Mm-hmm, on jumpers. But their bodies are usually found on sidewalks."

Andy shook his head, closing the file. "No signs of external damage consistent with any type of a fall. In fact, there wasn't a scratch on her."

Darryl opened his file again and flipped through the pages, stopping on one of the. "Yeah, well, maybe we were wrong. Maybe her body was moved…"

Andy exhaled slowly. "From where? And how?" He heaved himself out of the chair and cracked his neck, feeling a little more than confused by the whole thing. "Her front door was locked and bolted. Each window had bars on it, none of which had been tampered with in any way." He drew a hand over his face and looked at Darryl. "Nobody but she was in that apartment last night." He took another beat, really thinking about it. Suicide. It didn't feel right though, ruling it as another suicide. It didn't make any sense. And he could see Darryl thinking the same thing. That was the best thing about Morris. He could count on him to support his theories for even half a second. "It's not suicide, Morris, and it's sure not death by natural causes which leaves only one thing." He leaned his hands on Morris' desk and he looked up at him. He nodded and at the same time they said "Murder."

"I hate it when we do that," Morris said. Andy nodded in agreement before returning to his seat across from Morris.

He wiped the steam from the mirror and was starting to feel like a new Dean Winchester, one that had his life under control. He went back out into the hotel room, looking around for a closet. It was a long shot, but maybe...

He gasped, taking a step back as he took in the jam packed closet. Jeans, slacks, suits, shirts, t-shirts, balled up socks and boxers in every colour. The towel around Dean's waist fell and he, without thinking, went to the other door and slid it open - suspicious as ever. To his surprise there wasn't a hotel hallway on the other side.

There was a living room.

He took another stumbling step, this time out into the living room. His throat was still dry...

Even drier now than it had been before the shower. But the room, the living room, it looked - right. A big couch, a light green color that fit well with the brown rug and the wooden floors. The walls had a hint of red to them, but were really more like - butterscotch. It was open, very free and airy. And you could see right over the counter into the kitchen. Dean just stood there, gaping. It was amazing. And everywhere was that same smell; strawberries and spices.

He would later realized, as he got dressed, that it was his fabric softener that smelled like that.

She felt awkward in her black suit that day, like she had put it on backwards, like the fabric wasn't what it should be, that the office might have become smaller than it was last night. She leaned on her hand and closed her eyes for just a moment.

Her office phone rang, the shrill sound startling her.

"Prue Halliwell," she said in a short tone, her voice a little off from just having fallen asleep.

"This number was last dialed from my phone, and I was just wondering where I ended up."

"Buckland's."

"Yeah?"

Oh, Prue did not like this guy. Besides, he was anyhing but polite, had no phone-manners what so ever. "The auction house, Buckland's auctionhouse. In San Francisco?"

"Oh. And you are?"

"Prue Halliwell."

"Okay."

And then he hung up.

The nerve of some people, she thought as she put the handset back on the base and turned her eyes back to her papers. She took her pen in one hand and rested her head in the other. Slowly, but surely, she was lulled asleep by the soft music coming from her radio. Next time the phone's shrill ring woke her, she picked up to hear Andy's voice.

"Oh, that's so strange, I just had a dream-"

Andy mumbled something that seemed far away and a little distant. She smiled into the handset and said it was okay, they could take a rain-check. She was a little tired anyway and that she should probably head home and sleep some.

Dean walked past the huge building, the letters on the side of the house saying "Bucklands". He squinted and looked around the street. Auction house? It looked more like another sky-scraper!

Dean went into the house, looking like a lost kitten. He went up to the front desk and smiled his sweet smile, the receptionist all giggly.

"Hey," he said all smiles. "Where can I find Prue Halliwell?"

Prue hurried across the foyer, and somewhere in the back of mind she registered that the receptionist said "That's her over there, in the black dress."

Prue got to the door of the foyer with only one thing on her mind. She was about to reach out and grab the handle when she felt a hand on her arm. She turned around, more than a little annoyed, stroking a strand of hair away from her face. As she turned her body to the man who had put a hand on her arm she felt like someone had punched a whole in her body. He had broad shoulders, hazel eyes that seemed to glow a little more green in the sunlight. He was clean shaven and he looked amazing in the brown suit he was wearing. Her eyes widened, she could feel it.

"Prue Halliwell?" he asked, a nice and rugged voice. She nodded, clearing her throat and then she smiled.

"Yes, that's me. Can I help you?"

"Yes, actually."

She felt a little short of breath, a bead of sweat running down her spine, something that made her want to shiver. His warm hand in her cold one made her feel like her insides might boil any moment.

"Since you already know my name, may I have the pleasure of yours?" she asked, her voice more than it's normal formality that she had taught herself for work.

"Winchester," he smiled. "Dean Winchester."

"A pleasure, I'm sure."

"Likewise. Now, Prue," he smiled. "I need to talk to you, in private if that's possible."

She nodded. "I am actually headed home right now, but if you come back tomorrow I am sure we can have ameeting about whatever it is you need appraised of sold or-"

"No, miss Halliwell – can I call you Prue?" She nodded. "Prue, this isn't about business. I have nothing worth selling or appraising. But, I think we might have some common ground. If you could, I would love to talk to you now."

Prue sighed. As much as she liked this man, whoever he was, she really needed to go home and talk to her sisters. "Walk with me?" she asked and gestured with her head to the exit.

"Why not?" he chuckled, and reached out to open the door for her. She was taken with the gesture, he was sure behaving like a gentleman. She wondered if there was more to him than the suit and the well behaved man she saw now.

Was there any chance that this man could handle...

Oh Prue, what are you doing? she asked herself. You are in no position to be thinking about this guy like that. You don't even know him.

And another part of her, the part that she suppressed all to often laughed. Well, that's the whole fun, it said. A little flirting and a few fantasies never hurt anyone, right Prue?

Dean smiled at her and held the door for her. He looked her over and wondered where he had seen her before, if he had... It clicked as all the pieces fell into place. He had seen her, he had dreamed of her when he was younger. He had seen her like this, and then again a few days later, during a nap in the car, he had seen her as she got in her car, drove out and fell asleep behind the wheel-

He offered her his arm, something new to Dean Winchester, as they continued out on the street. She looked at him, awe and shock in her eyes. But for some reason, she took his arm with a slight smile, a smile that was shy and insecure.

He wondered what hid behind those blue eyes, what was going on inside her mind.

"I know you might think I'm insane," Dean started. "But I think you might be in danger."

She looked up at him, the smiled had faded from her face and she looked grieved. "Yes," she nodded. "I think I might be too."

He smiled at her and was about to say another something when she turned to him, facing him.

"What did you say your name was?" she demanded.

"I'm Dean – Winchester."

"And who are you?"

Jeez, relax, he wanted to say, but he knew she was cautious for a reason. "Let's just say we live in the same world, and I don't mean-" he gestured around them, "-this one."

"How's that?"

Dean leaned in close to her, the scent of her perfume filling his nose. "Some things aren't what they seem, wouldn't you agree? Like this peaceful surface. I wonder what people whould say if they knew what the bumps in the night really were..."

Prue looked at him with wide eyes, the blue becoming clearer as the sun reflected in them. "You know."

"So do you."

Piper stood her en tippy-toes, sorting through various spices when Prue came through the door. "Piper! Phoebe!" she called, stopping at the sight of Piper with all the spices and containers.

Piper licked her lips and looked a little uncomfortable. "Prue, you're home," she said, straining to sound happy. "I thought you had a date with Andy?"

Prue, putting her hands on the side of the counter, shook her head. "Uh, no, he had to cancel…" She looked the containers over and then frowned, suspecting the answer. "What are you doing?"

"Uhm…" she hesitated.

From the somewhere in the house, Phoebe called "Piper! I was wrong! The spell clearly calls for cayenne pepper not black pepper-" her voice getting closer and not as loud while she spoke. She came into the kitchen and Prue shook her head.

"Ohh," Phoebe said, closing the Book of Shadows, and looking from Piper to Prue. "Did I say spell? I—I meant recipe." The she smiled a sheepish smiled. "We're so busted aren't we?"

Prue nodded. "I would say, yes. What spell are you casting? – Never mind, I need some help. Actually." And for the first time in his life, Dean had timing as he walked through the door from the living room. "We have other things that's a bit more important..." The sisters stared at him. He waved uncomfortably.