Title: "Heaven or Hell"
Author: Pirate Turner
Dedicated To: My beloved Jack, who inspires me non-stop and has been encouraging me to do a longer story for a very long time now -- Happy Early Valentine's Day, Love!!
Rating: R for sexual content
Summary: A slip through time brings the Winchester brothers to a place where they must face childhood heroes, a race, a restless spirit, and one of the biggest questions of their lives.
Warnings: Slash; (W)Incest; Femme Slash; Briefly Referenced Het; Crossover
Disclaimer: Dean and Sam Winchester, Supernatural, and all other character names and titles are © & TM their respective owners, not the author, and are used without permission. Everything else is © & TM the author. The author makes absolutely no profit off of this work of fan fiction, and no copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter One

"We're lost."

"No, we're not." Dean kept his eyes on the road ahead, not even glancing at Sam, as he retightened his grip on the steering wheel. They couldn't be lost! He didn't get lost! He listened to the beat of the music and let it thrum into him, hoping that Sam would forget the ridiculous notion but knowing he wouldn't. Once his little brother got started, he was as bad as a dog with a bone.

Sam thumped the map that was sprawled in front of him, filling the front passenger seat and spilling beside him as well. "Yeah, we are."

"Sam, we are not lost -- "

Sam cut him off as he flapped his wrist and pointed his fingers toward the road signs they were passing. "None of this is supposed to be here, Dean! Look at the map," he demanded, thumping it. "The signs are all wrong! It's supposed to be . . . " His words stuck in his throat as a small town suddenly sprawled before them.

"See?" Dean returned with a triumphant grin. "I told you we weren't lost!"

Sam pursed his lips in thought, then quietly folded the map. This wasn't right, he thought, looking at the businesses that lined the one-lane street. There was supposed to be a Wal-Mart to the right, not a hardware store that looked like it had been nestled there between the tiny bakery and the small grocery store forever. His brown eyes roamed the street, looking for some sign of something familiar, but he could find nothing. As Dean muttered about the ridiculous speed limit, Sam continued to sit quietly and search the buildings they were passing. He noted that the few people seemed to be wearing old clothes, and his jaw slacked when he spotted a poodle skirt.

He thought, for a split second, about pointing the pig-tailed girl out to Dean but then thought better of it. The long drive had made him cranky, and Dean wasn't willing to listen right now to anything other than being assured that they were traveling the right path and would soon be arriving at the spot of their latest mission, but Sam would not lie to him and had no such words of reassurance at the moment. Finally, he spotted a spinning sign up ahead and leaned forward to point it out. "Let's stop for a moment, get something to eat."

Dean gave his brother a half-grin. "Hungry again already, baby? I didn't fill ya up back at the hotel?"

Sam blushed, and Dean chuckled. "Dean, that's not -- "

"I know," he assured, already feeling better. "We can stop there, but," he paused, making a face as they neared the little joint, "are you sure you wanna eat here, Sammy? It's a bit old-fashioned . . . "

"Yeah," Sam nodded his agreement and continued, hoping this was his chance, "this whole town seems a little old. Did you see that girl in a poodle skirt?"

Dean flashed him a grin. "Since when do you watch chicks?"

"Dean, that's not my point," he explained tiredly. "Hello? Poodle skirt? Those things went out of fashion way before disco."

"So?" Dean asked with a roll of his shoulders. "Everything goes back in eventually."

"Yeah, but . . . Her hair was in pigtails, and she wasn't the only one. There's supposed to be a Wal-Mart back there. There were children jumping rope and playing hopscotch. And how do you explain this restaurant?"

"Sam, stop looking for trouble where there isn't any. So what if this is a backwoods town? How many of those have we had to deal with? Just come on, get your food, let me take the lizard for a walk, and we'll be back on our way. We're just passing through, remember?"

Sam closed his eyes and nodded reluctantly. He sighed, but before he could reopen his eyes and face Dean, he felt his hand cup gently around his jaw. His eyes fluttered open to Dean's warmly penetrating gaze. "We have more than enough trouble, Sammy. You don't have to worry about everything. Some things are just because they are. Look at the people around here. Do any of them look like they're trouble?" At Sam's silent shake of his head, Dean breathed against his mouth, "Then stop worrying about it."

Dean pressed his lips to Sam's, his tongue thrusting deep into his sweet mouth in hungry search of the blissful nectar only he could provide him. His fingers caressed his cheek while the fingers of his other hand ran through his thick, brown hair. His baby worried too much, Dean thought, especially over nothing that needed their attention, and he only hoped that the kiss would help him relax and forget about the worries that plagued him. As he felt Sam grow limp beneath him and then begin to kiss him back with growing passion, Dean smiled confidently against his mouth, but little did he know that Sam had only put his concerns on the back burner temporarily.

Time ceased to exist for them as they kissed, lost in each other's loving embrace, until a sudden knock on their window sent them flying apart. Dean fell hard back into the driver's seat and glared up at the girl who peered inside the car at them. "YOU'D BETTER HAVE A DAMN GOOD -- "

The girl had been staring at the brothers since they had parted, and now, at last seeing clearly and realizing that she was indeed seeing what she thought she had, she shrieked. "YOU'RE GUYS!" The tray she had carried clattered to the ground as she skated swiftly away.

"Damn bitch!" Dean snapped. He started to turn back to his beloved partner, but Sam was already getting out of the car. Dean hit the dash in frustration, then instantly flattened his palm against the spot and softly rubbed his baby. "Sorry, girl, he's just got me going out of my brain," he murmured before opening the door and reluctantly getting out.

Old rock and roll music and the hum of conversation instantly greeted him. Dean looked around as he walked. Waitresses in pink uniforms zipped pass him on roller blades, and Sam was right. There was far more than just one chick in a poodle skirt. In fact, most of the customers seemed to be a few years younger than them, and almost all were dressed in either poodle skirts or old slacks. Dean grinned at Sam. "They're really going for the old-timey feel, aren't they?"

Sam returned his gaze with apprehension in his brown eyes. "Dean, I think it's more than that. I think . . . "

Dean sighed as he gave in. "We'll look into it when I get out of the john, Sam."

Sam nodded, feeling as though a great weight had just been lifted off of his shoulders. It was always easier to fight something when his brother believed in him. Everything was easier when Dean believed in him. They walked into the restaurant together, and Dean left Sam standing in line, gawking at the prices, as he headed for the restrooms. Sam stared in disbelief at the menu until a boy cleared his throat behind him.

"Hum, sir, you're next."

Sam shook himself, realizing that he had been stopped dead in his tracks in shock at the crazy prices. He looked over his shoulder and felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end at the familiar face. He gazed into eyes that he knew he knew and a freckled, redheaded face that made his heart cease beating in . . . What? Sam thought, his eyes widening. It certainly wasn't love; Dean was the only one he'd felt that for. Then he placed the feeling, a second later, as his knees felt weak and his mouth dry. For some reason, this boy -- this seemingly innocent, human boy terrified him!

The redhead smiled, and Sam felt his pulse quicken as he thrust his hand out to him. "You're new in town, aren't you? Name's Richie Cunningham."

Sam stared, unable to speak, move, or even think pass the message that flashed across his brain. He began to gasp for air, but his lungs seemed frozen for they refused to breathe. And then he heard Dean's thunderous yell.

To Be Continued . . .