So I don't really know how this'll work out, but I've had this story sort of in my head for a while now, and I figured I might as well give it a try.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

One second he's investigating a series of murders with his brother, talking to a possible witch who looks too shy and utterly too helpful to have any idea of what she's doing if she's even doing it at all. The next his long arms have knocked a glass from the counter and she's looking horrified at the puddle and then he's on the floor and it's dark and the girl and Dean are nowhere to be seen.

And it's not even the weirdest thing that's happened to him.

That is, until he stands up and walks (literally) straight through his mother by accident.

-X-

Dean, in the meantime, was freaking out. Of course, he would never, ever say so, but seeing his brother collapse on the floor always did it for him. Within a moment, he had his gun out and pointed at the probably-witch. Her eyes almost popped from her head and she threw up her hands. "Oh my god, I am so, so sorry, I really should clean up after myself, but, uh… I'm so sorry!" she squeaked.

"The hell did you do to him?" Dean growled.

The girl, Charlotte Whateverherlastnamewas, looked at him for a moment. "Well, technically, he knocked it over himself…" he bared down on her with the fury of a very protective Dean Winchester and she shrank down in terror. "Okay, okay, sorry, I'm sorry, it's just a little spell!"

"Yeah, I figured that out, thanks! What kind of spell?" he roared.

She made a thoughtful face. "That might take some explaining," she said slowly, then squealed back into panic when he brought another hand to his gun. "But I swear, it won't hurt him at all. I've already tried it on myself."

Dean narrowed his eyes at her, trying to determine if she was telling the truth. "Fine then," he said, not lowering the gun. "What is it?"

"I have a couple of clients that pay to know what if, so I cook this little thing up. It shows you alternate universes. Six of them, precisely."

Dean stared at her. "Wait… like… the real deal?"

She shrugged. "Far as I can tell. It shows you exactly what would have happened if A had happened instead of B, if you know what I mean."

Dean just kept staring. "You can't be serious."

She shrugged. "Hey, it works well enough. I can't exactly fact check, can I?"

He paused, rubbing at his face. "Alright," he said finally. "How do you undo it?"

She gaped at him. "You're kidding, right? I start screwing with this, I could seriously hurt him. Wait it out. He'll be up and at it again in two, three days."

Dean's hand tightened on the gun again, eyes narrowing. "Yeah, see, you're the number one suspect for murder. Nice, gritty little murders. So no, I'm not just going to chill out and let your freaky little spell do whatever to my brother."

She nodded, confused. "So you'd rather I tried a lot more spells that I don't even know how to use hoping to undo the one might be harmless?"

Dean's mouth opened and closed soundlessly, searching for something good to retort. "No," he finally managed, humiliated but determined not to show it.

"Yeah, that's what I thought." She sighed sympathetically. "Listen, I've got a brother. I get it. If you want, you can crash in the bedroom, I'll take the sofa. And I swear I'm not a murderer. I'm not even a demon worshiper. You can look at my spell books. Not a satanic word in them." Dean hesitated. She sure did seem earnest, even if she was a witch, but he certainly didn't want to lug his sleeping and/or unconscious brother into a motel room, and he certainly didn't want more spells done to him. "I'll throw in a blue berry pie, too."

Dean sighed. "Fine. But if something bad happens to him, I will kill you. Slowly."

She grinned. "Deal."

-X-

Sam had been spending the last minute trying to touch anything, but it seemed like he was the ghost in this scenario. He looked back into the nursery, where he was wailing as a baby. He just hoped this wasn't that night, even though as he wandered, he started to see the signs. Dad downstairs, asleep at the TV, Dean occasionally wobbling out of bed on stubby legs to stroke Sam's face with little fingers.

By the time baby-Sam started to cry, Sam was going insane. He ran upstairs, wishing he could call out, warn his mother…

But there was no fire. She fed him, tucked Dean back into bed when he peeked in the door, and nothing happened. He was left staring at the crib, baffled.

Suddenly, the world shifted around him, colors blurring to grey, up indistinguishable from down. He blinked it away, arms windmilling slightly to get his balance. He blinked a few times to make sure he wasn't seeing things. There, in the lawn of the Lawrence house was his mother, hand on his own three-year-old back, guiding him along the sidewalk.

He laughed disbelievingly. Of course, he had to have been seeing things. But he'd never dreamed his vividly, and he knew he had never lived this. "Witches," he muttered under his breath.

A small Dean hurried up to his mother, one arm twisting around her leg as he whispered something quietly to her. Sam smiled. Dean's blonde hair was longer and scattered around in small curls. Sam didn't remember him being this small, but he had seen pictures, all of them where Dean was trying to be tough like his father, but there was something still so Dean-like about the shy way he clung to his mother.

Mary bent down, kissing Dean on the forehead, then walked inside, leaving Dean with the tiny little Sam. Dean watched Sam carefully, protective as ever. Sam had to smile at that. And then he lurched forward when the little Sam stumbled into the street, right under a car that had no chance of stopping in time.

"Sammy!" Dean cried, diving into his brother and knocking him so that he rolled under the car, between the tires. He himself was not so lucky, the car slamming him into the air before it could screech to a stop. Sam and Sammy made the same moves, both running for Dean and both coming to a stop before their shattered brother.

Sam blinked away tears. "Oh, God, Dean," he whispered. This couldn't be true. Their mother survived only to have them lose Dean to a car? "Please don't be dead." But it was hard to look at the inside of someone's skull and still hope they were alive.

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