Supernatural and its characters belong to The CW. I am not publishing this for monetary profit. Enjoy.

9:00 a.m., November 1, 1983
Lawrence, Kansas

Dean Winchester ended up in an alley, both feet squishing into two black trash bags. "Ugh." He stepped onto dry ground and looked around. He didn't see Crowley anywhere.

"Up here, Dean," called Crowley. Dean looked up and saw the demon standing on the rooftop of the one story brick building beside him. Crowley waved hi and teleported down to ground level. "Well, that was about as fun as a weasel necktie," Crowley muttered.

"What do you mean?" Dean frowned. "It was painless. We just ended up here."

"Yeah, painless for you, kid." Crowley grimaced. "My soul is not at 100% capacity. Moving it through time takes a lot more work-and pain."

Dean nodded. "Huh. Interesting." It looked like Crowley was about to hurl. His face was as pale as a sheet, and he stood hunched over as if he could vomit at any moment. He promptly did, upchucking a pile of sulfur into the alley.

"Jeez." Dean covered his nose and walked out of the alley and onto the sidewalk. Crowley gave him the stink eye to go along with the fresh stench of rotten eggs. Dean looked around the street. It wasn't busy at this time of day, when most people would be at work. A truck or two rumbled by, but nothing more.

Crowley looked around as if enraptured by a wondrous sight. He spoke. "Well. Happy National Novel Writing Month, Dean."

"What?" Dean followed the demon down the sidewalk and watched as he grabbed a newspaper out of a bin. Crowley unfolded it and started reading the headlines. Dean rolled his eyes. "Hey. Crowley. Let's get a move on. We've got to find my parents."

"Oh, shut up, Dean, I'm reading." Dean shifted and raised an eyebrow. Crowley looked up at him. "Unlike you, I don't usually get the chance to travel back to the glory days."

"What do you mean, the glory days?" Dean asked. "Have you seen what people wear in the 1980's? Not to mention that this is the decade that music went to crap."

"What are you blabbering on about, Dean?" Crowley looked up at him with an expression of disdain. "You ever heard of Prince? Madonna?"

Dean stared at Crowley with newfound horror. "What the hell, man? Your music taste is awful, okay?"

"It is not awful. I'm just not afraid to like popular music. You're just a hipster, Dean, plain and simple."

Dean blinked. "A hipster. Riiight."

"It's true, Dean, you're just a poor excuse for a hipster, and that's all."

Dean grit his teeth and looked away, raising a hand to his forehead. "Can we just get going?" he asked.

"We've got the whole day," Crowley answered. "There's no hurry. Want to go to a concert, watch The Return of the Jedi?"

Dean sighed. "Let's just save Sammy so I can get back to my damn life."

"All right," said Crowley. "You asked for it. Let's hitch a ride."

"What, you can't teleport?" Dean raised an eyebrow.

"Not really. I just got blown back 30 years by an angel." Crowley grimaced.

Dean shrugged. "All right then." He wrung his hands. What if it all turned out badly in the end? It was him and wannabe Lucifer going up against Azazel and an archangel. It sure would be nice to have Sam backing me up on this one, he thought.

()()()

When he saw the house, whole like it had been, not yet burnt down, Dean could only think bad thoughts. He and Crowley were across the street in a piece-of-crap Volkswagen they'd rented a few hours earlier, eating chili cheese fries and waiting for disaster to strike. Dean felt like he couldn't keep still, but he forced himself to sit and wait. I'm going to have to watch as Mom burns on the ceiling, he thought. Son of a bitch, I can't do this. I can't handle this.

He shifted in his seat and looked over at Crowley. "What time is it?"

"7:30," the demon responded. "We've got a while longer to wait."

Dean sighed and rubbed his eyes. "I hate this so friggin' much."

Crowley nodded. "I would say I feel your pain, if I wasn't the King of Hell."