This fic idea was just in my mind for a little bit so I decided to share it with you guys :)

Summary: Dean's year is up. Except, when the hellhounds come to collect his soul, they can't. Because Dean Winchester is not really Dean. Not really. All of these years John has been keeping a huge secret… post season 3.

Disclaimer: I do not own supernatural nor any of the characters

Swapped Years Ago

Chapter 1

The hellhounds were coming for him.

Dean cursed under his breath, ran into the closest room with Sam in tow, and together they held the door shut. It worked…. sort of. Until a hellhound jumped through the window, growled loudly, and sniffed the room.

The hellhound looked almost confused. Dean could only stare. What the hell? Was that normal behavior for hell's monstrous creatures? Then again, the hellhound they fought about a year ago just darted straight at its victim. Apparently this one seemed more… lost? Was it new? A baby hellhound? Not that it looked young. The hellhound looked huge and viscous, with a blank, dumbfounded look.

"Dean, I don't think it recognizes you," Sam said, adjusting his hellhound-lens glasses.

"No kidding, Sherlock," Dean said, just staring at the hellhound with a mix of terror and awe.

The hellhound then moved closer to Sam, sniffing him.

"Whoah," Dean said. "You're going after the wrong guy."

But the hellhound didn't seem to listen to Dean; he continued to approach Sam. He seemed to be at fault of what to do. Then, the door to the room bolted open and an overweight man in a suit walked in. Sam and Dean could only stare.

"That's enough!" the man yelled. "What's the matter, Fire? You do this every time! You know your order: collect the soul and bring it back to me!"

Dean stared at the man, wide-eyed. Was this man—no, demon, Dean realized, as it had to be a demon—talking to the hellhound? No, giving the hellhound orders? Dean never heard of a demon that had that kind of power.

"Who are you?" Dean asked.

But the man answered by flinging Dean and Sam both to the wall with a sticking gravity. Typical demon.

"The name's Crowley," the demon said. "I happen to be the demon who holds your deal, Dean. As soon as we get this idiotic hellhound straightened up, you'll be sent to hell in no time."

That was certainly not a comforting thought, but Dean wasn't going to give up. "Like to see you try," Dean said.

Crowley clapped his hands. "Fire! Fire, what's wrong with you? Dean Winchester's year is up and he's still breathing thanks to you! What is this? Some rebellious streak?"

"Why don't you just kill me yourself?" Dean said, raising his eyebrows while looking in pain trying to escape the gravity pull to the wall.

"I'm a traditionalist, Dean," Crowley said. "I let my hellhounds do my bidding. And I want to teach this hellhound a freaking lesson!" He clapped his hands. "Fire. Take Dean Winchester! I do not have to tell you twice!"

The hellhound started approaching Sam.

"I said Dean. Dean Winchester. Not Sam. Fire, are you getting blind?" Crowley grumbled. This 'lesson' was making Dean pretty irritated. If he was going to die, he'd rather get it over with. The growing anticipation was torture. Crowley seemed to be loosing his patience and snapped his fingers. Three other hellhounds showed. Dean watched, his eyes widening.

The hellhounds darted for Sam. "Hey!" Dean yelled. "Hey, the deal was with me, you stupid hellhounds!"

The hellhounds started to claw Sam and Crowley let Dean off the wall—Sam too, but it wasn't like he could very much move. "Oh please," Crowley said, rolling his eyes. He snapped his fingers and the hellhounds just… calmly went to his side. "I did not tell you to go after Sam Winchester. What is it with you these hellhounds these day? You guys are getting more idiotic by the minute! That is enough." He snapped his fingers again and the hellhounds just… left.

"There must have been some… issues with your contract, Dean," Crowley said. "It must have gotten skewed."

"Skewed? Are you freaking kidding me?" Dean said in his growly voice. "I didn't do anything to break the deal! Sam shouldn't have to die!"

Crowley pulled something out of his pocket… the contract. "Here it says the deal was Dean Winchester's soul for bringing his brother, Sam Winchester, back to the life. If Dean tries to break the deal in any way, Sam dies. And Dean, you didn't break the deal, if I'm correct?"

"No!" Dean said. "'Course not. I knew the rules."

"Huh," Crowley said. "This makes things more complicated. Of course, I could just kill yourself myself Dean and meet you in hell, except I'm starting to think I don't even own your soul."

"Come again?" Dean said, completely lost.

"I don't think I own your soul, Dean. One hellhound confused, I get. But my three most loyal hellhounds? I'd say that was more than a coincidence. Either the deal was deemed 'invalid' or you are not Dean Winchester."

"Of course I'm Dean Winchester!"

"My hellhounds had an order to go after Dean Winchester. Ironically, they went after Sam."

Sam seemed to be putting the pieces together in his head. Was he—no. That was not possible. He was Sam, always has been. Dean was his older brother. And yet what Crowley seemed to be saying…. it made his damn head hurt.

"Yeah, well, your hellhounds don't seem to be the brightest," Dean said.

"If I were you two, I would go to do a little family research," Crowley said.

"What about my soul?" Dean said, his eyes wide. "You're not going to… take it?"

"The deal was somehow invalid. No one's going to hell any time soon." And at that, Crowley just left leaving a staring Sam and Dean.

"Do you think Crowley was right?" Sam asked.

"About?"

"About you and me—about how we should do a little family research?"

"You're not buying that crap, are you?" Dean said. "Demon's lie, Sammy. And Crowley was one hell of a demon."

"Dean—"

"Let's find a motel, okay?" Dean said. They got inside the impala and Sam looked like he wanted to say a billion words. "Think on the bright side, Sammy. Hell's out of the picture."

"Yeah, for now. But you saw the way the hellhounds came after me, Dean. They seemed to think I was you."

"We're brothers," Dean said. "Our DNA must be kinda similar."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "We're not twins."

Dean shrugged. "Similar enough."

They got to a motel. Later that night Dean decided to head to the bar to celebrate not dying, but Sam wasn't really in the celebrating mood. He said he wanted to hit the library instead.

"Okay, geek-boy," Dean said and left the motel like that.

Sam didn't actually hit the library. Instead, he went to his dad's old storage unit, the one he and Dean discovered a few months ago when the rabbit foot went missing and later got stolen by the sneaky Bela. Fortunately, the storage unit was not far from where he and Dean were currently staying —it was about a forty-minute drive north. Sam could easily head there, search around, and come back in ample time before Dean could notice. And a little speed-driving helped.

When Sam actually made it to the storage unit, it looked the same as it had looked before— a lot of wooden boxes everywhere.

Sam searched the entire place. He stumbled upon a photo album. Opening it, there was a note inside. It read: To Sam.

To Sam (or the real Dean),

There are things you don't know about you and your brother.

In 1983, I took you and Dean with me on a hunt. It was short after the fire and I didn't have anyone to babysit you boys. We were up against two witch sisters and after I killed the first witch the other witch took vengeance. You and Dean, or Dean and you… switched places. Yes, in the literal sense. You were four and trying to protect your little brother when the spell hit you both. You kept babbling 'I'm Dean, I'm Dean,' but in Sammy's body you couldn't quite make the words out. I think over time you just sort of forgot who you really were. I decided to call you Sam then now on and call Sammy Dean.

If you ever read this letter, I am sorry. I had no idea how to break this to you, Sam, that you are really Dean. But it's the truth. Our lives are really messed up…

Dad

All Sam could do was stare. Here was proof. But Sam remembered his childhood. He remembered long days in motels, Dean taking care of him. He didn't remember anything about him being Dean. The thought sent chills down his spine.

Sam saw another letter labeled: To Dean. He couldn't help but open that one, too.

To Dean (or the real Sammy),

Dean, if you're reading this, I apologize for never telling you. You are Sam—and I mean that in the literal sense. On a witch hunt in 1983, you switched places with your brother. You were just an infant. At first, I didn't know what was happening. I thought Dean just went mute like after the fire that killed your mother, but I took you to see Missouri, this psychic back in Kansas. She explained your spirit was in Dean's body.

Remember one day I told you that, sometimes as you get older, you forgot your childhood memories? Luckily, you seemed to behave like a four year old would, your brother's body accustomed to certain things, but often at the beginning you were confused when I started calling you 'Dean.' I only did that because it was easier. I wanted to keep the same name to the face.

It's always probably why you don't actually remember the fire that killed your mother. I know you think you carried Sam out of the fire, but you were Sam. Dean, you were Sam. You only remember the story because I probably talked about it a thousand times back then, and with a four-year-old cognition, you understood.

Dad

Sam could only stare. Dean had to see this. He picked up both of the letters and drove back to the motel.

When he arrived, Dean was already back. "How was the library, Sammy?" Dean said.

"Actually, I went to Dad's old storage unit."

Dean rolled his eyes. "How many times do I have to tell you? Demon's lie. Especially one's like Crowley. You know that."

"What do remember about the fire that took mom?" Sam blurted, unable to help himself.

"I carried you out, Sammy, you know that," Dean said, raising his eyebrows.

"Yeah, but do you actually remember that or did Dad just tell you?" Sam asked.

"I was a kid! You think I'm going to remember everything in high division?"

"It was a pretty traumatic night, Dean," Sam said. "If you're going to remember anything from your childhood, it would be that night." Even Sam could kind of see the flames, just thinking about his mother's death.

"No, I don't remember the actual thing, but that doesn't mean a freakin' thing," Dean said. "I was four. I carried you out—I know that part. And that Dad became hellbent on finding Azazel."

"You're remembering it wrong, Dean," Sam said. "Look, I found these letters from Dad in his storage unit. He said took the two of us on a witch hunt back in '83. The witch was furious Dad killed her twin sister and casted a spell on us for revenge."

"That's crazy," Dean said. "Dad didn't take us on any hunts back then. I didn't go on my first hunt until I was twelve."

"Maybe because Dad learned from his mistake?" Sam said.

Dean didn't want to deal with this right now. "Sam—"

"No, it's Dean. I'm Dean. Read this." Sam handed Dean his letter.

Dean began reading it out loud, starting with a funny tone. His funny tone disappeared at 'You are Sam—and I mean that in a literal sense.'" After that, Dean read the rest of the letter quietly. Then Dean looked up at Sam. "What if someone else wrote these letters to fool us? I mean, a couple of guys had broken into the garage."

"I don't think so, Dean," Sam said. "They only came for that rabbit foot. They couldn't have been there long. And besides, I found the letter inside a photo album tucked away pretty deep. I doubt Dad was ever going to show us these letters."

"So, I'm Sam and… your Dean," Dean said, trying to make sense with all that new knowledge.

"Maybe that explains why you got held back a year at school," Sam said.

"What are you talking about?" Dean said, rolling his eyes. "I didn't."

"When I was a freshman, you were a senior," Sam said. "And we're four years apart, not three."

"I wasn't held back." Dean looked a bit offended. "Dad enrolled me a second year of preschool. Said it was because the fire and thought I needed to, I don't know, recover more before heading into kindergarten." He paused. "But now…" He was in a loss for words. "I just don't get it, man. Why would Dad keep it a secret?"

"Maybe because it freaked him out?" Sam said. "He was still new to all of this hunting business. If the witch hunt was in 1983, he had to have been hunting for only—what? Weeks? A month? It must have shocked him, and I guess he wanted to just pretend that never happened."

"So, he suppressed your memories?" Dean said. "Still makes no sense."

"Well, when I became…. you, I was a baby again, right? So, I guess my cognitive brain kind of got messed up."

Dean shook his head. "This is all kinds of crazy, Sammy, or Dean, or whatever."

Sam stiffened at Dean calling him 'Dean.' "You can still call me Sam, you know. Nothing's really changed. I'm still me and you're still you."

"Okay, Sammy," Dean said.

"I said you could call me Sam, Dean," Sam said, rolling his eyes. "Not Sammy."

"Hey, you think that witch is still out there?"

"What? The one that switched us?"

"I don't know," Dean said. "Yeah. Maybe."

"Probably," Sam said. "I hope we don't see her again, Dean. I think I would feel weird being you."

"You are me, dude."

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah, I hope we don't run into that witch, either. Can't imagine myself being freakishly tall!"

Sam rolled his eyes. Because it was getting late, the two of them decided to go to bed. Little did they know that things were getting to get very complicated the next morning.