Chapter Fifty-Six

Dean woke up to the sound of thunder and to the sound of the TV playing in the room. A black and white movie was on the screen.

The room he was in was dark but not pitch black. He realized he was alone and he didn't know where he was.

"What the hell?"

The last thing he remembered was going into that abandoned warehouse and being cornered by that jinn. He'd been surprised to find that it had looked like a regular man aside from the electric eyes and the blue tattoos everywhere.

Where was he now? Definitely not a hotel room. There was only one bed and Alyson wasn't in it beside him. There was a closet, no bathroom.

He got up, saw his jeans on the floor, and slipped them on. He didn't feel his phone in the pockets, so he cautiously left the room and went down a short hallway that led to what had to be the living room.

There was a couch, a few comfortable looking chairs, a TV, a guitar in the corner. He hadn't played the guitar in so long.

He went around what he now knew was an apartment, flipping a few lights on along the way, and finally found his phone. He immediately called Sam.

"Dean? What's goin' on?"

"I dunno. I don't know where I am."

"What? What happened?"

"Well, the jinn. It – it attacked me."

"The gin? You're drinkin' gin?"

"No, the jinn, the scary creature. Remember?" Maybe Sam had been the one drinking. Dean had left him at the hotel to research the thing so Dean could find it and kill it quickly. "It put its hand on me and then I woke up in some apartment, alone."

"Dean, you're drunk. You're drunk dialing me."

"I am not drunk," he said, starting to pace back and forth. "Quit screwin' around."

"Look, it's late. Just get some sleep, and I'll see ya tomorrow. Okay?"

"Sam!"

Sam hung up on him. Dean was so confused by the conversation he'd just had that he didn't bother calling Sam back. He thought about calling Aly but she was at Bobby's, miles away, and she would do nothing but worry about him if he called her acting as confused as he felt, so he didn't call her at all.

Besides, he was fairly certain he wasn't in any immediate danger. He really was alone in this apartment. He did a quick sweep of the place looking for clues. When he made it to the kitchen, he found mail that was addressed to him there on the table.

"Lawrence?"

Why was he there? How did he get there?

None of the envelopes provided an answer.

He did, however, notice something on his way back into the living room that stopped him cold in his tracks: A picture of his mom with him and Sam, one on each side of her. But the picture couldn't be real because he and Sam had to be in their early teens in that picture.

He picked the frame up so fast he almost dropped it – he needed to touch it, make sure it was real. It was.

"Mom?"

He had to find his keys. If he really was in Lawrence, he needed to find his mom, and the first place he would check was his old house. At least he knew where that was. And if his mom was alive, then maybe there had never been a nursery fire, maybe none of this demon crap had ever happened.

Had he been dropped into an alternate dimension or something? That would explain why Sam had seemed to have no clue what a jinn was.

First thing first, though: He had to go see his mom.

As Dean had expected earlier, his childhood home was fully intact. There was no evidence of a fire ever happening there.

Once Dean had found his keys, he'd pretty much hightailed it out of the apartment and over to this house. He'd been relieved to find that he still owned Baby in whatever alternate dimension he'd woken up in. He'd found her in the parking lot easily, and was now sitting outside his old house.

For all his rush to get there, he was now thinking about whether or not he should go knock on the door. It was the middle of the night. What if his mom didn't live in this house in the weirdo world he was in?

He eventually realized it didn't matter. If his mom was in there, he wanted to see her, needed to see her. And if she wasn't, then at least he would know he needed to look for her somewhere else.

He probably shouldn't have pounded on the front door like a crazy person or rang the doorbell over and over until someone opened the door, but he did. And there she was.

Dean was unable to breathe for a few seconds and it felt as if his heart had stopped in his chest for just as long. It wasn't until she said his name, all soft and concerned, that he was able to inhale again.

"Mom?"

"Are you okay?"

For once, Dean didn't lie and say yes. He said, "I don't know," because it was the truth.

His mom – if it was his mom – reached out a hand to touch his shoulder and he leaned away. If it wasn't really his mom, if it was something acting like his mom, he didn't want it touching him.

"Well, come inside."

He did and she shut the door behind them. She'd obviously been sleeping. She had a gown on with a pink robe over it. She tried to lead him into the living room, but Dean stopped walking before they could get there.

"Let me ask you a question."

His mom moved further into the room before turning to look at him.

"When I was a kid, what did you always tell me when you put me to bed?"

"Dean, I don't understand."

"Just answer the question."

"I told you angels were watching over you."

Dean's breath caught again when she answered correctly and he moved forward to pull her to him. She didn't hesitate to hug him back.

"Honey, you're scaring me." She pushed him away so she could look at him. "Now, tell me what's going on."

"You don't think that wishes can really –"

"What?"

Dean shook his head, knowing she wouldn't understand.

"Forget it." He hugged her again. "Forget it. I'm just . . . I'm happy to see ya, that's all."

He tightened his grip as his throat and eyes burned. He continued holding onto her until he got himself more under control.

When he let go, he said, "You're beautiful."

His mom smiled, tired but amused. "What?"

He smiled back, but turned away because his eyes began burning again. He took in the flowered wallpaper and the shelves that held books and pictures.

"Hey, when I was a kid, was there ever a fire here?"

"No, never."

Dean looked at a picture of him and Sam standing in front of their mom and dad. He was about ten and Sam was about six. They were out in front of the tree in the front yard.

There were random pictures that seemed to have been taken on the spur of the moment; there were prom pictures – of him! Had he actually gone to prom in this world? – pictures of Sam in his graduation cap and gown. Just memories of the childhood he and Sam should have had, the childhood they had been robbed of.

There was even a black-and-white picture of his dad in a baseball uniform, posed as if he were about to swing the bat he was holding.

"Dad's on a softball team?"

He looked at his mom, who was watching him carefully and with concern.

"Dad's softball team. That's – that's funny to me."

Of course, he couldn't explain why it was funny. Couldn't explain that in the world he'd grown up in they had never stayed in a place long enough for his dad to be a part of anything, for any of them to.

"He loved that stupid team."

The way she was speaking – fondly and wistfully – made Dean look up and he knew.

"Dad's dead?" He had gotten his mom back; he probably shouldn't have expected anything else. "And the thing that killed him was a . . ."

"A stroke. He died in his sleep. You know that."

So his dad had gone peacefully in his sleep? Nothing supernatural had gotten hold of him. Nothing supernatural had gotten hold of any of them.

"You've been drinking," his mom said, disappointed but not angry.

"No, I haven't, Mom."

He sat down on the couch and his mom stood over him.

"Are you sure you're all right?"

"I think so."

"Okay." She leaned over and kissed him on the head. "Stay here tonight. Get some rest."

"Yeah."

He watched his mom go towards the stairs. She turned before going up and said, "I love you."

Dean couldn't remember the last time he'd heard those words from his mother. Logically, he knew it was probably the night she'd died, but he still couldn't remember it. Now, here she was saying it and giving him kisses on the head.

She was there with him. She hadn't been killed by a demon, and there had never been a fire in the house. His dad had died of a stroke; he hadn't had to trade his life for Dean's.

He still needed to figure out the whole situation with Sam and Alyson, but first he needed to process the fact that his mom was somehow alive.

Given what had happened, it was surprising that Dean was able to sleep, but he did. When he woke up, he thought he'd had a really strange dream until he opened his eyes and saw that he was still in his childhood home.

He sat up quickly, his neck stiff from having slept on the couch, and took in everything again. Mostly the pictures.

The house was quiet, so he didn't know if his mom was still asleep or not. It gave him time to think.

This had to be the work of the jinn. He had told Alyson that jinns were basically genies. Dean had always dreamed about what it would be like if his mom hadn't died. Maybe he'd had his wish granted. It sounded outside the realm of possibility, but it was the only thing that made any kind of sense.

Dean grabbed his phone from the table, planning on calling Alyson even though she would probably have no clue what a jinn was now, just as Sam hadn't. He still wanted to talk to her, if just to hear her voice.

He opened up his contact list and almost immediately felt his heart sink. Alyson's name wasn't there. It was usually the first name listed since the names were listed alphabetically.

"What the hell?"

He checked his call log and couldn't find her number there either, and, no, he didn't know it by heart. He never thought he'd have to.

Why wasn't her number there? Did he not know her in this world? Had they never met? God, they probably hadn't. It wouldn't make sense for them to have.

The only reason they'd met in the first place was because he and Sam were hunters and Sam had dreamed about her. She'd lived in San Francisco and, in this world, Dean had never had a reason to leave Lawrence.

Considering he had no reason to believe anything supernatural existed in this world, he thought Alyson was probably in college by now – or at least working somewhere. Maybe her mom was alive, too, or maybe Jack had never left. He wouldn't have had to go into hunting either.

Maybe she was living a normal and safe life.

First thing first: He needed to do some research. He had to know if this jinn thing could really grant wishes.

The first thing Dean did was check out the local library to see if they had any books on mythology, which they didn't. Most public libraries didn't. He and Sam usually found their information at college libraries or by borrowing books from Bobby.

The next thing he did was look up the names of professors in nearby colleges who taught mythology. He knew he wouldn't find one at a community college, not a well-versed one anyway. He eventually found on a few towns over and headed over once he found out the man's office hours.

He called ahead to make sure the guy would be available to talk and they went ahead and set up a time. When he was finally seated in the professor's office, the man asked what he could do for him, so Dean brought up jinns.

"Well, a lot of Muslims believe the jinn are very real. They're mentioned in the Koran."

"Yeah. Yeah, yeah, I know that. Get to the wish part."

"What about it?"

"Do you think they can do it?"

The professor gave him a look of confusion from the other side of the desk.

"Uh . . . um, no. No, I don't think they can really do it." He took a short breath before continuing. "You understand that these are mythic creatures?"

"Yeah. No, I know. I know. But, I mean, in the stories – Ya know, say you had a wish, but you never even said it out loud – like a loved one never died, or that somethin' awful never happened . . ."

The professor nodded. "Supposedly, yes. I mean, they have god-like power. They can alter reality however they want. Past, present, future."

"Why would the jinn do it? Self-defense? Or maybe it's not really evil?"

The professor seemed amused. "Son, you been drinkin'?"

"Everybody keeps asking' me that, but, uh . . . no."

Dean left the university shortly after having been accused of being drunk. He did what he should have already done: he checked the trunk of his car for weapons. There weren't any. There wasn't a hidden compartment for them either.

It was, however, a little messy – magazines, old and dirty rags that were black with oil, old fast food containers and paper cups. Apparently this version of him didn't care about clutter in his car.

Either way, he seemed to really be a civilian here.

Before he could get in the driver's seat, he noticed a girl staring at him from across the street. She was pale, dressed in a white dress that reached her knees. Her shoes were also white.

She was noticeable to him even through the mass of people surrounding her. They didn't seem to notice the girl at all even though she seemed to be the right age to be a college student herself. Though she wasn't carrying anything to show that she attended school.

Dean continued watching her and she continued watching him, but when a few cars passed by, blocking his view, she was no longer across the street.

Dean thought it was weird, but the cars had been blocking her from his eyesight, so she easily could have gone inside. She had been standing by the entrance to the building, so it was entirely possible.

As long as this was the only encounter he had with the girl, he wasn't going to worry about it.