"Yeah."

"Bobby?"

"Yeah?"

"It's me."

"Who's me ?"

"Dean-!"

The line cut off.

He tried again.

"Who is this?"

"Bobby, listen to me-"

"-This ain't funny," the voice cut him off sharply, "call again and I'll kill ya'."

The dial tone cut through the cheap, grunge-covered payphone, and Dean stared at it in startled confusion, snapping his eyes out the clear wall to see the female mindlessly sorting through her duffel bag, boredom on her face as she tapped her fingers to a beat he couldn't hear. She'd told him that, with him being "dead", it was stupid to call a grieving family.

"Are you coming?" the mouthed words were the only offered communication she gave him before she'd driven them both in the direction of Sioux Falls.

Dean had tried, repeatedly, to ask her things, but she would rev the engine over his words, ignore him, or pointedly turn up the radio, often when Queen or Kasas came on.

At least he didn't complain about the music.

When she'd pulled into the scrap yard with a turn of gravel and a grunt of annoyance, she pulled the helmet off of her head quickly and nearly slapped it into the blonde's chest. He'd been resolutely silent the last half hour of the ride, most likely with nerves, but with those nerves came the hunter's habits. While holding tightly to her waist the entire length of the ride, his thumbs had rubbed slow, rhythmic circles into the flesh there. Had she not felt how coiled and concerned he was behind her, she would have thought he was doing it on purpose.

"Here's our stop."

The green-eyed male blinked quickly as he undid the helmet, letting the black visor flick up so he could briefly examine the house, and taking it off much the same way she had, though his anxiety seemed to have melted. Pure relief. That was all he could feel. He glanced toward the girl, who, rather than mounting her bike to leave, had kicked out her ankles and relaxed against the taut leather, throwing her head back with a loud, deep sigh and closed her eyes.

"Hurry on ahead, I just need a second," her voice was, as it had mostly been since he'd met her, quiet, and smooth, his jaw working a bit as he glanced at the house, the girl, her bike, and then closed his eyes, making up his mind.

"Alright, come on in when you're ready, then. I still have questions."

"So do I," she turned to give him a small, playful smile, and he could see the watered-down flames of amusement in her flecked eyes, before they were once again hidden by her bangs as she lied back. "I'll be just a second, Cowboy."

Dean took a slow, deep breath in, before nodding, and turning to trample up the stairs. He could see a flicker of movement by the curtain, and, after giving the wooden door five, firm knocks, waited only a few seconds before it opened to the gruff, older male that was his father figure; growing up, and now.

"Surprise." He shrugged a bit, but he was smiling. He was back.

"I-.." Bobby took a step back, face pale as he tried to understand what was in front of him, countless answers, all monster-types, flickering across his eyes as he tried to determine what exactly would kill the imposter in front of him, "I don't.."

"Yeah, me neither.." the air seemed to settle around him, and not for the first time, he wondered what in the absolute fuck happened to bring him back topside. "But.. here I am.."

Bobby's fingers inched along the end table behind him, his face carefully blank until he swung forward with the silver blade. Dean ducked under the knife, the knee-jerk reaction to disarm him kicking in as they were pulled into a flurry of limbs. Outside, hearing the muffled sound of struggle, the woman perked up, hazel eyes sharpening as she swung her legs over the side of her bike and turned to jog toward the house.

"Bobby-!" Dean was thrown away from the scuffle, and tossed into the next room and Bobby took a few steps to advance, "Bobby it's me-!"

"My ass-!" was all the elder hunter was able to manage before a pair of small, lean arms swung up from behind him, locking beneath his shoulders and swinging him sharply to the left. A foot, from his right, swung up sharply, knocking the knife from his hand, while a small, well-placed fist got into his jaw, making him see a bit of white before he stumbled away, his hearing kicking in to hear the Dean look-a-like snapping, "What are you doing -?!" "He had a knife , Cowboy," the voice, a woman, from what he could tell, was too quiet to have been stern, but there was an undertone of apology when it echoed again, "And I am sorry for intruding, Sir, but you'll need to refrain from stabbing this man. I am not quite sure why, but I am deeply compelled to keep him out of harm's way."

"Who the Hell are you?" He managed to reach an iron poker just as she managed to pick up the knife, he readied himself for a swing, but when she grabbed it deftly by the blade, and held it back out to him, her expression calm, and her stance relaxed, he hesitated. Never a good thing to do, but for how panicked the look-a-like was and how calm this new woman was, he couldn't seem to immediately take the first swing. Instincts be damned, she felt harmless.

Didn't hurt that she was polite, either, despite not answering, and speaking of.

"You didn't answer my question," he repeated, "Who the Hell are you?"

"Woah-woah-wait-!" Dean could see the urge the man had to start swinging, so, putting a firm hand on the woman's shoulder and half-way jerking her to stand behind him, he held out a hand toward the elder male in surrender, "Your name is Robert Steven Singer-! You became a hunter when your wife got possessed-! You're about the closest thing that I have to a father-!"

The man seemed to calm some, eyeing up the two as if they would sprout tails or horns, thinking over the words.

"Bobby.." Dean's voice was low, and pleading, as the hunter slowly lowered the knife. "It's me.."

The man, looking more relieved than anything, shakilly reached out his left hand to the younger male's shoulder. Seeing him tighten his other fist around the poker, however, the female lunged forward just as Bobby did, bringing up her forearm to smack directly into his and knock the offending weapon away. He was bigger than her, and she was nearly thrown across the room, but stabilizing herself, she managed to throw herself out of the melee and get into a defensive stance just as Dean ducked a swipe from the knife that Bobby had recovered.

"I'm not a shapeshifter-!" He managed to grasp the hunters elbows and hold him from behind, both men now red faced as they tussled. Seeing as the talking was at least on track, the girl gradually eased out of her stance and went deeper into the kitchen. She needed something hard and strong after today.

"Then you're a revenant-!"

Bobby was thrown across the open space, turning just in time to see the look-a-like brandishing the knife he'd taken hold of. "Alright.. If I was either," Bobby's alarm bells flared when the copy pulled up his sleeve, exposing the pale underside of his forearm with a calm, breathless resolution, "Could I do this.. With a silver knife..?" No sooner had he made a decent-sized gash in his arms did the woman's voice pierce the still air.

" Ah-! I'm not wrapping that, that is technically self-inflicted." The girl's voice cut across the sudden silence between the two, and she was seen pouring out two glasses of scotch, one healthy one for the older male, and a smaller one for herself. She rolled her shoulder a bit, trying to dismiss the brief, sharp feeling on her arm, before directing her attention to the men."I'm not one to point out stupidity, either, but that was just dumb. You could have just pressed the flat side of the blade against your skin and prevented the possible infection. Not to mention he's already wearing a silver ring.."

When she had gone quiet, eyeing the wound with disdain, it seemed to snap the men out of their confused trance, putting them right back into action.

"Dean..?"

"I've been trying to tell ya'.."

Both men's voices had run dry, and the woman reclined casually against the counter edge, closing her eyes as she left them to their moment. Simultaneously, they both swooped in for a tight hug, patting each others backs firmly with quiet, breathy laughter. When they'd pulled back after a few, long moments, they met each other's eyes with a more relaxed, relieved understanding. "It's good to see ya', boy," the elder man whispered, grinning when Dean nodded back with a quiet sniff. Neither would dare admit that they had a tear or two tucked in the corners of their eyes. They didn't have to. "You, too."

"How did you bust out?"

The conversation was quiet now, and the woman managed to sigh in relief as she sunk into one of the kitchen chairs in silence, lifting the bottle of jack she'd procured to read the label.

"I don't know.." Dean turned away for a second, lifting a hand to rub his face as he shook his head, "I.." he turned back to Bobby, just as the man had gotten a hold of an opened silver flask. "I just woke up in a pine bo-"

Water splashed his face, some getting into his mouth and falling down in rivets.

"..Not a demon, either, Bobby."

"..."

"..."

"Sorry. Can't be too careful."

"I like him. Third time's the charm, Cowboy."

The water dripped from his face to the floor in small, sad droplets, and he closed his eyes briefly before shooting her a look of slight annoyance, "How about you take these tests?"

"How about you clean yourself up? You smell gross. Like muck and sweat." Her rebuttal was as smooth as the glass of scotch she held out to the elder hunter, raising an eyebrow at his obvious signs of skepticism, "Nice to meet you. I'm CJ. I helped un-bury him from his grave. Also drove him here."

"So your name is CJ?"

Dean's irritation was palpable at that point as he rubbed his chin and cheeks with what he could use of his short sleeve. "Why couldn't you tell me that earlier?" "Because I didn't want to have to talk to you alone," she smiled a bit, the teasing faint, but there, before she shook her head, "It's not of importance. Just, I really hate my name. I'm only saying it because I was rude and barged into this man's home. And, technically attacked him." She turned to him, then, bowing her head at him firmly, "I am deeply sorry, Sir."

"None of that Sir, nonsense," the silver knife was held out, and she glanced between the two of them, before holding out her pointer finger. "Prick me, Cowboy." "Why are you calling me that?" He scoffed, reaching forward to do just that. Pleased that there was no sizzle, Bobby held out the flask with the remaining bit of water. They emptied it on her wrist, and, with no reaction, relaxed.

"My apologies," she gave a soft nod, before looking up at Dean, "And I call you Cowboy, because I have not been formerly introduced to you. For all I know, Dean is a nickname given to you, deriven from the Gilmore Girls show. I wasn't going to make any assumptions."

"Gilmore Girls?" Dean repeated under his breath, thoroughly confused, shaking his head sharply before levelling her with a firm expression. "My name is Dean Winchester. And I've got questions for you."

"Dean Winchester like Sam and Dean Winchester?"

His eyes hardened at the quiet question, but her face remained passive, however, when she turned around, picking up the two glasses, she held one out to the older male, "Here, I poured, we need it." Seeing the younger male open his mouth again, she cut in, with an almost mother-like tone, filled with sternness and warning, "And you need water . You're not hydrated. There's electrolytes in the gatorade. Drink that. Also. Go clean yourself. You still stink."

Five minutes of Dean and Bobby quietly muttering in the corner later, Dean stopped his way toward the stairs and disappeared into the bathroom. Polishing off her glass, CJ stood and turned to go to the sink. Catching sight of the dishes, she rolled up her sleeves and began washing. It was a process she'd always done, in every house she'd ever stayed at. Something about doing other peoples dishes made the task calming and mindless.

"You don't need to do that," the gruff voice of the elder hunter reached her ears from nearly two feet away. He was watching her intently, and, seeing how she jumped, startled from her task, he'd ruled out monster, and hunter. No one could be that relaxed.

"Take a sit, girl, we got a lot to discuss."

"So you're from the future?"

"Yes, Sir."

"None of that Sir nonsense, now, I told ya' that."

"My apologies, but what would you prefer me to call you?"

"Bobby's fine as anything else."

Bobby and CJ sat at the table on opposite ends, the shower still running upstairs and a nearly half-finished bottle of jack between them. He looked intrigued, as well as skeptical, eyeing the young woman as she sipped slowly at her third glass. "What year?"

"Twenty-Eighteen," was the quiet response. "Who's president?" he asked, more out of curiosity than anything, a look of revulsion crossing her face as she shook her head, "His name is Donald Trump and he is the embodiment of trash and vile behavior. It was either that or a pathological liar."

"Sounds messy," he huffed.

"And awful," she shrugged.

"So," he poured himself another generous glass, offering her the lip of the bottle, though she politely declined with a raised hand. "Why are you here?"

"I unfortunately have the uncanny and most downright terrifying visions of a pair of brothers battling monsters, demons, and ghosts every time that I fall asleep."

"Beg pardon?" was the only respond he could give. She looked up to him from her amber-filled glass, swirling it around gently, before setting it back down with a soft sigh. "I dream of the Winchester brothers. Every night. And in these dreams, people die. Many people that they care about. It physically pains me to have these dreams. When I had woken from my most painful one, it was actually four months ago.. It felt as if I were being devoured by a wild animal.. And then, I found myself running along the road, hitchhiking where I could, running where I couldn't.. I just had to hurry..

"I found a grave.." her eyes glazed over and her hoarse voice lowered an octave. "I just.. Stood there, for the longest time.. I was tired, and hungry, but it hurt to move.. And, finally.. I forced myself to leave.. The pull.. It was still there.. It wanted me to wait at the grave.. But I needed food and water.. Better clothes.. Somewhere to sleep.. I left for only a few hours.. And I did as much as I could before the pull hurt too much.. I got the necessary tattoos for protection, won a few poker games to do it, also winning a ride from some poor drunk sod. She's a 54'. I actually feel sorry for the guy." She gave a small, dry chuckle, and Bobby polished off his glass, waiting in silence as she gathered her words, and continued.

"I stayed for three and a half months.. And then, I heard screaming.. I'd spent those three months keeping the dirt loose.. I don't know why I was desecrating a grave, just that I needed to.. And in hindsight, now I see why.."

"So you got him from Hell-?" Bobby clarified, only to furrow his brow when she shook her head firmly. "No. It wasn't me. It was something else. I only helped him out of the grave . He was resurrected by something else. It made the windows explode when we stopped at a store. Sounded like EVP, but I couldn't be sure.."

"Spirit?" he asked. She shook her head, "Couldn't be. It was hot. And there were too many frequencies overlapping on the radio. Spirits can only strand two, sometimes three together. This one had about fifty stations overlapping." "Demon?" he asked, then, and she shook her head a final time, "I don't see how, there was no black smoke. No figures. No sulfur. Just Cowboy and I."

"Why'd you stick with him?" he asked quietly. She palmed the side of her glass thoughtfully, a solemn look on her face as she breathed in, then breathed out slowly, giving him a look of pure exhaustion, "Honestly.. I'm more of a sap than I let on.. I don't want people to die.. I.. I want the correct people to receive justice for the events about to be transpired.."

"And those events would be..?"

"The Apocalypse," her answer was swift and to the point, her eyes betraying none of the panic a normal person would be giving right about then. "The exact way Dean was brought topside is unknown to me," not a complete lie, on her part , "but I know the reason I had gone to him. I'm here to help. Things are going to get a lot more messy in the near future. I need to be sure that you're prepared for that. And, when I say messy, I mean messy ..."

"So.. visions.." he repeated, both becoming silent for a moment when the pipes fell silent, before returning to their conversation. "What exactly does that entail?"

"Seals," she shrugged her shoulders, glaring at the table as if it were the cause of all of life's misfortune. "Believe me, I want absolutely nothing more than to be ignorant of this life. I'm not a hunter. I've never hunted. The only reason I was confident in disarming you, is because I was raised in a city, where krav maga is encouraged. It also helps that I was raised with mixed martial arts." "So you're not a hunter, then why do you want to stay? Fancy moves can only get you so far in this life." Bobby made a good point, but she'd had three months to prepare for that argument.

"Believe it or not, I'm pretty knowledgeable about the life. Plus, there's a lot of innovative life hacks that can solve a lot of stupid, reoccurring problems." "How long have you had these dreams?" he asked casually. "..Just about eighteen years, now," she grinned. Christ, she felt old..

"How old are you, anyway?"

Dean was fresh out of the shower and leaned against the frame of the doorway, watching them with interest. If Bobby was relaxed enough with her to give her his scotch, she couldn't have been too bad.

"Not sure," she shrugged, a smile curling her lips as they locked eyes, "I was born in March, of 1998. That would make me, what, nine?"

Bobby, sipping his scotch, didn't even flinch, while Dean openly spluttered at the revelation, eyes snapping wide as he unabashedly stared at her. She looked a Hell of a lot older than nine .

"Enough teasin' girl, you'll give 'im a hemorrhage.." "Yes, Bobby," she chuckled a little, turning to give the elder Winchester a small wink, "I'm twenty-two, Cowboy, relax."

"But-" "Time travel." Bobby interrupted him swiftly, giving him a warning look, "You try to wrap your head around it, then you'll really get a hemorrhage.."

"I'm not drunk enough to have this conversation today, anyway."

The woman's statement was followed by the downing of her drink, and she quickly rose to set it in the sink. "Nor am I up to being awake for more than an hour more. I'll be heading to the most affordable motel you can recommend. I'm also going to leave my number for you."

She quickly washed and rinsed her cup in the sink, turning back just in time to come face-to-chest with Dean Winchester.

She nearly punched him, rather, she settled for giving him a glare. "You need to wear a bell for my mental health. That is not a normal way to walk."

"Where do you think you're going?" his demand was quiet, but calm. He was curious, just as much as he was annoyed, "You haven't explained anything about how I'm back, why I'm back-"

"Do I look like a magical knowledge guru to you?" her reply was indignant, and when she had ducked to get around him, she turned her attention toward Bobby. "I'm getting a cheap motel room, do you have any recommendations?"

"Well it ain't no bed and breakfast, but there's a couple spare rooms upstairs," his words were followed promptly, by Dean's exclamation of "What-?!"

"I can cook, what's your breakfast go-to?" she was quick to agree, the added security of knowing that the elder Winchester would be closer to her, and effectively more protected, settled something deep within her chest. "I also enjoy baking, and, as you noticed, cleaning. If needed, I can also help out in your garage. I'm not an expert, but I can tune-up, buff out and give a decent paint-job." "Deal," the elder hunter got to his feet and they gave each other a firm shake, Dean's head going from one to the other back and forth as he tried to process this. "Bobby, we don't even know this chick-!"

"Her name's CJ and she offered to cook, you gonna turn that down even after she tried to take a knife for you, boy?"

"Saying it like that implies I might like him," the girl smiled with the statement when the Winchester had gone silent, his eyes boring sharply into her frame as she tucked her arms against her chest and sent the elder man a sweet smile. "I'll make you a good dinner tonight as thanks. Do you have any preferences? I'll be running to the store for the ingredients, should you want something specific."

"Hold up," Dean finally cut into the quiet back and forth, halting the conversation immediately as they turned to him. He inhaled sharply, and shook his head, "First and foremost, I need to find Sam. He hasn't been answering his phone."

"I'll leave you to your business, then," CJ turned to leave the room after a moment, patting Dean's shoulder, the one that had been marked, on her way toward the stairs. "Bobby-?!" she called back, half-way up and struck with a thought. "Which room would you like me to take-?!"

"Second from the bathroom-!"

"Thank you-!"