Whenever Dean heard someone say, "Hey, Winchester," he tended to turn and look. The rare few who knew him, most of them other hunters he worked with over the years, tended to call out to him just like that. At first, people using his last name to address him annoyed the crap outta him.

After a while, he got used to people calling him Winchester. It was a helluva lot better than many of the things they could call him. It certainly wasn't as bad as being called Sammy's big brother, that other Winchester or his personal favorite, John's boy. In this case, however, he wasn't sure why the man called out to him. It wasn't like he knew him. He didn't know anyone. Not in 1973 Lawrence, anyway.

"Son of a bitch." The old man reached out to shake the hand of the man seated beside him at the counter. "How the hell are you, Corporal?"

"Hey, Mr. D." A small smile curved the man's lips. "I'm doing good, thanks."

Dean recognized that smile. He saw it every time he looked in the mirror. Nah, it can't be, he thought as he reached for the coffee that Chong set in front of him a few minutes ago. Not Dad. Not here. No way.

That'd be just a little too on the nose.

"I heard you were back."

"Yeah." The man nodded. "Been back for a little while now, actually."

Dean took a long swallow of the bitter coffee. He only half-listened to the conversation beside him. His mind was too busy trying to wrap itself around the fact that he was in Lawrence. 1973 Lawrence, he corrected silently. How the hell he got there, why the hell he was even there, and what the hell Cas wanted him to stop while he was there... he hadn't a clue. Coulda given me a bit of a hint, he grumbled as he took another swallow of coffee. The man clapped the Corporal on the shoulder.

"It's damn good to have you home."

The wealth of feeling in his gruff voice was hard to miss. Only one reason someone feels grief like that, he thought as he stole another look at the newspaper on the counter. April of 1973. The Vietnam War had been going on for eighteen years. Lots of sons hadn't come home from it. And those who did, like Dad, never spoke about what they saw while there. For good reason, he realized.

"It's good to be home, Mr. D."

"Take care of yourself, John." The man moved away. "And if you see that old man of yours, tell him I said hi."

Dean whipped his head around to stare at the man addressed as John. Winchester, he realized as a crap bag of stuff pulsed beneath his skin. John Winchester. No way... there's just no way. He can't be...

"Dad?"

A/N: Hello, all! I hope this finds you well!

This is tagged to season 4x03.