Author's Note:

Thanks to everybody who's reviewed so far! I really appreciate the great feedback you've given me, and it's helped inspired me to write another chapter. This is insanely long, even longer than the Uber-Long Prologue of Doom. It seems like when I get to writing for this story, I don't know when to quit, so I apologize if it's too rambly. I had a lot of fun with this one and hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. There's a little more strong language in this chapter than there was in the previous one, but this is a very ticked-off Dean Winchester we're talking about, so I don't think it should come as a huge shock. As always, please drop me a line and let me know what you think!

ooo

Day One:

Life As It Should Be

"Don't be scared."


Dean turns to look at Selenamaridra, who's standing with the wind blowing through her hair on the other side of the wishing well.

"What's going to happen to me?"

"First, you'll see life the way you wish it had been with your family," she says quietly. "It will probably hurt."

"Then I don't want to see it," Dean snaps. "I don't understand what the point of this is. I'll do—I'll do anything to break this curse, okay? What is it you want, huh?"

"I have already told you." She lifts her face to the sun, eyes closed. "You break the curse, not I."

"That's a load of bull sh—"

Selenamaridra holds up a finger, cocking her head as though listening.

"No, not yet," she decides. "Not quite."

Dean sighs angrily, looking down into the wishing well, trailing his fingers through the cool water.

"Hey, can I ask you something?"

"I suppose," she agrees.

"You got a nickname or anything? No offense, but your name's kind of a mouthful, and I have a feeling we'll be seeing a lot of each other."

"Yes, we shall see each other over the next week." The witch smiles. "You may call me Selena."

"Okay."

Selena comes to Dean now, lifts a hand to his cheek.

"You are very brave," she says solemnly, large green eyes fixed on his. "Perhaps this will not break you as it has the others."

"It won't," Dean says, but even he can't miss the hitch in his breath. "Nothing scares me." Selena laughs prettily now.

"Everybody fears something," she tells him conspiratorially. "Even me."

"Why did you—"

"Wait." She pauses, listening again, and then a slow smile spreads across her face. "Ah, yes. She is coming."

"Who?"

"Don't be scared," Selena whispers, and before he can demand answers, she takes a step backwards and disappears.

--

"Dean!"

"Mmph," he mutters into his pillow. "One more minute, please God, I'm begging you."

"You're such a loser," sighs a voice. "God, you've been home, what—a day? How late were you out last night?"

"I…I don't know," Dean says uncertainly, trying to remember exactly what he'd been up to. Something about a job, right? Let's see, he remembers Derek…walking up the hill…the wishing well…

Dammit, the wishing well. Panicked, he sits bolt upright.

"Please, please tell me you're Sam," he says, refusing to open his eyes. "Please tell me that bitch didn't do anything to me."

"Do I sound like Sam, dumbass?"

"Um…" Dean pauses to consider. The voice sounds a lot higher than Sam's, come to think of it. Sort of feminine and pretty, definitely a girl's voice. "…No."

"Would you hurry it up, then? Mom says Sam already ate most of the pancakes and Simon's going to finish them if you're not careful."

Dean's eyes fly open.

Mom?

"Mom…but…" He looks around wildly, noting quickly that he's in a room, painted blue, with a couple of beds and a few Metallica posters. Standing right beside him is a very pissed-off looking teenage girl with French-braided blonde hair, green eyes, freckles and her hands on her hips.

"What the—who the hell are you?" It's out of his mouth before he pauses to think how it might sound to her. Hey, you try waking up in a strange bed in a strange place with a strange girl standing next to you and see how well you handle it.

"Are you high?" the girl demands, looking, if possible, even more annoyed. "Dude, I am so not in the mood for any of your dumb jokes."

"I'm not high," Dean says, highly affronted. "Just…uh, would you mind refreshing my memory?" He attempts a charming smile, silently praying she'll play along.

"I'm Grace," she says, squinting at him. Apparently his attempt to look calm and composed isn't going over very well, because she now looks faintly concerned. "Gracie?" she tries. When he doesn't respond she adds, "Dean, I'm your sister, remember?"

"I…" He should be able to handle this, he totally should. He shouldn't be staring at her, shell-shocked, with his mouth hanging open, and his throat shouldn't be tightening and his eyes shouldn't be filling with tears and he shouldn't want to scream his head off.

She looks just like Mom, is all he can think as he stares at the confused girl who is the little sister he never had. She's beautiful.

"Dean?" Now she's dropped to her knees, worry and confusion etched on her face. "Dean, should I get Mom or Dad? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he manages. "No...I'm okay, really."

"You look like you just saw a ghost," Grace says, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm fine," Dean repeats. "Just a bad dream. Sorry, I'm out of it."

Grace squints at him.

"Sam said you had a headache last night before you ditched him at the bar."

"Right," Dean agrees hastily.

"How hung-over are you?"

"I'm not," Dean says simply. "Sorry for scaring you or whatever."

Grace eyes him suspiciously before someone from downstairs screams her name, then Dean's.

"Okay, we better hurry," she announces. "Come on."

Dean hesitantly climbs out of bed, surveying his sister. She's little, at least compared to him, only about five foot four, and skinny.

"Hey Grace?" he asks quietly, stopping her as she heads to the door.

"What now?"

"Can I have a hug?" he asks, trying to grin. "I just…I missed you, you know?" He holds his breath, wondering if this will creep Grace out or something, but she grins willingly and steps quickly into his embrace.

"I missed you, too, big brother," she announces. "Next time, don't stay away so long."

Dean swallows, trying to loosen the lump in his throat.

"I won't," he whispers.

--

"Hey, Dean."

Dean has already steeled himself for this, knows that this is part of the curse and if he doesn't want to scare his family he can't freak out, but seeing your father come back from the dead is just slightly disconcerting.

"Hey…hey, Dad," Dean manages weakly, ignoring the strange look Grace shoots him as they head downstairs. "Anyone save me pancakes?"

"Of course," Dad says, grinning broadly. "Oh, and don't forget—you promised you'd pick up the suits with me this morning."

"Sure thing," Dean agrees, not quite sure what Dad's talking about. "I remember."

"Well, you best get a move on. Simon's stuffing his face; all the food will be gone if you don't hurry it up."

"So I hear," Dean mutters, briefly wondering who Simon is. "Well, let me know when you want to, um, go get the suits."

"Will do, son." And with that, John Winchester continues up the stairs.

"So, speaking of Simon," Dean says to Grace as the go down a long hall. "How's the kid been?"

Please let him be a kid.

"As bratty as ever," Grace sighs. "Seriously, you're so lucky you don't have to put up with him twenty-four/seven."

"You were no picnic at that age either, princess," Dean says, just 'cause it sounds like something he would say to his little sister (if he ever had one).

"I was better than Sam," Grace says defensively. "Hell, even Simon is better than Sam."

"Talking about me behind my back?" Dean turns, and there's Sam, looking the same as he ever has—only…only happy. No worry lines, no darkness in his eyes, no hunch to his shoulders. He looks scrawnier, though—not like he's skinny, exactly…just that he's not as muscled as usual. He's also wearing a pair of thin glasses, and looks slightly more geeky than Dean remembers.

"You wish, Sammy," Grace says, smirking in all too familiar way. "Not everything is about you, you know."

"Shut it, twerp," Sam directs, ruffling his little sister's hair affectionately. "The pancakes are almost gone," he adds to Dean on a side-note. "Dude, how late were you out last night?"

"He doesn't remember," Grace answers. "I asked already."

"Just so long as you don't pull that tonight," Sam says, grinning. "You still have a speech to make, you know. You promised."

"Oh, don't worry," Dean says, frantically wondering just what the hell is supposed to happen tonight. "I'll be there."

"Uh, that's good," Sam says, looking slightly puzzled.

"Gracie, go save me some pancakes, will you?" Dean asks. "I'll be right there. Don't let Simon eat 'em all."

"What am I, your slave?" Grace demands in typical whiny-teenage-girl fashion but heads into the kitchen nonetheless.

"Sam," Dean says quickly, "I have to talk to you."

"All right," Sam agrees, looking concerned. "Hey, man, are you okay? You don't look so good."

"I'm fine." Dean runs a hand through his hair, heaving a sigh. "Sam, you're a lawyer, right?"

"Just about," Sam says, raising a brow. "Oh, God, Dean. What did you do?"

"Nothing," says Dean hastily. "Just, um…" God, how do you explain something like this to a person who, by the look of things, doesn't believe in ghosts or anything supernatural? How do you explain that you have no idea where you are or what you're supposed to do and that Mom and Dad are dead where you come from and you don't have any siblings but Sam?

That's the thing, Dean realizes at once. You don't.

"Sam?" Both men glance up, and Dean almost passes out from pure shock, though a part of his brain wonders why anything at all should surprise him anymore. Jessica Moore is standing in the doorway wearing pajamas, her hair piled on top of her head. "Do you want to take a walk before I head out?"

"Sure," Sam agrees, grinning, before he leans down to kiss her. "I thought the rule was the groom doesn't get to see the bride before the wedding."

"Crappy rule," Jess announces. "Don't worry, I'll be gone most of the day."

Okay, I officially can't handle this.

"Uh, well," Dean says loudly, "I better go eat my pancakes before Simon…just, uh, yeah." He stomps off towards the open door Grace went through minutes before, attempting to ignore Jess's whispered,

"What's his problem?"

The kitchen is large and sunny with a round table in the middle. Grace is already sitting down, plate piled high with pancakes, sleepily pouring herself a glass of milk. Across from her, a kid with Dad's dark hair and round glasses is pouring over a book, absentmindedly munching on a piece of bacon.

Grace nods to a plate beside her.

"Only three left," she says. "Simon's a pig."

"Shut up," the kid directs absentmindedly, taking a gulp of orange juice. "I'm a growing boy. I need sustenance." He glances up at Dean, and when Dean gets a good look at him it's a little disconcerting. More than he or Sam ever did, Simon looks like a miniature version of Dad, though the glasses throw him off a little. "What's up?"

"Not much," Dean says casually, reaching for the syrup pitcher and missing as he pretends not to stare at this new little brother of his. "So…where's Mom?"

"She went to get dressed." Simon takes another swig of juice. "You ready for tonight?'

"The wedding?" Dean asks tentatively, just to be sure he's completely informed.

"Yeah. I'm glad you're best man—I'd hate to get up in front of all those people," Simon says, looking nauseous at the thought.

"Yeah, well, I got no problem with public speaking," Dean lies.

"Since when?" Grace snorts. "You couldn't even make a presentation on fire safety to third graders without nearly puking."

"I'm never going to live that one down," Dean sighs dramatically, mentally raising an eyebrow. What am I doing hanging around third graders?

"Oh, good," says a voice from behind him, "you're up!" Dean turns, and this is the strangest, most heartbreaking encounter yet.

"Hi, Mom," Dean says quietly, and before he can stop them, the tears spring to his eyes again. She looks almost exactly the same as he remembers, though her face has a few more lines and her hair is a little shorter. She's putting in an earring, smiling at him as she heads toward the kitchen table.

"I hear you came in late," she adds, leaning down to kiss him on the cheek. Dean tries not to throw his arms around her or freak out or cry or run from the room, and he knows he must not be doing a very good job of hiding it when he sees both Grace and Simon staring at him.

"Yeah," Dean finally manages, reaching an arm up so he can hug his mother, smell her hair. He brushes a quick kiss on her cheek, and takes the opportunity to run the back of his hand across his eyes. "Sorry. I had, you know, stuff to take care of."

Grace snorts dubiously, but Mom smiles sunnily.

"I know," she says. "You had a lot of catching up to do with your friends. You've been in Texas so long it's a wonder you remembered where Kansas was at all."

"Yep," Dean says, and abruptly stands. "Uh, hey—could someone refresh my memory on where the bathroom is?" Grace, Simon, and his mother all stare at him, and now Grace is looking really, really weirded-out.

"Down the hall, two doors to the left," Simon answers at last, raising a brow.

Dean hurries out of the kitchen before any of them can say anything else.

He finds the bathroom, shuts the door quietly, then slides down the wall and sits on the floor, knees to his chest, the heels of his hands pressed to his eyes.

He can't stop his shoulders from shaking, can't stop a strangled sob. This, he thinks, is worse than Dad dying, worse than Mom dying.

This is like getting them back only to know they'll die again.

They're there—right there—alive, breathing, with two extra kids, leading a charmed life full of weddings and pancakes for breakfast and normalcy and it's not fucking fair.

Get a hold of yourself, man, Dean thinks angrily as he tries to stifle the second sob that rises in his throat. This is just another job, all right? You endure it. You try to kill the evil bastard that's causing the chaos. You don't fucking fall apart, you make do.

"Shit," he mumbles, slamming a closed fist down onto the tile floor. "Okay. Okay, this is completley cool, I can handle this." He scrambles to his feet, starts pacing, talking aloud to calm himself down. "You're cool, Winchester. This just lasts one day, right? One day of this and you'll move on to something else and these people will never have known you were here. Just—just keep your distance, don't screw it up, and you'll be fine." Abruptly, the image of his mother leaning down and kissing him on the cheek for the first time since he was four flashes through his mind, and he turns, slamming a fist into the wall much the same way he did the floor.

"Goddammit," Dean mutters, voice breaking as he leans his head against the wall, yet another sob escaping him despite his furious attempts to fight down the worry and pain. "I am so fucking screwed."

"Couldn't agree more," says a voice from behind him, a sort of familiar voice that's quavering a bit. Dean spins around sharply to see Grace standing behind him, arms folded, a worried frown plastered across her face.

"What—I…um, I was just—" Dean gestures helplessly, sniffing mightily and trying to look normal. (Now if only I knew what normal is supposed to look like.) "How much did you see?" he says at last, eyeing his sister warily.

"I followed you," she says, taking a step forward. "I was worried and…well, then I heard you, um, crying." Dean scowls and turns away.

"I wasn't crying."

"For God's sake, Dean, don't pull the macho card on me." Grace takes another step forward and lays a hand on his shoulder. "I knocked on the door and when you didn't answer, I opened it and…you were sort of talking to yourself."

"Oh, that." Dean coughs. "Uh…didn't I tell you? I'm in a play and I was just, you know, practicing my lines and shit."

"You told me acting is girly."

"Well, I lied."

"Seems like you're doing a lot of lying around here lately," Grace snaps. "Like not remembering what time you came home last night and the public speaking thing."

"I'm just tired, Grace."

"And now you're doing it again!" Grace cries. "Dean, this is your first visit in a year and a half and you're already pulling away again? What the hell is wrong with you—you act like you don't even remember us or this house or…" She folds her arms again, looking hurt and small. Great, Dean thinks sarcastically as she stares up at him with big, woeful eyes. She and Sam both have the freaking Puppy Dog Gaze down pat.

"I'm sorry," Dean says, though he doesn't quite understand what he's apologizing for. "I'm just not myself today, okay?"

"That's for sure." Grace pauses, narrowing her eyes so that the Puppy Dog Gaze transforms into one that looks more like Dad's patented Glare of Doom. "I don't understand. Nobody knows you better than me," she says softly.

"Look, I should probably go," Dean says awkwardly, trying to sidestep her. "I can't—I'll be just the way you remember me tomorrow, okay? Promise."

"You need to be the way I remember you tonight," Grace says angrily, and she takes two steps forward and slams the bathroom door. "You're the best man in your brother's wedding and Sam—he needs you, Dean, okay?"

"Sammy always needs me," Dean says, exasperation rearing its ugly head. "What else is new?"

"Don't pull that selfish bastard crap on me again, Dean Winchester." Grace's scowl is so much like Sam's it's kinda scary. "I swear to God, you break Mom's heart again…well, I'm not going to take it. I don't care if everyone else does, I'm not letting you walk away from this family again, do you hear me?"

"Have this conversation with me tomorrow," Dean suggests in a low, angry tone. "Maybe I'll be able to explain myself better." He pulls away from her, heads toward the door.

"Dean!" Grace lunges, snatching his left forearm and jerking it, and Dean hisses in pain before he can stop himself. His and Sam's last gig before they took on the wishing well job was exorcising an exceptionally violent poltergeist; Dean had spent a night in the ER getting stitches, and Grace has just inadvertently loosened one of them and pressed down on some nasty bruises.

"Ouch," he says through clenched teeth. "Dammit, now look what you've done."

"Don't be a baby," she says, rolling her eyes. "I didn't grab you that—that…hard…" Her eyes widen as Dean pulls of his long sleeved shirt and he tries to look at his arm in the mirror to asses the damage that's been done. The stitch is definitely messed up, and now Dean's got bruises on top of his bruises. Who knew such a little person could do so much with just one yank? "Dean." Grace's voice is small, quiet, her eyes wide.

"What?" he snaps, concentrating more on his arm at the moment than anything else. His gaze travels upwards to meet hers in the mirror, and instantly he realizes his mistake.

"What happened to you?" She sounds terrified, like she's on the verge of crying all of a sudden.

"Nothing," he say quickly. "I just got a nasty cut and needed some stitches."

"That wasn't there yesterday," Grace says shakily. "We—we went swimming—"

"I got it last night," he says in a desperate attempt to recover. "That's why I was in so late."

"No you didn't." She's mesmerized, staring at his arm, drawing closer to take a look. "Dean, these bruises here are old." She lays a finger on one of them gently, then squints at the stitches. "And the cut or whatever it was isn't fresh, it's half-healed."

"I—"

"And these scars." Grace's voice is shaking as she motions at his body in general. Dean squints at himself in the mirror and has to admit that, yeah, okay, he's practically covered in old wounds, some of them nasty, some of them as minor as a surgical scar.

"I got into a lot of fights in Texas," he says lamely, remembering briefly that Texas is apparently where he's been living.

"I saw you without a shirt yesterday and you did not look like this," Grace says stubbornly, eyes hardening. "I think I would remember if my older brother suddenly looked like he'd lost a fight with a lawnmower." Dean suppresses a grin, remembering using the lawnmower line himself once.

"I don't know what to tell you," he says finally.

"Well, too bad." Grace steps forward, face set. "You can start with just who the hell you are."

--

"I'm telling you, this is not a good idea," Dean insists as he follows Grace upstairs. "I don't even think I'm aloud to explain it to you."

She marches into his room, then slams the door.

"Give it a whirl," she directs, sitting down on one of the beds. "I don't get it, all right? You were definitely Dean yesterday—and this morning when you woke up, you didn't even know who I was, did you?" Dean looks away. It's becoming increasingly apparent to him that it is almost impossible to lie to Grace. "I thought so," she says, strangely triumphant.

"You won't believe me," Dean says at last.

"Of course I will," Grace sighs.

"That's the thing." Dean sits on the bed opposite her, clenches his fists. "I'm not sure I want you to."

"I'm your sister."

Dean runs a hand along his face, trying to bite back a wince.

"Yeah, well, I'm kinda still getting used to that," he mutters.

There is a moment of long silence, and finally Grace says,

"Just tell me what's going on before I get Mom and Dad."

"No! No, don't get them," Dean says desperately. "My God, I can't believe how messed up this is."

"Start talking, then," Grace suggests, pulling her knees to her chest. "You've told me crazy stuff before."

"Not this crazy, princess," Dean sighs. "Look, if I start suffocating or something, you're gonna have to cut me a break. I can't believe I'm even considering filling you in—and I don't know if you'll even remember this thing tomorrow, so I won't be sparing any feelings. Clear?"

"Crystal," Grace says, raising a brow.

"So," Dean says after a minute or so, "do you believe in ghosts?"

"What?"

"Answer the question."

"Uh…well, no, I guess," Grace says at long last. Dean sighs irritably.

"Of course you wouldn't," he sighs. "Great. This is going to be just loads of fun, then."

"What do ghosts have to with anything?" Grace asks, squinting at Dean.

"Everything." Dean stands, falling into his habitual pacing. All this nervous energy and nothing to do with it except terrify his little sister. "Okay, I should probably be blunt about this."

"Any day now," Grace calls sarcastically.

"I'm from a different world."

There is a long, long silence.

"Excuse me?"

"A different world," Dean repeats. "This is like…an alternate universe for me, okay?"

"Okay," Grace says after another pregnant pause. "So, what kind of drugs are you on?"

"It's not drugs!" Dean clenches his fists, drawing a deep breath. "Do you want to hear this or what?" Her silence is answer enough. "Where I come from," Dean says at last, "Sam and I hunt ghosts."

"Ghosts," Grace repeats faintly.

"Well, anything supernatural, really," Dean continues, gaining steam now that it seems apparent Selena won't try to stop him from telling Grace about everything. He'll have to think about why that is later. "Everything you read about in books and crap—spirits, demons, poltergeists, werewolves, vampires—they all exist. Sam and I get rid of them."

"Why?"

"Why?" Dean repeats, blinking at her. This was the point where he'd expected she would faint or run screaming from the room for Mom or Dad to tell them her brother had gone insane. He hadn't been expecting her to ask why. Uh-oh. "Uh, that's kinda complicated," he says at long last.

"Take off your shirt again," Grace directs suddenly, standing up abruptly.

"What?"

"Just do it, okay?"

Warily, he pulls off the shirt and she crosses the room, crouching down and running a finger across one of the scars.

"This is real," she says to herself, examining the mark on his side. "It's real."

"Yeah," Dean says softly. "I know how weird this must be. Truth be told, it's kind of weird for me too, and I see a lot of freaky stuff."

She stares at him.

"You're telling the truth," Grace says wonderingly, her eyes wide. "God, I must be going insane."

"You're not," Dean offers as she rises to her feet and starts to pace much the way he did. "This is a curse, but it's on me, not you. Your Dean should be back safe and sound by tomorrow."

"But you're not him?"

"No."

"Yeah," she says, frowning. "I thought you were strange from the start. You sort of carry yourself differently than he does." Grace meets Dean's gaze. "Like you're, you know, confident."

"He's not?"

"He is, I guess." She shrugs. "But it's fake, you know? You don't—he doesn't—have very good self-esteem. He thinks he's a disappointment."

Dean folds his arms, staring down at his feet.

"Yeah, well."

"So wait," Grace says, shaking her head rapidly. "Wait, back up. You said you hunt ghosts, right? So why are you here?"

Quickly, Dean explains about the wishing well, mentions the wish he made, his visit from Selena, and how his plan backfired.

"And then you ended up here," Grace says when he finishes that portion of the story. She runs a hand over her face, falling back to sit on the bed. "God. So you're stuck for a week?"

"Only one day here, I think." Dean yawns. "I hope Sam's not too worried," he says absentmindedly. "Geek will probably be having a field day with your Dean, trying to figure out how to get me back." When Grace doesn't answer, Dean glances up to find her staring at him, a funny expression on her face.

"Dean," she says, "why did you and Sam leave, back in your world? Why are you hunting ghosts and stuff?"

Oh shit.

"Grace. Don't make me talk about this."

"Dean, if I might not remember this anyway, what does it matter?"

"But," Dean says, swallowing, "you might. And trust me sweetheart, some things you're better off not knowing."

"I can handle it."

"Yeah, and I thought I could handle this!" Dean yells, standing up quickly. "I wish I'd listened to Sam when he told me it was a bad idea to make the wish. Hell, I wish I'd never even agreed to take this job in the first place, but I did, and now I'm paying the consequences. Don't ask me to make you pay consequences, too."

"Is it really so bad here?" Grace asks. "What could be so horrible that it's making you act like this? Somehow I get the feeling you're just as macho and hard-shelled as my Dean. It takes a lot to make him start crying, too."

"It's complicated."

"Everything's complicated, Dean!" Grace cries. "That's just life. Tell me why you and Sam are hunting ghosts!"

"I don't want to."

"You're still my big brother, whether or not you happen to live in this dimension or some other random one," Grace tells him quietly. "We're best friends here, even if we don't say two words to each other where you live. Or…at least we used to be close…" She looks sad suddenly. "Why is this place so different from where you come from, Dean?"

"I've already told you too much," Dean says stubbornly.

"Why don't Mom and Dad make you stop hunting?" Grace wonders. "Don't they ever ask what you do?"

"Stop."

"Did you and Dad have another fight? Is that why you left?"

"Please, just let it go."

"Let it go? I wake up and my own brother doesn't recognize me and then he tells me he's a ghost hunter from a different dimension! Whether or not this is your fault my Dean is gone, I think you owe me a full explanation." She scowls at him. "How long has it been since you saw me where you live? How little was I when you left?"

"What makes you think I left when you were little?" Dean snaps, feeling pissed off despite himself.

"Because how else would you not know what I look like?" Grace asks, exasperated. "Maybe this is your 'normal life' because it's the one you never got to have, since you left and stuff."

Dean turns, anger and hurt and pain building inside of him.

This isn't intervention, he thinks to Selena, wherever the hell that witch is. This is fucking torture.

"I've never seen you." Dean says it quietly, before he can think twice.

"What?"

"You want to know the truth?" Dean spins on his heel, turning to look at Grace, who's sitting on the bed, looking up at him defiantly.

"Yeah," she says, "I do."

"Where I come from," Dean tells her, their gazes locked, "you don't exist."

How weird that must be to hear, Dean thinks as Grace's shoulders sag, her eyes wide.

"But…but why?" she whispers.

"When I was four, a demon came into Sam's nursery," Dean says in a flat voice. "This thing's a bad son-of-a-bitch, and I'm still not entirely sure what it wants with him. It killed Mom. Pinned her to the ceiling, set the house on fire. Sam, Dad, and I were lucky to make it out alive." Dean turns away so he doesn't have to watch his sister's face. "Dad thought he was crazy at first," Dean continues on, "but he knew what he saw wasn't natural. So he contacted a psychic and the gist of it is he started learning how to hunt supernatural stuff, how to kill evil things so that when we found Mom's murderer, we could destroy it once and for all. That's how Sam and I were raised, learning how to hunt that stuff. We grew up in motels and crappy apartments all over America, and it's the only life we've ever known."

"Oh God." Grace is simply staring at him now, her face drawn tight. "In…in your world, is Dad okay?"

"What do you mean?"

"I know if Mom ever died here," she whispers, "Dad would never be the same again."

"He wasn't," Dean says stiffly. "My Dad was probably so different from your Dad it's not even funny."

"Was?"

"He died months ago, Grace," Dean says quietly. "The demon got him, too."

"Oh God," Grace repeats. "Oh…oh, God."

"Don't freak out," Dean tells her firmly. "You can't do that, all right? Nobody but you should know I'm here. I'll be gone by tomorrow anyway, but until then, fill me in on the Dean here. I can't keep making mistakes like I have been or I'll just end up traumatizing everyone else, too." When she doesn't respond, Dean says sharply, "Gracie."

"Sorry," she says in a muffled sort of voice. "Just processing."

"Yeah, I get how that goes."

"Okay," his little sister says after a long moment, looking up and meeting his gaze. "So, Dean, let me tell you about yourself."

--

It's an hour before the wedding, and the world around Dean is one of chaos and worried little brothers.

"What if I drop the ring?" Simon asks for the hundredth time. "I'm too old to be a ring-bearer, anyways. People will laugh at me."

"They won't laugh, dude," Dean tells the kid as he helps him straighten his geeky bow tie, "I will."

"Jerk," Simon mutters in a very familiar way.

From across the room, Grace catches Dean's eye and gives him an encouraging half-smile.

The day has been long and difficult so far, but with Grace's help, Dean is coping a hell of a lot better than he was first thing this morning. From her information, he knows that he's a firefighter living in Houston and he had a big falling-out with the family a year ago (though Grace wasn't too specific with the details of how said falling-out happened, just that it had something to do with Dad). He also knows that Grace is sixteen and Simon is twelve, that the Winchesters have lived in Lawrence since Dean was born but they moved to a bigger house when Mom found out she was pregnant with Grace, and that Jess and Sam have been engaged for a year.

Dean briefly mentioned Jess' death to Grace, who had been completley devastated on Sam's behalf and had even cried before Dean reminded her that all the deaths that happened in his world stayed in his world, and that she shouldn't worry about Mom or Dad or Jess or even her Dean and where he was.

"He'll just be pissed he missed the wedding," she had sighed. "You better do a good job."

"I will," Dean had told her honestly. "I'd give anything for my Sam to have what your Sam does."

"Yeah," Grace had said after a minute. "Me too."

Now Sam is sitting next to him muttering about how nervous he is and how weird it'll be to be a married man at last and oh-my-God-what-if-I-screw-up-the-vows (apparently, he wrote them himself).

"Sam," Dean says, turning to his brother, "stop spazzing. By the end of today, you'll be married to the girl of your dreams. If you screw up, you screw up. Doesn't mean she's gonna love you any less."

"Thanks, man," Sam says after a moment, smiling weakly. "Just pre-ceremony jitters. You know."

Before Dean can respond, Dad appears, announcing that it's time to head to the church. The limo is supposed to take everyone in the wedding party who's not already there over, and since it'll be a tight fit, John is driving his pick-up truck separately.

"I'll go with you, Dad," Dean says at once, jumping at the chance to spend some time with his father. "Please?"

"Okay," Dad agrees affably, shrugging. "We'll see y'all at the church," he adds to the rest. They all head for the limo and Dean follows his father.

"How are you, Dad?" Dean asks as his father starts the ignition. "Seriously?"

"I'm doing fine, son," Dad answers. "We've missed you."

"I missed you, too."

"I can't tell you how sorry I am," Dad continues as they turn left off of the street, "about what happened last year. I just wanted what was best for you."

"I'm the one who should be sorry, Dad," Dean says. "I was the one who left." The stupid idiot who abandoned his family, Dean thinks angrily. He doesn't know how lucky he has it.

"I shouldn't have told you that your career was stupid," Dad says, shaking a head. "It's an honorable thing, what you do, Dean, and I should have given it the respect it deserves. It just worries your mother and me that you're risking your life day in and day out."

"It does?" Dean doesn't know why this should surprise him. After all, he reminds himself, this John Winchester is not the John Winchester Dean grew up with. This man has never known true loss or pain, never seen a nightmare come to life. This John Winchester is happy, something Dean's dad never, ever was after his wife's death.

"Of course. I'd never want you hurt, son, and neither would your mother. You know that."

Dean smiles, staring down at his shiny shoes.

"Yeah, I guess I do," he agrees.

--

To be honest, Dean doesn't pay much attention to the wedding ceremony. He stands next to Sam but he tries to tune it out because this is another thing that hurts like hell: watching his brother get the life he's always dreamed about.

Watching Sam marry Jess starts the ache up in Dean's chest again because it just reminds him that his Sammy is never going to have this day. Grace, standing next to Jess as one of her numerous bridesmaids, meets Dean's eyes and smiles a little, an attempt to comfort him silently.

God, I'm gonna miss her, Dean thinks, wondering how it's possible he can love a little sister that doesn't exist, at least not for him.

After Sam and Jess are husband and wife, things begin to blur together.

The ride to the hotel where they're holding the reception goes by in the blink of an eye. Dinner is over in a flash. Dean reads his best man speech in a quavering voice, gives a toast to Sam and Jess, pretends to smile but really just feels like throwing up.

His head is killing him.

"You look sick," Simon tells him when he flops into a chair next to the kid. "Are you okay?"

"I will be," Dean says, smiling at him tightly.

"Hey," Grace says, slipping into the seat on Dean's other side. "Why aren't you talking to Mom?" She nods to the left, and Dean let's his gaze travel to where his mother sits, chatting with Jess' mother animatedly. "This might be one of your last chances," she adds softly.

"I guess you're right." Dean shifts uncomfortably. He wants to spend as much time as he can with Mom…but for twenty-three years, she's been dead. For twenty-three years he's missed her and loved her and needed her, and now that she's sitting merely feet away from him, alive and well, he doesn't want to mess it up.

"Go," Grace says.

Dean stands just as Jess' mother does, and he moves quickly, taking the seat next to his mom.

"Hi," he says, smiling at her.

"Dean!" Mom smiles back. "Your speech was wonderful."

"Nah," Dean says gruffly, clearing his throat. "I hate doing stuff like that."

"I know. That's why it makes you such a good big brother." She rests a hand on his, smiling. "You made Sam's night by being here," she adds. "He really was afraid you wouldn't come."

"He shouldn't have been." Dean watches as the hired deejay announces that it's time for the newlywed's first dance. After a few minutes, others begin filtering onto the floor, and Mom turns to him.

"Would you dance with me, Dean?" Mom asks, standing up and holding out a hand. "For old time's sake?"

"'Course I will, Mom," Dean manages. "We'll show these kids how it's done." He leads his mother onto the dance floor and falls hastily into step, trying to remember how to lead.

"How's Texas?" Mom wants to know.

"It's very…uh, hot," Dean supplies lamely. "Lots of fires to fight."

"You're being careful, aren't you?"

"I'm always careful," Dean responds, echoing his words to Sam from the previous night.

"You just like to think you are, hon," Mom corrects, laughing. "You need to take care of yourself, okay?"

"I will, Mom," Dean assures her, because what else can he do? "I promise."

Mom opens her mouth to say something else, but a voice interrupts them.

"Mind if I cut in?" Dad asks, and Dean steps away from his mother without even considering it.

"Go ahead, Dad," Dean says, watching almost eagerly as his father takes his mother into his arms. They look happy together, complete, like they're puzzle pieces that only fit with each other. They're perfect.

Dean turns abruptly and goes to sit, waiting for the song to end. When it does, Sam comes to find him.

It's still hard for Dean to adjust to a Sam who is not in on the loop, a Sam who's carefree and happy and married, a Sam who laughs at almost everything and smiles and doesn't have visions.

"…just can't believe I'm married!" Dean catches the tail end of Sam's sentence and smiles at his brother.

"I'm happy for you, man," he says honestly. "You couldn't have found a better girl."

"Don't I know it." Sam sighs contentedly. "What about you? Any dream girls down in Texas?"

"No," Dean answers quietly. "Not yet."

"Just wait," Sam says confidently. "You'll find her soon—I know it."

"I hope so," Dean says. "Look, I've got a really bad headache, Sam. I'm gonna head back to the house and turn in, if that's okay with you."

"Yeah, you look kind of queasy," Sam agrees. "Don't worry about it, man. Jess and I will see you tomorrow before we leave for England."

"Good," Dean says. "And Sammy, about tonight." He waggles his eyebrows. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

Sam predictably goes bright red.

"Good night, Dean," he says loudly, standing up quickly.

"Night, little brother," Dean says. "Take care."

"Are you leaving?" Simon asks solemnly, apparently having been listening to the conversation.

"Yeah, you were right earlier. I'm sick," Dean says, looking down at his other little brother. It's really quite scary how much Simon looks like Dad—they have the same dimples, the same build, the same hair, the same shape of face. Simon is timid in a way Dad isn't, though, quiet and sensitive. He's like Sam in that way, but he's the youngest of the family, the one who lives in his older siblings' shadows. Dean doesn't have to be a genius to figure that one out.

"I hope you feel better." Simon smiles brightly. "It's cool Sammy's married, huh?"

"Pretty damn cool all right," Dean agrees, and suddenly is gripped by the longing to get to know the kid better before he has to leave. "Look, dude, I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay," Simon accepts. "Bye."

"Bye, kid," Dean returns quietly.

He briefly tells his parents he's leaving, and stiffens when they each give him a hug, knowing it's the last time he'll ever get one from either of them. He tells them he loves them, and then, before he can stop himself, gives each of them a second hug, taking time to memorize the way his mother's arms feel around him and the roughness of his father's tux.

Grace appears out of thin air and announces she'll give him a ride home and then take the pick-up back to the reception, and that's that.

Dean stands for a minute at the doorway to look at what could have been, the way his life could have unfolded if Sammy hadn't ever been Chosen.

It's not a perfect life—even he can see that—but it's a wonderful life full of wonderful people, and the ache in his chest is increasing a little more every time he takes a step away from it. He doesn't know how the Dean here could ever have left it, imperfections or not. It feels safe, it feels right, it feels normal.

It feels, Dean realizes, like home.

Grace drives him to the house, walks him inside, and then they stand together at the foot of the stairs, staring at each other.

"I hope you figure out how to break the curse," Grace says finally. "And I hope when you get back to your world you find that demon and you kick its ass."

"Me too," Dean says. "Thank you, Gracie. For everything you did for me today."

"You're my big brother," she says shakily. "If anyone but you had told me all the stuff you talked about today, I would have committed them. I know that if something like that ever happened to me, you…or the you that lives here…would have done the same for me."

"I'm gonna miss you," Dean says, voicing his thoughts from earlier. "You and me, I can tell we get along."

"Mom always says it's the age difference," Grace confides. "No competition like there is with you and Sam or me and Simon."

"I've got to go to sleep, Grace," Dean says finally. "I can barely keep my eyes open."

She lunges at him, giving him a huge hug (being especially careful not to touch his hurt arm).

"I love you, Dean," she says into his shoulder. "Be careful out there."

"I love you too, Gracie," he says, and it's all he can do not to stay awake forever, if only so he doesn't have to leave the life he's sure he's always wanted.