A/N Hello again! I was considering just making this story a one-shot but once I got started I kept thinking about how I wanted the story to continue, so here it is! I have something exciting planned for the next chapter too, so stay tuned! Hope you enjoy.

Dean remained on the grass with his bottle of scotch, not wanting to move or face the situation that waited for him inside the bunker. He lifted the bottle to his lips, but Cas suddenly reached out and took it from him.

"That is not helping," Cas said.

"Being sober isn't going to help either," Dean said. "Give it back."

"No."

"Cas, give me it, or so help me…" Dean reached over the angel, clumsily trying to grab the bottle even though his vision was becoming a little blurry. Cas put his hand over Dean's eyes and through the gaps in his fingers, Dean saw a flash of white light and heard his bottle shatter. He pushed Cas's hand off his face and saw that the very expensive bottle of scotch that the Men of Letters had left behind had been reduced to dust on the grass.

"You could have just thrown it in to the road," Dean muttered. "You don't need to use your ninja angel skills for everything."

"We're going inside," Cas said.

"No, we're not. I just punched Sam in the face, he's not going to want to talk to me."

Ignoring his protests, Cas stood up and hoisted Dean to his feet by the arm. The sudden change in altitude made him feel dizzy. The bunker door in front of him seemed to be swaying before his eyes. He took a shaky step towards the door and wondered whether he was going to fall over or throw up. Clearly noticing his complete ineptitude, Cas reached out again and touched Dean's forehead. With a slightly unpleasant lurch, he sobered up entirely.

"Well that was a complete waste of hundred-year old scotch," he muttered.

"Come on," Cas said, half guiding, half pushing Dean towards the door to face his brother.

Cas sat Dean down at the large, backlit table in the main room of the bunker. Dean felt too defeated to care that he was being shepherded around like a child. Cas called out for Sam, his deep voice echoing around the walls and almost immediately Sam appeared from the corridor, a large bag slung over his shoulder, blood still caked on his lips.

"Where are you going?" Dean asked, looking up from the table.

"Anywhere," Sam said, not even looking at him. "I think we should take a break."

"We're not a damn married couple. You can't just take a break every time things get hard."

"Dean is right," Cas said. "I fear that your leaving will not solve anything."

"No offence, Cas," Sam said, "but this isn't really any of your business."

"It is my business when it affects my family."

"I'm not your family," Sam said, and for a split second, Cas looked hurt. Dean stood up furiously and lunged for Sam but the angel pushed him back.

"Take that back," Dean said from behind Cas's outstretched arm. Sam just shrugged coldly. "I can just about handle you being a giant ass-clown towards me, Sam, but don't you dare take out your pre-pubescent bitch fit on Cas."

"Well he isn't family, Dean," Sam said. "What do you want me to say?" He opened his mouth but he was too furious to form any kind of coherent argument.

"When I said this was affecting my family, Sam," Cas said, coolly, "I wasn't talking about you." Dean looked at the angel who now had his blue eyes fixed on him and Dean stared back at him with a mixture of surprise and gratitude while Sam looked taken-aback.

"What's wrong?" Dean said, feeling a kind of dark satisfaction at Sam's injured expression. "It's okay for you to disown your family, but you can't handle it when they do it to you?"

"I can see this discussion isn't producing the outcome I had hoped for," Cas said, almost to himself.

"What are you talking about?" Dean asked. Without another word Cas raised his arms and touched two fingers to each of their foreheads and the brothers slumped to the floor, completely unconscious.

"Time for Plan B."

Dean woke up on a dirty wooden floor, disoriented and confused. He heard a familiar groan beside him.

"Sammy?" he said, sitting himself up and immediately looking for his brother. Sam sat up a few feet away from him, squinting and rubbing his head.

"I'm sorry I knocked you unconscious," said Cas, who was standing over them, completely unaffected by their trip. "But frankly, I was tired of listening to you."

Dean stood up and for a few seconds before he got his bearings, he couldn't understand why he had an overwhelming feeling of safety. He looked around to see piles of books, old dusty curtains, a big wooden desk. A hundred comforting sights and smells rushed back to him all at once and he realised where he was. He was at Bobby's. He was home.

"Why are we here?" Sam asked. But before Cas could answer, heavy footsteps sounded on the porch and Bobby walked through the door.

"Bobby," Dean breathed. He felt as though a crushing weight had been lifted from him at the sight of that familiar, bearded face.

"Hey, Bobby," Sam said. The older man stopped in his tracks.

"Who the hell are you?" he asked, raising the shotgun in his hand.

"Woah, Bobby it's us," said Dean. "Sam and Dean. Winchester."

"Do I look demented?" Bobby snapped back. "I know who you're supposed to be, but you ain't my boys."

"Yes they are," Cas said, stepping forward. "We have come here from the future."

Bobby looked from one brother to the other and then to Cas, staring at them with disbelief before finally lowering his gun.

"I can see we need to have a talk," Bobby said, taking in their defeated and empty expressions and Sam's burst lip. "But why did you need to come back in time to speak to me?" He looked to Dean who opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out, so he closed it again.

"Balls," said Bobby, shaking his head. "I'm dead, ain't I?"

"Yeah," Sam said.

"Ah well," he said, "not a lot I can do about it. And don't any of you boys dare tell me how or when I kick the bucket."

"We won't," Sam said, with a half-hearted attempt at a smile. Bobby looked at them again and sighed.

"What the hell has happened to you two?"

"It's a long story," said Dean, flashing Sam an accusing look. Without a word, Bobby turned and disappeared in to the kitchen. Dean turned around to Cas, not sure if he was angry or grateful that he had dragged them back here without their permission, but when he looked, the angel was gone. Bobby reappeared moments later with three beers in his hand.

"Sit," he said, pointing towards the faded, flower-patterned sofa. They took their usual spots, but Dean subconsciously pressed himself against the arm of the couch to avoid touching Sam. When he glanced over to his brother, he realised he was doing the same thing. "Talk," Bobby ordered.

Dean began to explain the situation as succinctly as he could, but Sam kept interrupting him angrily.

"Can it, Sam," Bobby said. "You'll get your turn." Dean continued his story, including the part where Sam said he would no longer save Dean's life. Bobby said nothing, but just raised his scruffy eyebrows and then gestured for Sam to start speaking.

By the time Dean had sat through Sam's stupid, defeatist speech about the inevitability of death and the hopelessness of everything for the second time that day, his hands were clenched in to fists, but he forced himself to stay quiet. When they had both told their sides of the story, they waited for Bobby to say something. When he eventually began to speak, Dean wished he hadn't.

"I never thought I'd be so disappointed in you boys," Bobby said. The words hit Dean like a bullet in the stomach. He kept his eyes fixed on the leg of the table, unwilling to meet Bobby's eyes and see how much he had let him down. "You have both made mistakes," he continued. "And I mean catastrophic mistakes that almost cost the lives of everyone on the entire planet." Dean noticed Sam look a little sheepish. "But everybody screws up. Only difference is, you boys have the fate of the world resting on your shoulders, so when you screw up, the consequences are a hell of a lot bigger. But you're supposed to look out for each other, stop each other from making complete asses of yourselves from time to time, and when things go wrong, you work through it together."

"It isn't - " Sam started, but Bobby cut across him. "I ain't finished Sam. Your brother has risked his life for other people more times than anyone else I've ever met, and most of the time he's risking his life for you, so don't you dare go telling him that he can't make a sacrifice, because when it comes down to it, that boy will give up everything for you, a hundred times over, and there was a time you would do the same. Get your head out your ass and deal with the life you've got. Take it from a dead man, it's not as bad as you're making it out to be so for the love of God, fight for it." Despite his shame, Dean felt a little spark of smugness as he listened to Bobby defending him.

"And you," Bobby said, rounding on Dean and taking him by surprise, "you're a far cry from perfect yourself. You're stubborn and a downright hypocrite half of the time. I know you wanna do your daddy proud and take care of Sam but he's a big boy now and he can make his own stupid choices. All you can do is be there for him so quit acting like a wounded puppy. Not everyone is going to be willing to make the same sacrifices that you are." Both boys stared resolutely at the floor.

"Honest to God, I never thought things could get this bad between you two. Ya idjits. You're all each other's got." Bobby stood up and both brothers stood up as well, discarding their untouched beers. "Now come here," Bobby said, pulling Dean in to a hug. "I suppose this is the last time you boys are going to see me alive so I guess this is goodbye." Dean stepped back and took a long look at that scruffy old man, all dressed in plaid with his worn out hat, wishing more than anything that he didn't have to say goodbye to him again because he wasn't just losing a friend, he was losing a mentor, a guardian, a father...

"I have a lot of good memories of you boys," Bobby said, hugging Sam as well. "Don't you go letting me down now. I didn't raise a pair of quitters. Now, get out of my house before your past selves get back. We're going to watch a movie, eat some popcorn, drink a couple beers and have a real nice time because that's what families do."

Dean heard the familiar sound of the Impala approaching the house. He heard the car doors slam and recognised his own voice. He must have said something funny because a second later he heard Sam bellow with laughter, so loud that the noise came through the window and echoed a little in the quiet house. Dean remembered this day. They had all watched a movie together, squashed together on the little sofa, and he and Sam got in to a heated debate about liquorice and peanut butter and banana sandwiches. It had been a wonderfully normal evening, the kind of evening that Dean missed desperately.

Suddenly Cas reappeared behind them.

"We have to leave immediately" he said. "You cannot meet your past selves." Dean took one last look at Bobby, who gave him a warm smile and a reassuring nod.

"Hey Bobby," Dean said, but before the next word was out of his mouth, he felt Cas's hand on his shoulder. A split second later, Bobby was gone and he was standing in the bunker again, feeling more lost and alone than ever.

Dean looked to his little brother, waiting to gauge his reaction.

"Listen, Sammy," Dean started.

"Don't Dean. Just don't," said Sam, bending down to pick up his bag and swinging it over his shoulder.

"You're still leaving?" he asked. There was a little part of him that really believed their visit to Bobby's would have made Sam see sense.

"I need some space for a while," he said, grabbing his jacket from the table. And without another word, he turned and walked down in to the garage. Dean and Cas stood in absolute silence as they heard one of the spare cars growl in to life. They heard hum of the garage door as it slowly opened and then the sound of the car faded away down the quiet country roads.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Cas said.

"It's not your fault," Dean said. "I'm just not sure this can be fixed anymore."