When they appear in Bobby's living room, Cas's hand still on his forearm, Sam and Bobby are in the kitchen. Dean's past self, on the other hand, is nowhere to be found. Fortunately. Dean has a feeling that if he were sitting around the Bunker and an older version of himself showed up claiming to be from 2020, he wouldn't exactly handle it well. And if Past Dean reacts to Current Dean the way Alternate Future Dean had reacted back when Dean was Past Dean—

Headache. Stopping there.

Sam is leaning against the counter, arms crossed, in the middle of a sentence, but he stops when they walk in. "Dean, h—Dean?" He glances over, his brow furrowing. "You okay?" Bobby twists the chair over to face them, slightly suspicious.

"Is this the part where everyone says I look tired or something?" Dean scoffs.

"This is not our Dean," Cas says, dropping his arm.

Bobby snatches a silver knife out of a pocket hanging off his chair. "I knew it," he growls, and wheels forward. Sam spins and grabs a container of holy water from a cabinet.

Cas holds a hand out. "Stop! Both of you. It's really him, just… older."

Jesus. "I'm not that much older," Dean mutters, reaching forward for the knife Bobby's still holding. "Long story short, I read a spell and it launched me back here." Bobby glares at him, but lets him take the knife.

Dean cuts a short line into his left forearm. "See? Not a shifter." He hands the knife back and accepts the holy water from Sam before splashing it on his face. "Not a demon." Anymore, he adds, with a sense of morbid humor. "You gonna believe me now?"

Sam takes the bottle back slowly, still frowning. "What year are you from?" Bobby tucks the knife away again and wheels his chair back a bit.

"2015. Right after Valentine's Day, actually," Dean says, wiping his face off. "Don't know why you couldn't take Cas at his word."

"Never said we wouldn't," Sam smirks.

Dean looks behind him toward the rest of the house. "So, where's Past Me? Uh, Present Me to you guys, I guess?"

"Still sleeping," Bobby says, darting a glance in the general direction of the living room stairs. "He was up late last night trying to find new cases."

"Any luck?" Dean asks. Maybe if Past Dean found one, he could tag along. Old cases for old times' sake.

Sam exhales. "Nope. Nothing. So, you read a spell? Were you trying to get somewhere else, or is this the time you were trying to get back to?"

Cas's lips quirk.

"No," Dean finally admits, his head inclined and his hand on the nape of his neck. "I… didn't know what it was going to do."

There's a very loud, stunned silence.

Dean sighs and holds out both hands. "Go on, let me have it."

"Are you out of your mind?!"

"What kind of idjit are you?!"

"I know, believe me, I know. I wasn't really paying attention to what I was doing at the time," Dean explains. "Kind of talking to myself." God, he's missed that confused, judgey look Bobby's giving him right now. "Well, I couldn't figure out how to pronounce it in the book, so I set it aside, thinking I'd ask Sam later. And then in the shower, I'm washing my hair and sounding it out… I know, I know, okay!"

Bobby scoffs and rolls his chair over to the refrigerator to get a beer. "How many brain cells did you lose in the last five years?"

"Well, why didn't Cas just—" Sam gestures vaguely. "…you back to your own time?"

"I tried, Sam," Cas says. "It didn't work. The spell was unbreakable – he's stuck here for three days. I believe he'll be yanked back to his own time after that."

Dean leans back against the wall, crossing his arms. The cut he'd scratched is a little irritating, but the Mark is still throbbing at the edge of his subconscious as always. "So what do we do? Hang out and play mirror buddies till I go home?"

"You two have been on cases nearly nonstop," Bobby points out, looking at Sam. "A break might do us all a little good."

Sam nods slowly. "Yeah, I'm wondering if there's another way to break this spell earl—"

"Break what spell?" a slightly unfamiliar voice calls out from the living room stairs. A tad higher than it sounds from inside Dean's own head.

Past Dean walks into the kitchen and stops cold when he sees Dean. "What the fuck."

Cas holds a hand out, not nearly enough to stop Past Dean if he wants to lunge forward but enough to get his attention. "It's you from the year 2015," he says. "Time travel spell."

"Dean, we've—" Sam breaks off as both Deans both whip their heads in his direction. He gestures with his own beer. "Current Dean. This-year Dean. We tested him. He's not a Shifter or a demon or anything. But he is really stupid."

"I'll say," Bobby cuts in.

"Thanks, Sammy," Dean coughs. He turns back to Past Dean and tugs the sleeve of his shirt up to reveal the cut, still speckled with a tiny amount of drying blood. "See? I can do the holy water thing again if you want."

Past Dean still seems suspicious.

He's gonna have to do this factoid again. Dean sighs and mutters "panties" out of the corner of his mouth. Past Dean blanches and finally backs away.

For a second, Dean wonders how it feels (felt?) to first have to use the panties memory against a possible-future self from 2014, and then have it used on him by another possible-future self from 2015. There's a strange kind of symmetry. If the two Deans were alone, he would have added that the only one he'd told about the Rhonda thing was his own self. In case there was any lingering doubt.

Past Dean shifts his weight back on his right leg. "So, um… How long you stuck here? I'm assuming since we're all standing around—sorry, Bobby—bullshitting that Cas can't take you back yet."

"Three days," Cas says. "It was a spell."

Dean can't take the glare Past Dean is shooting him right now. "What?" he finally snaps.

"Please tell me we're not that stupid," Past Dean spits. "You just read stuff without thinking about it?"

Jesus, he is never going to live this down, in the past or in the future. Present. Whatever. Dean huffs in annoyance. "Have a little on my mind in my time," he says. "I wasn't completely paying attention."

"Yeah?" Bobby asks, interested now. He takes a long drink of his beer and rolls in a small arc with one wheel. "Like what?"

The room fills with silence. Three sets of eyes pin Dean. He shakes his head. "Oh, no. No, I'm not changing things here. Nice try." He thinks for a second. "Hey, when was the last case you, or we, whatever, worked?" he asks Sam and Past Dean.

"We had to deal with the kid who was half-demon," Sam says.

Dean can't resist. "Oh. Well, let's just say that even when I'm outta here, you guys won't be done playing with time." He smirks at his past self. "And you're not as good at poker as you think you are."

Past Dean's eyes flare with offended confusion.

"Never mind," Dean amends. "Okay. So. Where am I staying, since I've got three days to kill?"

Bobby rolls over to the trash and tosses his empty bottle in. "Doesn't matter to me," he shrugs. "I can't get up to my bedroom these days. Might as well take that one. But don't be screwing things up in there."

"Fine," Dean says. He pauses and then can't resist. "Bobby. It's um, it's good to see you."

Sam looks over at him, forehead creasing a bit.

"I'm guessing I'm dead in your time," Bobby says bluntly. "Or else you've been through some serious therapy in the meantime." He exhales. "Don't matter to me. I'm old and can't walk."

Dean opens his mouth, and then shuts it. No, he really can't afford to tell him any more.