-Summary: It's the end of the world and they've got one last card to play. Castiel sends Dean back: back before everything. Now he has time to stop what's coming, but no friggin' clue how to do it. Time travel should really come with a manual. TIMELINE AU

-Chapter Warnings: Dean gets his dream angel on, Sam's giving everyone all the answers, and Bobby's a bit skeptical. (we're still swearing)

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The Road So Far (this Time Around)

Chapter 5

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He was dreaming.

He'd had this dream so many times now that it was his first thought to recognize it for what it was. The mountain lake with its autumn leaves drifting across the calm surface. The slight wobble of the collapsible chair as he settled into it. The bobbing lure a few feet into the water. The tap of his boot against the edge of the wooden dock, drumming out the soothing beats of ACDC.

"Hello, Dean."

The hunter looked over and up. The angel was standing next to him, haloed by the afternoon sun as he stared forward, observing the lake with a seriousness that belied the serene view. Dean smiled as the last piece of the dream slid into place.

"Hey, Cas. How's it hanging?"

The angel looked down at him, a small frown forming between his eyes as he considered the question. Dean always loved when he did that. It amused him to no end.

"It is…hanging well."

The hunter snorted, mouth splitting into a wide grin. Castiel tilted his head.

"Nevermind. Inside joke."

Blue eyes regarded him profound severity. "We are not inside."

This time Dean rolled his eyes and looked back out onto the water. "Human joke, then."

"Ah." Castiel returned his gaze to the water. They settled into silence. The trees rustled with the fall breeze. Cas's trench coat flapped in time with the wind. Dean's lure bobbed with a potential catch. He decided he could reel it in in a minute.

"You are injured."

He looked up in surprise at the angel. "Huh?"

Castiel reached out and took his towel-wrapped hand from where it rested on the arm of the chair. A beer sat inches from his fingers, settled in the koozie drink holder. Dean vaguely remembered cutting himself on the bottle, though this one was intact. Huh.

"It's nothing," he dismissed, even as Castiel unwrapped the towel. There wasn't any blood on the fabric, which Dean found curious. The cuts were fresh: the edges raw. Cas held his palm in both his hands, almost reverently as he stared down at the injury. Dean thought he could feel the angel's thumbs rub gentle circles over his skin, but Cas's fingers were not moving.

He looked up at his friend as they sat there, all but holding hands while nothing happened. Distantly, Dean thought he should be weirded out.

"You can't heal me, can you?" He didn't know why he asked it. The answer was obvious, laid out before him in the cuts that still marred his skin. Cas would have already healed them if he could. The words were nothing but salt in a painful wound for the angel. But still he said them.

Cas looked at him with such sorrow that he instantly regretted his impulsive, selfish mouth.

"There's not enough left." His words were quiet but even. There was nothing behind them, unlike the pain in the wrinkles of his forehead or the apology in his eyes. Merely a fact he couldn't change.

Dean wasn't sure what the angel meant, but assumed it was his diminished grace. Metatron had done quite the number on the thing Cas considered his soul.

His stomach twisted unpleasantly. Well, Metatron and Lucifer. "I'm sorry, Cas."

The angel's piercing eyes come back to him. Storm clouds were moving in from the east, changing the blue sky to grey. The wind picked up, shuffling more dying leaves into the water. He swallowed heavily.

"I couldn't save you. I didn't…" Dean trailed off, looking away as he was unable to say it aloud. I couldn't stop Lucifer from wearing you to the end of the world. I didn't even try.

"It was my choice, Dean."

"Yeah, well, it was a stupid choice!" The hunter stood from the chair, towering over his friend, though he was hardly taller. Castiel only watched calmly. The lack of emotion – of any reaction – suddenly irritated him. "What the hell were you thinking, man? Saying yes to the Devil? After everything we went through putting him back in the box the first time?"

Cas didn't answer, just regarded the hunter silently until something drew his attention away. He looked over his shoulder, back towards shore.

"Damn it, Cas, don't you dare fly off on me!"

Castiel turned back to him, eyes lit and serious. The angel held out two fingers pressed familiarly together. "You need to wake up now, Dean."

Those fingers touched his forehead and, for a second, Dean wondered what would happen to the fish still caught on his line.

-o-o-o-

Dean shot off the couch with a gun in his uninjured hand and a blanket in the other. It took him a minute to orient himself, swinging the weapon in a half circle as he took in the room and all potential threats.

"Whoa, Dean, put the gun down, son. It's just us." It was Bobby, arms raised and to Dean's right, by his desk. Battle-hardened eyes accepted him as a non-threat and swung around to the other two occupants of the room, standing by the door to the hall. Sam pushed Jess behind him, keeping both his hands clearly visible.

The hardened hunter almost collapsed as his body released the tension and adrenaline it had stockpiled. Dean lowered the gun. The room let out a collective breath as the others dropped their arms. Jess stepped out from behind Sam.

"Sorry," he mumbled, tucking the gun into his jeans. He looked down at the blanket in his hand, wondering how it had gotten there, before chucking it onto the couch.

"Are you-" His brother took an aborted step towards him, awkwardly trying to express his concern without actually showing any of it, in case it drove Dean further away. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," the older Winchester answered automatically, passing a hand through his hair as he looked around the room, at his younger brother and his (not) dead girlfriend, at his (not) dead father figure. Still in 2005. So, not a crazy dream after all.

Speaking of crazy dreams. His eyes landed back on the couch. That had been an odd one. He had never dreamt of Cas before – well, he had, obviously, but his mind had never been the one supplying the angel. It had always been the real Cas. Dean had never come up with the winged dick all on his own before. At least, not in thatdream, with the lake and dock and the fish he never got to reel in. Nightmares were another story, and one he was steadfastly not going to think about.

But his mind had definitely been responsible for his feathered friend this time. Had to be, because Cas was gone. Or, well, not gone. But not here, in this timeline, aware of who Dean Winchester was and inclined to visit his dreams for some chitchat. And even if he did for some odd reason, this-time Castiel wouldn't be the same – wouldn't even know him. And he definitely wouldn't have known about Lucifer.

No, this had to be a product of his strained mental state. Dream-Cas hadn't even been Ten-Years-From-Now Cas. That one understood pop culture references (sort of) and got most of Dean's idioms (even if he was terrible at using them himself) and couldn't fly away from conversations he didn't want to have anymore. No, dream-Cas had been more like...Apocalypse Cas. Team-Free-Will era: pre-God, pre-purgatory and pre-Sam's-scarred-mind.

In some twisted way, it made sense that he'd conjured up that version. That had been his best friend, and those had been the high times of their friendship. Before so much crap and pain and lies had weighed them down until they barely knew each other anymore and all that was left was guilt and loyalty leftover from better versions of themselves.

Dean shook his head. They didn't have time for this head-shrink crap. They had more important things than analyzing a crumbling relationship that didn't even exist anymore outside of a dream.

He gave the couch one last fierce look before he faced his family. All of who were sporting questioning expressions of their own.

"Sorry," he said automatically. "Odd dream."

"What kind of dream?" Sammy asked, a little too quickly and a lot too forwardly. Dean gave him a funny look.

Oh, you know, Sammy. Just the Touched By An Angel kind. Only you don't know angels exist and this one isn't supposed to be in my head yet.

"Just a dream," he answered instead, eyeing his brother warily. When Sam looked like he was about to press for more, Dean added with a shrug, "I was fishing. Off a dock on some mountain lake."

Sam's brow creased in confusion, then disappointment. "Oh."

"Yeah, 'Oh.'" Dean mimicked with confusion all his own. What the hell had the kid been hoping he was dreaming about?

"Well, if we're done sharing?" Bobby muttered, uncrossing his arms. "Can we get back to the demon crisis, ya idjits?"

They gathered around the desk where the old hunter had laid out several of his best demon guide books, all open to various traps and spells and exorcisms.

"Look, I spent the last six hours-" Six hours? Dean checked the clock shoved haphazardly between books on the shelf behind Bobby's desk. Why the hell didn't anyone wake me up? "-checking for demonic omens all around the University and Palo Alto for the last week. I got nothing."

"Demonic omens?" Sam asked, leaning over to scan one of the books.

"Crop death, animal mutilations, freak lighting storms. The signs vary, but they're all pretty easy to spot when they happen. Bunch of cows gutted in a field tends to make the evening news."

Jess looked fairly sick and Sam grimaced.

"But there was none of that near Stanford?" Sam asked, moving over to the large map of the California bay area Bobby had spread out.

"Not a lick anywhere on the map," he answered with a huff. "If something was supposed to go down, it sure as hell wasn't coming gift-wrapped."

"What does that even mean?" the younger Winchester asked, straightening up. "Brady said they had plans for me. I'm assuming 'they' are demons higher up the food chain?"

Bobby gave a half shrug. "Sure, sounds 'bout right. But I'm telling you, bigger fish would have left a calling card of some sort." He waved his hands towards the map. "We got nothing."

"Maybe…" Jess's softer voice broke the silence in the room. She looked hopefully at Sam. "Maybe he was lying?"

He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her into his chest. He kissed the top of her forehead. "I don't think that's a risk we can take, Jess."

She returned the hug for a moment, savoring his arms around her and letting herself have a second of codependent comfort before pulling away. Jess was a strikingly independent woman, one of the things she knew Sam loved about her and something she sure as hell loved about herself. Though this had shaken her to her core and she was definitely not okay in any definition of the word, she wasn't the type to bury herself in comfort when they had things to face.

"So what's next?" she asked, steel in her voice and determination in her eyes. Sam wanted to kiss her even more, but held himself back. He glanced over at his brother – a default move anytime he caught himself being too 'chick-flicky' with the love of his life. He hated himself for it; screw Dean's macho insecurities and closet-homophobia.

Despite all that, he still looked fleetingly at his big brother and frowned at what he saw.

"Dean?"

The older hunter looked up from where he was staring at Bobby's desk. His memory was pretty fuzzy on the whole thing, but he thought there had been signs in Palo Alto the first time around. He was pretty sure Dad had said as much, though he couldn't recall when or why. But Dean pushed that to the side for now and raised his eyebrows at his brother in question. He hadn't been paying much attention to whatever was being said. "Huh?"

"You…okay?"

Green eyes squinted under a furled brow and he gave that annoyed pull back of his head he did anytime he didn't get why someone was asking him something. "Yeah, fine. Why?"

Sam lowering his gaze to his brother's chest, where his hand was absently rubbing. Dean followed the pointed look, only to realize what he was doing and pull his arm away.

Huh. He'd been doing that a lot, hadn't he?

"I'm fine," he reassured all three of them yet again. He kept his thoughts away from holes caused by Hell and the slight ache spread across his pectorals like a heat wrap.

Sam opened his mouth, probably to argue some more about his definition of 'fine,' when Rumfeld's fierce barking erupted from outside. Jess jumped and Bobby had a shotgun already in hand. Dean knew better than to ask where the hell it had come from.

There was a knock at the door.

Dean and Sam drew their guns as well, now. All four of the rooms' occupants turned their sights to the front entryway beyond the hall. Jess moved behind the younger Winchester.

"You expecting guests?"

The old hunter shook his head and the group moved together to the front of the house. Sam kept Jess behind him when she refused to go down to the panic room if they weren't all going.

Dean gave Bobby a signaled look, tucking his gun back into his pants as another knock sounded. It was innocent enough – even polite as far as knocks went. But the hunters were too experienced to let their guard down for any reason. Bobby nodded back, shotgun already cocked. He stepped off to the side of the door, ready to fire should anything unfriendly come through. Eyes still locked on Dean, he pointed upwards at the ceiling and swirled his finger in a circle.

The older Winchester nodded in understanding.

Sam maneuvered Jess out of sight from the doorway, standing near her but within eye-line of the porch. He gave a nod to his brother, and Dean opened the door.

It was a young man standing on the other side, fist raised to knock for the third time. His eyes widened in surprise and he gave a little 'Oh!' before taking a step back. His smile was genuine, his dress shirt newly pressed and his tie ever so slightly askew. Absolutely nothing about him screamed evil.

Dean didn't buy it for a second. Rumfeld was still snapping and snarling at the end of his chain.

"Sorry to bother you, sir," the kid began, glancing a little nervously at the Rottweiler only a few feet away. "I'm with the Souix Falls Kingdom Hall, and I was hoping to speak to you today about our Lord and Savior-"

"Yeah, sorry, pal. We ain't the religious type."

"Oh, uh…" the kid's face fell and he looked around awkwardly. "That's- That's okay. Have you ever considered letting the Lord into your life?"

Dean stared at the man with an unwavering glare. "Yup. Didn't work out so well for me."

He blinked, clearly not expecting that. Dean wasn't surprised. Even if he was human, which he seriously doubted, it wasn't exactly a common reply. "I'm sorry to hear that. May I ask what went wrong?"

Sure, pal.

"The world ended. Now, if you don't mind." He made a shooing motion with his hand and the Jehova's Witness, eyes wide, looked back behind him at the way he'd come.

"Oh. Um. Yes, well." He looked down at the book in his hand, then back up to Dean. "If you're sure?"

"Pretty damn."

The kid just nodded and turned to step off the porch. The hunter actually thought he might well and truly leave. But he stopped at the edge, made an aborted movement, and spun back around. Dean's eyes narrowed.

"Are you sure you don't-"

"Christo."

The man's eyes immediately turned black and he sneered, innocent act gone in the blink of those depthless eyes. Dean smirked, pointedly looking up at the devils trap newly painted in a subtle grey on the roof of the porch. Sam and Bobby had obviously made some improvements while Dean had slept. Awesome.

"Well, Sammy. Looks like you get to practice your first exorcism."

-o-o-o-

They took care of the demon right then and there on the porch. He snarled and bitched and threatened to no avail. Bobby handed Sam a heavy tomb entitled The Key of Solomon and the kid performed the Latin exorcism without a hitch. This time, though, they sent the bastard back home with a message: Leave Jess out of this.

The others hadn't quite known what to make of it when Dean said it aloud, but their agreement was there. They just weren't sure what 'this' was. It was becoming more and more obvious that Dean did, though.

"Time to finish that earlier conversation, boys." Bobby handed them both beers as he came down the basement stairs. His stony expression and pointed look in Dean's direction told them he was serious. "I hear of three…maybe four possessions a year. You've got two in the span o' twenty-four hours? What's going on that you ain't told me?"

They had relocated to the basement, with Jess tucked in the panic room, Sam sitting on the cot beside her, and Dean in the doorway. Bobby joined them, leaning against the small desk next to the entrance. It was a bit cramped, but they all agreed it was safer this way.

The demons obviously knew where they were now. Dean had no doubt the fake bible thumper had been a scout, seeing if the Winchesters had retreated to Singer's and fully intending to leave once he had that information. Just hadn't counted on a devil's trap sticking him to the porch with no way out. At least with him kicking and screaming his way back downstairs, it would take longer for him to report to his superiors. They had a little time, but not much. Shit was going to go down, and it was probably going down soon.

Sam looked to Dean, expecting him to come clean. Dean knew the kid had no idea what he had to come clean about. Didn't matter anyway. He had no intention of telling the truth.

Problem was, he hadn't figured out what he was going to tell them.

The silence stretched on in the iron room as Dean wracked his brain for something plausible that would explain how he had known Brady was a demon, that Bobby had a panic room, and all the other shit he had no reasonable explanation for knowing. He couldn't keep dodging the question for much longer – he could tell from the looks his brother and Bobby were giving him.

But he needed time to think. A half-assed lie now would only get him caught sooner rather than later, and if he was going to fix everything he needed time.

Dean was an action sorta guy. He worked great under pressure when that pressure was something he could physically fight. Planning wasn't his strong suit, and definitely not something he did well last minute, with no room to think.

Son of a bitch, what do I say?

"Dean." His brother's voice pulled him out of his desperate, circling thoughts that were going absolutely nowhere. He looked up, meeting Sammy's gaze and blinking in surprise at the expression on his brother's face. Sam's eyes were earnest and understanding and desperately pleading for something that he wasn't sure he understood.

"Have you…" he faltered, then steeled his expression as best as twenty-two year old Sam could. "Are you having dreams about things before they happen?"

Dean blinked. What? Why would Sam think-

His brain ground to a halt. Of course Sam would think he was having psychic dreams. Because Sam was having psychic dreams. Son of a bitch! How had he forgotten that?

Because it had been so long since he'd had one. Sam had stopped having them after they'd killed Azazel. Sure, he'd kept juicing up his psychic demon-killing abilities, but he never mentioned having dreams again.

It had been years and years ago, but Sam had once told Dean he'd dreamt of Jess's death days before it happened. Which meant he was having psychic dreams – those dreams – right now, and he didn't know why. And Sam, being Sam, would find relief in thinking he wasn't alone: that he wasn't the only freak. Dean was his brother by blood – why shouldn't he, too, be channeling the psychic mumbo-jumbo.

Not to mention he'd known about the woman in white after waking up in the Impala. Sure, that was because he'd woken up from a ten year time jump, but Sam didn't know that. For all he knew, Dean could have dreamt about Demon Brady and hauled ass back to Stanford cuz of it.

Suddenly the constipated looks his brother kept giving him made a hell of a lot more sense.

The older hunter scrubbed his hand through his hair and raced through the pros and cons of claiming he was dreaming of the future. His list was quickly piling up on the pros, with minor cons he could deal with later. Son of a bitch, this might actually work. Sammy was unknowingly giving him an out. And, even better, it was a plan that meant not isolating his little brother as a freak of nature this time around.

That would probably be a plus.

But he couldn't just outright admit it. No version of him, circa 2005 or later, would ever come out of the supernatural closet without some serious denial. So he hunched up his shoulders and tried for his best defensive, bitchy tone. "What? No. I haven't- What are you talking about Sammy?"

Sam swallowed heavily, but his eyes were set with determination. He'd played just enough panic into his words to make his little brother see the dismissal for what it was. "It's okay, Dean. I've been having them too."

Bobby's head whipped around to focus on the younger Winchester. He'd been sitting quiet, watching this all unfold (and giving Sam an odd look or two as the conversation turned back to dreaming once more). But now his attention was fully on the younger of the boys.

"Come again?"

Sam didn't answer the older hunter. His focus was solely on his brother as he stood from the cot. "Dean, what Brady said about- about hurting Jess." He glanced down at the love of his life, who was watching him with wide, doe eyes. He looked back at his brother. "I've been dreaming about it. For- for weeks. Exactly as he…described."

Jess reached out and grabbed his hand in both of hers. She knew he'd been having nightmares for a while now, but he never told her what they were about. Not that she would have believed him before all of this. (Part of her was still struggling to believe any of this, even now.)

"I thought," Sam trailed off again. "I was too young to remember Mom, but you told me how she died. I thought I was just…getting cold feet or something. That it was just nerves."

It took a minute for Dean to realize what his brother was talking about. Sam had been thinking of proposing before Jess had died. Realization settled in his stomach like lead. It would have been so easy for Sam to write off his dreams as anxiety. His mother had died in a horrible manner, and he was about to ask the love of his life to marry him. To one day become the mother of his children. It was pretty easy to see the connection and sweep it under the rug as his mind's way of visualizing his anxieties.

Dean let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. Damn it. The kid hadn't told him that before.

Bobby was looking between the two of them with disbelief. Dean ran a hand through his hair and blew out a breath. He'd probably stalled enough to be believable.

"Yeah, Sammy." He made sure to put a touch of defeat in his tone. Never surrender without a fight; that was the Dean Winchester way. "I've been seeing shit too."

The sheer relief of 'I'm not alone' that filled Sammy's face at Dean's confession was almost enough to make him wish he was having psychic dreams. If only so the feel-good comfort of offering his brother so much support wasn't tainted by the bittersweet knowledge that he was once again lying his ass off to his family.

Bobby stood to his full height, confronting Dean with his most serious 'no more bullshit' face. "Let me see if I got this right. You boys-" he glanced at Sam, "- are seeing the future? In yer dreams?"

Dean knew it wasn't a lack of belief that Bobby was held up on. Hell, with all the shit he'd scene and company he kept, he knew there were real psychics and clairvoyants out in the world. He just never thought in a million years that John Winchester's boys would be two of 'em.

"Dean," Sam croaked, interrupting the older hunter before Dean could formulate a believable Dean-2005 response. "Did you….did you dream of Jess, too?"

The older of the two brothers glanced at the woman on the cot beside Sam. She seemed small, now. Fragile, even though he knew she was pretty strong for a civilian. He shook his head. "No. I, uh, just knew Brady was possessed."

"And the woman in white?"

Bobby's head swiveled like a bobble head. "What woman in white?" He sounded about half a step away from beating answers out of the two brothers if they didn't start paying his questions some attention.

Dean gave a shrug. "Yeah, her too. Brady seemed more, you know, pressing." He turned to Bobby, knowing they were in for one heck of an explosion if someone didn't start talking sense. "The hunt I thought Dad was on, in California. It's a woman in white. I…uh….dreamt about it. And Brady."

He was thankful when Sam took the initiative and launched into his own dream experiences, since Dean didn't have much more of a lie ready to spin. Bobby listened as Sam described finding Jess pinned to the ceiling. She looked slightly green around the edges and he glossed over some of the more gruesome details Dean knew about. But the older of the two confirmed it was exactly as Mom had died, and exactly as Brady had described.

Bobby turned expectantly to him, crossing his arms over his chest. Dean shifted under the stare.

"I dreamt the kid was possessed. Was gonna make a move on Sam. Didn't know what," he lied, and winced as he realized how vague and utter crap-tastic this all sounded. "Just knew it was gonna happen soon."

The old man raised an eyebrow at him, suspicion clear in his body language. Bobby knew Dean. And the man he knew would have been damn uncomfortable about having psychic mojo, let alone embracing or listening to it.

"And you, what, knew you were psychic? Just like that?"

Dean managed not to flinch, instead clenching his jaw defensively. "It wasn't the first time," he lied through his teeth.

Sam perked up at that, but his brother didn't want to elaborate. If he played it off like it wasn't a story he was keen on retelling, they might drop it. Which would work well for him, as he didn't actually have a story and he definitely didn't want to try telling one.

"It was a couple weeks ago. I thought it was crazy, so I ignored it." He looked away. "Bad idea. People got hurt."

His brother immediately backed down, like he knew the kid would. Sammy knew the guilt Dean carried when civilians ended up with backlash from their jobs. He wouldn't push, especially if he thought that wound was recent.

"This time, it was Sammy," Dean finished, defensively. He shouldn't have to say anymore, Bobby would get the idea. "So yeah, I acted on it."

It seemed to work. The old hunter was still watching him warily, but accepted the information. "Alright," he answered begrudgingly. "So you're both…suddenly psychic. Think we can add that to the bucket of weird we got going on."

"Tell me about it," Dean muttered.

"What do you think it means?" Sam was looking between the two earnestly. Dean kept forgetting how young the kid was. Still so freakin' innocent, despite everything twenty-two years had shown him. But, in comparison to what the next ten years would deliver, this was definitely innocence.

"I haven't got a clue," Bobby supplied, shaking his head. He tore his cap off and ran his hands through his hair a couple times before replacing the trademark hat. "But I think whatever you've stepped into…it's serious crap, boys."

The group fell silent as the weight of events settled heavy in the room. They needed a next step, and they didn't have a lot of time to come up with it. Even with two 'psychics,' they were fighting blind.

And Dean didn't know how much he could risk telling them.