-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

-A/Ns: Okay, two amazing things happened in the last week. First, I have a brother-in-law now! My sister's wedding was a whirlwind, but a spectacularly beautiful one. Second, we PASSED 100 REVIEWS! Thank you to every one of you readers, but especially those of you who have taken a moment to leave a comment. Your suggestions, enthusiasm, and requests help spur my mind and power the ideas that make up this story. In short, you keep me going as I tackle this beast of a five year story. Thank you, thank you, thank you!

-Chapter Warnings: Prepare for some Brotherly Angst as only the Winchesters can provide! Sammy's not out of the game yet, but we're going to see just how many options we can cross off the list before we, of course, save our favorite Moose.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

The Road So Far (this Time Around)

Chapter 15

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Dean's leg kept a constant beat against the sterile, vinyl flooring of the hospital waiting room. It may have started as a Metallica song, but had deteriorated into nothing more than anxious tapping occasionally dipping back into something almost recognizable as Enter Sandman.

It had been three hours and fifty six minutes since they'd taken Sam away, after a frantic drive from the motel into the town of Evanston and the nearest emergency room.

Dean was losing his mind.

Something was wrong with Sammy, something that hadn't happened originally. Which meant Dean had no guarantee he was going to be okay. Because he had no idea what had happened, what had changed to cause it. And that was on him. Whatever changes were happening and the consequences of those differences, they were all on him.

The crutch of knowing what came next, which fights they survived and others to avoid, was crippling now that it was gone. Dean had come to rely too heavily on knowing when they were good and when to panic.

But Sammy had to be fine. He had to. Heaven and Hell weren't going to lose this race before it even got started. It was hardly comforting, but Dean tried to find confidence in the bigger picture, something the Winchesters were famously crappy at.

The only thing he had to go on, as a doctor had yet to come and inform him of his brother's condition, was that Sam had been having a vision. It must have been one he hadn't had the last time around, which meant it was probably about dad again.

Though the image of his brother on the floor, blood running down his nose, was only drawing parallels to a much darker, hungrier Sam. A Sam that killed demons with his mind and took on Famine with blood smeared across his face like a feral grin. A Sam that Dean would absolutely not let into existence this time.

So far, his efforts were going swimmingly.

The double doors to the waiting room swung open and a harried nurse and far too grim doctor emerged. Dean was on his feet before they'd even called the fake name listed on his brother's insurance. The look on the doctor's face was not encouraging.

"We've stopped the bleeding, and your brother is stable for now."

Dean let out a breath he'd been holding since the motel bathroom and his brother's growing puddle of blood.

"There are still tests we need to run but…I'm afraid it's not good, son."

"What do you mean 'not good'?" the older Winchester asked tightly, clenching his fists at his side to keep himself from throwing a punch at the guy who was only doing his job. "What does that even mean?"

The doctor's eyes crinkled in sympathy and Dean really did want to hit him. It was the look that every person used when the outcome was inevitably death. Dean shook his head, he wouldn't accept that. He wouldn't.

"There was bleeding in his brain, and the damage is… extensive."

Cold flooded his body. Not Sammy. Not his genius kid brother who constantly amazed him with his utter nerdiness and brilliance. Not his brother. Brain damage wasn't an option.

"Right now there's a lot of swelling and pressure, and we can't find the cause. You don't usually see this kind of strain in someone so young."

The nurse put her hand on Dean's arm, and he realized he was shaking.

"There are still tests to run, as I said." The doctor sighed, and Dean knew what was coming, even if he denied it with every fiber of his being. Even if Time and Fate themselves were telling him it shouldn't be happening. Wouldn't happen. Hadn't happened. Ergo, not happening. "But damage that severe….I'm sorry, Mr. Burkovitz. It's not repairable."

"What?"

"Your brother has a couple of weeks. Maybe a month at best."

"No." Dean blinked away the water filling his eyes. He stumbled a step back, body numb even as he shook his head again. "No."

The doc was speaking but he wasn't listening. His brain held rational thought for all of about thirty seconds before Dean was slamming the doctor into the wall. The nurse screamed for security even as the hunter shook the man by the lapels of his coat.

"This isn't how it's supposed to happen! Do you hear me? You fix him!" The doctor, shocked, grabbed at his wrists, but the man from the future was running on adrenaline and borrowed time, and nothing was going to stop him from saving his brother. Not this time around. "You have to fix him! This is not where my brother dies!"

Security arrived and pulled him away from the doctor. Dean hit the floor on his knees, struggling to breath as all the oxygen and fight left his body and the last six months caught up to him.

-o-o-o-

The hospital staff was exceptionally reasonable about his outburst. Apparently, he wasn't the first. According to the nurse, he'd hardly be the last.

He apologized to the doc in Dean Winchester style, which was not really apologizing at all. But the man nodded and started going over Sam's options once it was clear the hunter had regained his calm and was unlikely to attack him again.

They eventually left him in his brother's hospital room, alone with an unconscious Sam and the steady beat of a weak heartbeat. Dean sunk, lost, into the chair by his brother's bedside. The kid was hooked up to all sorts of wires and tubes, something Dean had seen more times than he'd ever be comfortable with.

But this time the kid was positively ashen, with dark circles under his eyes and a looseness to his skin that left him looking dead already.

Dean wanted to hit something again or cry. And since the first would only end up with him permanently kicked out and the second wasn't an option at all, he sat numbly in the chair and watched his kid brother sleep.

-o-o-o-

They kicked him out again in relatively short order to let Sam get some rest. Dean spent the last of the early hours of morning packing up their hotel room and finding accommodation closer to the hospital in town. Visiting hours didn't begin until eight, so he spent the last two hours brainstorming and researching every possible way out of death the two had ever used or heard of.

A deal was out of the question, as all it would achieve was starting the apocalypse a resounding two years early. Which was pretty much the dictionary-definition antonym of what Dean had come back from the future to do.

Heaven was out too. Any angel but Castiel would probably walk Dean straight to the nearest crossroads and hand deliver him into a deal. Any angel sympathetic to his cause would likely fall in line as soon as a superior demanded it. And fuck all if Zachariah or any of the archangels would get them out of this.

Dean had given Gabriel more than a moment's thought when his mind stumbled over Michael, as briefly as he had. But it had taken them almost a year to talk the celestial runaway onto their side, and even then it hadn't been about saving humanity but his pagan friends. Dean had no leverage to offer and nothing to convince Gabriel that it wasn't time for the apocalypse yet.

So he let Loki go from his mind and focused on their other options.

Dean had already prayed his mental voice hoarse calling out to Castiel. If the angel had made it back from the future with him (and after the last lake-side chat he honestly didn't know anymore) then he wasn't answering.

The hunter tried not to blame him viciously for it in his panic-stricken grief. If Cas was there and not answering, then the reason was he simply couldn't. Despite their tumultuous past, Dean knew that the angel come for Sam if he could.

Which left Present-Day Cas. Dean had tried praying to that angel too, unsure of himself on what to even say as that version of his best friend wouldn't know who he was.

If that angel got the stumbling, desperate prayer, he wasn't answering either.

Dean didn't bother holding back his anger at that version of Cas, cursing him out in his head. So called angels, protectors of 'God's greatest creation' his ass. Couldn't even spare a moment to heal the fucking savior of the planet.

Of course, this timeline-Castiel may not be open to the idea of the Boy With the Demon Blood being a savior, or worth saving for that matter.

Bag of dicks, the lot of them.

So he moved on. Heaven was out. Hell wasn't an option, at least not yet. (Never, he told himself. But he knew it was a lie even before he thought it.) Death was sealed up tight and would be forever more as long as Lucifer didn't pop the box. That left the pagans and witchcraft.

God, he hated witches. They were just…so skeevy.

There were a couple of them he could think of that might have enough juice for the job and had the extra benefit of not making his skin completely crawl. Rowena had the ability, for sure, but there was no way he was adding her to this clusterfuck. She'd probably find a way to release Lucifer all on her own, while body-switching the brothers and locking Heaven's doors up in one stupid ass spell that they would have to blackmail Crowley into conniving, killing, and kidnapping until it was reversed.

There was a long list of people he never wanted to see again in this timeline, and Rowena ranked pretty far up on that list. Plus, he had no idea where she was in 2006, and it wasn't like his brother had the time for a witch hunt.

So he wrote down the few other witches he thought might be up for the job, along with a couple medicine men they'd run into in the past.

The pagans would be harder to work with, but more likely successful in the end goal. Especially if he could find one of the ones that would protest the apocalypse in years to come. If he could convince them that saving Sam would help stave off the End, he was more likely to gain their help (and be able to afford whatever payment they demanded in return).

He jotted down the couple he could recall from that hotel horror scene with Lucifer, and a few more off the top of his head that weren't completely against humans in general. Or had any sort of appetite for them.

Armed with a small list and a dozen calls to make, he headed to the hospital.

-o-o-o-

Sam was pretty weak. He nodded along with all of Dean's plans, but the hunter could see he wasn't holding out much hope, and it irked him to his soul.

Unfortunately, calling him out on it only triggered a fight about Dean needing to let Sam go, which was absolutely not happening. In turn, Sam's stats sky-rocketed as the fight got vocal and the nurses had to shove Dean out the room to calm his ailing brother back down before he gave himself an aneurysm and kicked the bucket an extra couple of weeks early.

-o-o-o-

They had Sammy doped up pretty heavily the next time they allowed Dean in his room with the very stern warning that if he started anything again he would be banned from the hospital completely. The hunter, while agitated and guilt-ridden, was sincere in his promise to be good.

Sitting in the chair in the corner of the room, Dean stared at his phone and the speed dial he'd almost called a dozen times while reaching out to other contacts. Finally, he hit the number and pressed the phone to his ear.

Unsurprisingly, it was voicemail that picked up.

"Dad." Dean's voice broke and he bowed his head as tears threatened once more. He rubbed at his forehead, forcing words passed the sharp tightness in his throat. "Dad, pick up. I could- I could really use your help right now."

He was barely holding it together as he left a message for his not-dead Dad, who was being hunted by who knows what, to tell him that his baby brother and the sole purpose John Winchester had ever instilled in his oldest son, was lying near death in a hospital bed. And all of it was his fault.

Why did he ever think he could change the future for the better? Dean Winchester only ever made things worse. Dean Winchester broke the world, over and over again, and never did better than duct tape and Band-Aids when it came time for cleanup.

If he couldn't fix his brother…. He already knew he'd break it all over again at the first crossroads he came to.

"Dad, please. It's Sammy, he's….It's bad." Green eyes slid closed as tears hit the tiles below as silence reigned down the line. God damn it. He hung his head, suddenly drowning in the despair that had been building for months now. "Why did I even bother?"

He slid the phone down from his cheek and flipped it shut.

-o-o-o-

The next time Sam woke, his older brother was asleep in the chair in the corner, tucked out of the way so nurses could come and go as they needed. Dean's eyes, though closed, were ringed red and puffy and his brother's obvious pain and distress stabbed at the young hunter's heart. He continued to watch him groggily for a while, working the haze of the drugs out of his system.

He was going to die, and soon.

The doctors had talked to him the first time he woke, before they let Dean into the room. They'd tossed some ideas around and offered a few meager platitudes of hope, but Sam could see in it in their eyes and hear it in their tones.

There was nothing to be done.

Sam stared up at the ceiling tiles, blankly contemplating what would be the last few weeks of his life. His head ached, like he'd gone a round with a baseball bat after a sinus infection. All stuffed attic interiors and hot air balloons amid a buzzing drumbeat and the pulse of muscle cramps in his shoulders and neck.

He'd pushed too far.

And for what? What had he gotten for his efforts? For his life, as it turned out? He still didn't know where their dad was. He just couldn't see it like Dean did.

Sam turned his head to the side, neck muscles straining against the ache of illness and death. His phone was lying among his other personal effects on the table beside his hospital bed.

Perhaps it hadn't been completely worthless.

It took a couple of tries to get his boneless, exhausted limbs to cooperate and his fingers to grip the smooth plastic, but eventually he got a good hold on his phone and brought it to his chest.

The simple move alone had been exhausting and he lay there panting.

He took a moment to breathe deep breaths and relax the tense, cramping muscles in his shoulders and the base of his neck. When he was ready, he powered on his phone and pulled up the web application.

Sam could make the last of his life mean something. He could make that much of a difference: give his brother and dad a fighting chance against the looming horizon. Because he had seen something in his vision, something he'd seen the first time but couldn't parse through the confusion and haze.

A beast hidden in the darkness, with the body of a lion, the head of an elephant, and the eyes of a rhinoceros.

-o-o-o-

"It's a Baku."

Dean was still shaking the sleep from his eyes when he looked up and realized Sam was awake. More than awake, he was holding his phone out towards his older brother, an internet article pulled up.

The hunter surged up from his chair, rubbing the grit from his eyes as he crossed the hospital room to take the phone. "What?"

"The thing hunting dad. It's a Baku." Sam sounded exhausted, but even as he blinked tired eyes, they were lit with determination and the last of the life he had to give.

That gaze broke Dean somewhere deep inside.

He read quickly through the words on his brother's cell. A creature of Japanese origin that ate nightmares and could be summoned to devour bad dreams. Supposedly, it was made of leftover animal parts after the gods had finished with all other creatures.

Awesome.

"Some of them get greedy," Sam whispered hoarsely, gesturing weakly at the article with his hand. "They go after more than nightmares. They start in on hopes and dreams."

Dean glanced up from the phone with a raised brow, a question he didn't need to voice.

"I saw it. Lion's body, tusks, trunk. It makes sense, Dean. It's why dad sounded so tired." Sam struggled to sit up and his brother immediately went to assist him. Once he was upright and leaning back against an abundance of pillows, Dean handed his phone back. "He knows it's hunting him in his sleep."

Dean nodded, scratching at his short hair as his mind spun. "Alright. Alright, we'll call him, leave him a message."

"No." Sam gave him a look he couldn't meet head on. "He needs help. You need to find him."

"As soon as we get you fixed."

"I'm not getting fixed, Dean!"

A passing nurse stopped in the hallway to give the brothers a warning look. Sam's stats were still in the green, but could easily jump into yellow if they didn't keep it down. Dean gestured placating to his brother and the kid sunk back into the pillows.

"Even if I knew where Dad was, there is no way in hell I'd leave you here, Sammy."

"It's Sam, and I'm not your kid brother anymore!"

The sharpness in those words, the anger and bitterness in his tone cut the older of the two brothers to his core.

"Is that what this is about?" He stared down at Sam in no shortage of shock and hurt. How was it he could travel through time to a life he'd already lived, and yet still be surprised by his little brother? "Is that why you pushed until you damn near killed yourself? Because I call you Sammy and act like your big brother? Newsflash, I am your big brother!"

He grabbed the edge railing of his brother's bed, holding Sam's gaze with the fierce promise of his own. "God damn it, Sam, you will always be my kid brother. Ten years from now or forty, if we somehow live that long, you will still be my snot-nosed little brother."

Vaguely, he was aware this was likely on the list of things he'd never admit to saying on pain of death, but he didn't have the time to care. Once the dam was broken, it was near impossible to seal back up. The part of him that wasn't a repressed child in a man's body knew – had really known for a so time now – that his brother needed to hear it. Deserved to hear it. And Dean needed to hear it too. Had needed to say if for a good ten years now.

"It doesn't mean you're weak, or that I think you can't take care of yourself. You're one of the strongest men I know, Sammy. Sam." He gave a small concessionary nod at the correction, which he swore he'd start working on if the kid really wanted him to. "You've got nothing – nothing – to prove to me."

His brother watched him with watery eyes even as Dean pulled back. Finally, Sam nodded with a solemnity that told Dean he still expected and accepted his impending death, but that the two would greet that end on better terms than they'd been on for months.

It pissed him off, but he'd take every little victory he could.

-o-o-o-

As soon as the hospital room door closed behind him, Dean tugged at his hair before running his hands punishingly across his scalp. Tears bit at his eyes and anger ate at his heart, but he refused to give in.

He collapsed in the cheap plastic seats that lined the hallway and let out a broken exhale.

His contacts had gotten back to him over the last couple hours and prospects weren't looking good. Some of the witches couldn't be located – one had been taken out by a hunter last year, another by a bad deal just a few months ago. The medicine men were notoriously hard to get a hold of, and a few of his hunter buddies were still on it, but they'd made it pretty clear not to expect anything soon.

And Sammy needed soon. He didn't have time for anything else.

Which left the pagans. Dean had kind of hoped to avoid them if possible, if only because they were unpredictable in their willingness to help, and a hell of a lot harder to pin down.

He looked down at his cell phone, held tightly enough that he was pretty lucky he hadn't broken it yet.

Damn it, he needed to talk to someone about this. Anyone. He couldn't keep doing this alone, couldn't keep it up. Especially not if Sammy…

"Excuse me." Dean looked up to see a nurse standing in front of him, looking uncomfortable as she held a brightly colored paper between her hands. The woman fidgeted and hesitated, glanced down at the flier and then back to Dean. She reached up to fiddle with the delicate gold cross hanging from her neck on a small chain. "I…I don't usually do this but…"

The nurse looked over her shoulder towards Sammy's room and Dean straightened, voice and eyes hardening. "Do what?"

She blushed. "It's….It's just that you seem really down on your luck and it's so hard to see loved ones…" She thrust the paper out at him. "He's the real thing, I've seen him work. I-I know it probably sounds crazy, and I don't usually-"

The nurse abruptly cut herself off with flushed cheeks. She gave up her stumbling explanation as Dean took the paper. The flustered woman made a hurried exit down the hall and when the hunter glanced down at the blocky text, he understood why.

It was a flier for a faith healer, one Reverend Roy LeGrange.

You've got to be fucking kidding me.