-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: Tertiary character death (okay, I'm actually sorry about this one...), demonic bitchiness, and a little bit of African Dream Root.

-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 18

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

-Twenty Four Hours Earlier-

Bobby stared at the man standing at the bottom of his front porch steps. John looked like crap. The older hunter's grip tightened on the shotgun in his hands, though the barrel remained aimed off to the side. They both knew he wouldn't use it. Probably.

John stared up at his friend through squinted, aching eyes. His whole body was bone-weary and he was pretty sure he was only standing through sheer force of will. Not that he'd ever admit it. Knowing the silence would just keep stretching between the two, he caved with a low growl. "I just need it for a couple hours."

"Don't see why I should let you," the older hunter growled back with narrowed eyes. "You called those boys of yours yet?"

"They don't need to be involved in this." John shook his head. "It's too dangerous."

"What's that make me?" Bobby huffed. "Chopped liver?"

The hunter rolled his eyes. The damn old man knew what he meant. "You can take care of yourself."

Bobby eyed him for a long moment before he finally lowered the shotgun and stepped aside. "So can those boys."

John didn't bother responding, but he did give a grateful nod as he passed the hunter and entered the Singer home. The two old friends hadn't always been on the best of terms. Hell, they were rarely on good terms. But Bobby always pulled through for him, especially when he showed up unannounced at his front door.

Usually with two boys in tow.

"I just need to get a couple hours sleep where this thing can't reach me." John set his duffel down, the clack of metal barrels within a surefire tell of what the canvas bag was full of. "Then I'll be out of your hair."

"If I got any hair left by the time you and your boys are done runnin' through here," Bobby muttered even as he set the shotgun down on hgis desk and headed for the basement door. "The panic room ain't gonna do much good against a dream walker, you know."

Shaking his head, the tired hunter headed past him and down the stairs. "It's not a walker. It's the demon."

Tensing, Bobby glanced at the shotgun before he descended after the younger man. It wouldn't do much good against a demon anyway.

"You're not bringing that thing down on my house, are you?" It wouldn't be the first time John had disregarded friends to catch his prey. The hunter had a reputation of doing whatever it took. Which was why most of the hunting community stayed the hell away from the Winchesters.

John cast him an annoyed glance as he pulled open the door to the panic room. "It can't find me. It's why I know it's him."

At Bobby's frown, he explained, "I keep dreaming of people: Mary, the boys, civilians from old cases. They keep asking me where I am. Over and over again, every night." He shook his head as he pulled off his jacket and climbed onto the cot in the corner, not bothering with the sheet or blanket. "It's how I knew something was wrong. Luckily, I haven't given any of them an answer."

Something about that seemed…off to Bobby. Demons weren't known for entering dreams. At least, none that he'd ever heard. But then again, given the shit Sam and Dean were currently swimming through, what did he know?

He was only the most researched expert on the supernatural this side of the Atlantic and Pacific.

-o-o-o-

He rubbed his eyes as he closed the last book he had on demons. Nothing in that one either about yellow eyes or dream walking. Not that he hadn't damn well searched every book he owned the first time John came to him asking about yellowed-eyed creatures.

He'd thought maybe the dream walking would present a new clue.

The old hunter glanced at the clock on the book shelf behind him. It'd been nearly nine hours, and John hadn't re-surfaced. He needed the rest, that was for sure. Bobby wouldn't expect anyone else to be up and about after four days of no sleep for another six hours, at least.

But this was John Winchester they were talking about. He should have been back on his feet being a pain in Bobby's ass after about four.

He climbed to his feet, groaning at the creak in his bones and the several pops that ran down his spine as he stretched. Damn, he was getting too old for this crap.

Bobby downed the last of his glass of whiskey and headed for the basement stairs, which his old knees were already complaining about. He hobbled his way down them, grumbling under his breath about unthankful house guests, multi-level homes, and retirement on a beach in Guam.

Pulling open the panic room door didn't wake up John like he expected it to, nor did calling his name. Bobby crossed the room with some trepidation and stared down at the hunter with a growing sense of concern.

The cell phone on the shelf beside the cot started vibrating, lighting up with Sam's name. John didn't even twitch.

Well, hopefully the guy didn't sleep with a knife or a gun under his pillow, Bobby groused, not really feeling like getting stabbed today. Yeah, right. What hunter didn't?

He reached out somewhat cautiously, making sure to keep outta arms reach (and knife reach too) should John rouse disoriented. He shook the hunter's shoulder, frowning when he still didn't wake. Several hard slaps later, Bobby knew he'd have to call the boys.

They were gonna be pissed.

Balls.

-o-o-o-

-Present-

Dual doors slammed shut as the two hunters flew out of the Impala, parked haphazardly across Bobby's dirt drive. The screen door flew open as Dean called out the old hunter's name, moving through the house.

"Down here," came the call and the two turned to the basement door, taking the stairs down two at a time.

Bobby was waiting for them at the bottom, ball cap in hand and hair mussed from a recent run through. He hadn't been joking with John. He'd have no hair left by the time this damn nightmare was over.

"Where is he?" Dean didn't stop for the answer, already headed for the panic room even before Bobby nodded that way. Sam gave their adopted father a quick hand to the shoulder as he followed after his brother.

John was lying on the cot along the circular wall of the iron-cased panic room. He didn't look so bad, and could almost pass for asleep if it wasn't for the tight pinch in his brow and the way his hands twitched along the stiff mattress.

"Dad?" The two boys stopped by the side, Dean reaching out to check his father for injuries, feeling along his neck for a pulse too fast for his liking. Sam was kneeling next to him, trying to wake John as he called his name several times.

"Dad!" Dean barked, giving the hunter a firm slap.

"Gee, why didn't I think of that," Bobby groused from the doorway, arms crossed as he leaned against the entrance of the side. Dean spared him a glower.

"Why the hell didn't you call us when he showed up?"

"Dean." Sam sent his brother a warning glance even as he pulled away. John wasn't waking up by conventional means, and arguing and pointing fingers wasn't going to help him.

Bobby actually looked contrite, glancing away from them for a moment before tilting his chin up. "He asked me not to. Don't know why I bothered listening…"

"Why's he in the panic room?" Sam asked, glancing around them for anything stronger they could use to wake John up.

"He thought it was the demon." Bobby pulled his cap off and ran a hand through his hair again. Yup. Gonna be bald, only a matter of time. He replaced his hat. "Said he kept dreaming of people – Mary, you boys – always asking where he was."

Dean swore, glancing back at their dad.

"He figured its influence couldn't reach him in here." Bobby cast his eyes around the iron walls and up to the pentagram shadowed fan. "Lot of good it did him. I gave him a couple hours, figured he'd need it, before I tried to get him back up."

"It's the Baku," Sam explained, eyes trained on his dad as his mind flew through the material he'd read on the beast.

By the door, Bobby straightened, eyes wide. "A Baku?"

"We're pretty sure he was hunting one. I saw it in a vision," the taller of the brothers supplied.

"No, Sam." Dean kicked the edge of the cot angrily. His father's body jerked, but he didn't so much as twitch. "Bakus feed on dreams, not bodies. Why would one care where dad was?"

"But I saw it…" Sam trailed off and away from the immediate defensiveness that his brother questioning his visions always brought to the surface. Brown eyes grew wide as he parsed Dean's words. "You mean…. Shit."

"What?" Bobby asked as he strode into the room. "What the hell is goin' on, boys?"

"The Yellow Eyed Demon," Dean muttered angrily. "He's using a Baku to find dad."

Bobby swore as well. He gestured irately around the room with a roll of his eyes. "Well, no wonder the panic room did shit."

"We've gotta wake him up." Sam grabbed their dad's shoulders again, giving him a good shake even though he knew it was fruitless. "Before he tells the thing where we are."

"Do I need to worry about a demon showing up here?" Bobby asked gruffly, body rigid. He looked twitchy to get upstairs and prep the house for a friggin' war.

"He'll hold on," Dean answered with a shake of his head. "He's a tough son of a bitch. But we gotta get him away from it."

"I've got some African Dream Root." The two brothers turned surprised eyes to Bobby, who gave a little shrug. "Only time we ever got close to fighting off a Baku, Rufus and I had to tackle it on its own turf."

Dean pulled his head back. "When did you take on a Baku?"

Bobby gave him a look that clearly said what he thought of Dean acting like he knew everything the far older hunter had ever done. "Couple years back, in Alaska."

That really tripped the kid up and he stared at his surrogate father figure. "What the hell were you doing in Alaska?"

The hunter shrugged. "I was on vacation."

"In Alaska?" Dean stared at him like he was crazy. And then he looked at him again like he was far past that. "With Rufus?"

Sam broke the exchange up with a rather forceful clearing of his throat. "Can we focus? We need to wake Dad up, and if African Dream Root's the way to go…" He raised his hands out in exasperation.

"Come on, it's in the study," Bobby huffed, turning and heading out of the panic room and up the basement stairs with the boys right behind.

-o-o-o-

They went for Bobby's spell component cabinet right off the bat. It was a haphazard nightstand of a thing, partially leaning to the side due to a busted leg from years before. Actually, he wasn't convinced he hadn't bought it that way. The poor, ailing cabinet was shoved between two bookshelves, partially to keep it upright, despite the way it wobbled anytime you pulled open the squeaky door, and partially because he'd had to move it to the other side of the room after a particularly bad night when he mixed it up with the alcohol cabinet while on one hell of a bender. He kept nightshade in there, for Pete's sake.

Since then, it had been located as far away as possible from the equally wobbly liquor cabinet.

When they didn't find any Dream Root, the three divided up and started searching the rest of the study. The old hunter was fairly certain he had a leftover store from the last Baku. But that had been ages ago, and while it was surely in the house, there was no limit to the nooks and crannies available for hiding or misplacing things.

As they searched, Sam questioned Bobby on the last time he'd faced a Baku so they'd know what they were headed in for.

"How'd you deal with the last one? I couldn't find anything solid about killing them," the younger brother was pulling books off the shelves in consecutive order, carefully replacing them once they'd checked behind the tomes. He'd found all sorts of interesting things, including several other rare spell ingredients. Being the neat, organized person he was, he pulled them out and placed them in a pile to go back into the spell cabinet.

Dean was doing no such thing, and grinned widely at his brother when Bobby grumbled that now he'd never be able to find anything with Sam moving 'em all around.

"We didn't," Bobby answered, and found both boys looking at him questioningly. "Far as Rufus and I could figure, you can't kill a Baku. They're damn near impossible to pin down, mostly 'cuz they don't got bodies on this plane."

The two Winchesters exchanged a look, and Dean seemed to lose whatever silent battle they were waging. "Then what did you do?"

The older hunter leveled a 'watch it, boy' look at slight accusation in his tone. "Scared it off, which is about as good as you can do. They don't care much for bright light or loud sounds."

That sounded familiar, and Sam straightened at the revelation. "Fireworks."

Dean shot him a look. "What?"

"There's some speculation, granted it's sketchy at best, that the Baku was born from a Chinese legend and isn't Japanese at all." Sam crossed the room to pull out one of Bobby's less-worn books and he started flipping through it. "I read a story about a beast that always attacked villages on the New Year, that they think may have been the first siting of a Baku before they became well known in Japan."

The kid tossed the book on the desk between them, and the other two leaned in to read the page.

"The Nian Shao was said to attack children. A village sage eventually purified it and convinced it to eat only evil." Sam shrugged as he tapped the illustration of a creature formed together from bits and pieces of other animals. It sure has hell looked like a Baku. "Before that, the villagers were able to chase it off using fireworks. Hence their traditional usage on the Chinese New Year."

"Huh." Dean looked up at Bobby, who gave a shrug. "So…Any ideas on how to get fireworks into Dad's head?"

-o-o-o-

Turned out, the last of Bobby's African Dream Root supply was in the back of a desk drawer in a small glass jar. And there was barely any of it left.

"That's not enough to send all of us in," Bobby grumbled, pulling out one of the several books he had on African Dream Root preparation. He vaguely recalled how disgusting the drink had turned out in Alaska, and thought maybe he'd try adding some honey this time. They'd need some of John's hair as well. "Don't know if it's enough for both o' you, either."

"I'll go in," Dean announced with a firm nod and a tone they all knew well. It was one he picked right up from John and, just like the marine, it booked no argument.

Not that that ever stopped a Winchester.

"Not without me," Sam argued right back. "I'm the one who's been having visions of the Baku, Dean. I should go."

The older Winchester was silent for a moment, staring hard at his brother in a way that was more contemplative than pissed. Sam law-trained mind was already rallying all the reasons why he should join his brother, and preparing counter-arguments for all of Dean's, when the older hunter gave a firm nod.

"Alright."

Shocked silence reigned in the house, though Dean didn't seem to notice. Instead, he was moving into the kitchen, grabbing honey out of the cabinet and putting the kettle on. Bobby glanced at Sam, who was staring at him with wide, flabbergasted eyes. The old hunter had nothing, and shrugged helplessly.

"Alright?" Sam parroted as the two filed into the kitchen as well, staring at the back of the man they hardly recognized at the moment. Dean didn't notice, liberally coating a mug with honey. Then, recalling exactly how gross the root was they were about to boil and drink, coated it again with even more honey.

When he turned back around, he held it out to Bobby, who stared at it and then the hunter. With a 'what else we gonna do' look at Sam, he dropped the handful of dried twigs into it. Dean added a few hairs he'd snagged off their dad on the way out of the panic room. Then he handed the whole thing to his brother. All that was left was the water to boil.

Sam stared at him, still shocked. Dean finally seemed to notice the silence.

"You're right, Sammy, you should be the one to go. Just…bring him back."

Sam was still staring.

"What?"

He opened his mouth, then glanced at Bobby, and then just finally blew out a huff of air. "We go in together."

Dean pulled a face. "There isn't enough for both of us."

Sam glanced at Bobby for confirmation, and the hunter rolled his shoulder. "There's enough, but it won't last long."

The older of the two was already opening his mouth to argue. Again, how weird was it that Dean was defending letting his kid brother go off without him? Who was this guy, and what had happened to his ridiculously over protective, distrustful brother? The ping-pong game of personality switching was dizzying at best. Not to mention deeply worrying and confusing as hell.

Sam cut him off before he could get started. "It'll be enough."

The kettle started whistling, and he reached over to turn it off. He poured the water quickly and handed his big brother back the mug. "Wherever dad is, it's big. Cave, remember? We'll have more luck with two of us searching."

Now it was the older Winchester's turn to glance between the two with narrowed eyes. He had a feeling he just missed something and, deciding that it was most likely a chick moment, dropped it faster than a hot potato.

Instead, he turned to Bobby. "Think you can rustle up some more, if this isn't enough?"

The old hunter looked particularly imposed upon by the question. "What, you think Dream Root grows on trees?"

Dean opened his mouth to answer, but Sam was definitely shaking his head and making a subtle kill motion with his hand. Right, rhetorical. 'Root' was in the title.

Instead, he started through a mental list of people nearby that might have a stash lying around, or access to one.

"What about Garth?" he asked, checking off hunters in his head that were less than a day away. Dream Root wasn't an easy thing to find, he remembered. The Men of Letters had a supply, but that wasn't going to help them here. And he knew Bela was still alive in 2006 and could get her hands on almost anything they needed, but fuck that option. She'd stolen the Colt the last time they'd reached out to her for that particular ingredient.

Changes or not, he was not tempting Time and/or Fate by introducing her and the gun into the exact same scenario twice.

Garth could have some or know a hunter with some, and he was only a couple hours away from Sioux Falls.

"What is it?" Sam's worried voice brought Dean back from his thoughts and clued him in that something was wrong. Bobby was looking between the two of them, eyes wide.

"You boys haven't heard?"

"Heard what?"

"Garth's dead."

Sam's face fell even as Dean's body went rigid.

"That's not possible."

Bobby shrugged helplessly at Dean's adamant refusal, shoulders weighted with grief. "I got the call yesterday. Something attacked him in his own home; his mom found him."

The three held a silent moment in respect and grief and shock. Well, two hunters held the silence. Dean was shaking his head, mind spinning. That wasn't possible. Garth was still alive in 2016; sure he was a werewolf but he was an alive werewolf. Dean hadn't changed anything that would affect anyone else! And especially not Garth. Kid hadn't even been a part of the apocalypse.

"It's. Not. Possible," he repeated firmly, fist clenching by his side as he dared Bobby to challenge it. Because he knew it wasn't possible. Nothing had happened to bring the young hunter into the fold earlier this time around. He probably just tripped and shot himself in the foot, ended up unconscious in a ditch, and would turn up in three days with everyone thinking he'd gotten himself killed. It wouldn't be the first time.

"Look, he was a good kid. Nobody saying he wasn't," Bobby took off his cap in respect and ran a hand through his hair again. "But as far as hunters went…"

He shrugged and no one in the room could deny that they had all suspected Garth would get himself killed on a hunt somewhere down the line.

Only he hadn't.

Nothing had changed.

Except….

Cold flooded Dean like a bucket of ice water in the middle of the Arctic. In a flurry of movement that had both brother and father figure staring at him worriedly, he dug into his back pocket and pull out wrinkled, worn sheets of paper along with his cell. Even as he started scrolling through contacts, he flipped through the pages in his hands.

Sam couldn't read whatever it was written on them, but the stains and worn corners suggested his brother had been holding onto them for a while now. Dean stopped on one page, eyes roving over the scribbles again and again.

"Fuck!" He shoved the notes back into his pocket and devoted almost frenzied attention to his phone.

"Dean, what's going on?"

"Meg." That was the only answer Dean gave as he pressed a button on his phone and pressed it up to his ear, tapping his knuckles in a rapid beat on the back of the kitchen chair. Sam's eyes widened at the name, and Bobby looked at him for explanation. He hadn't gotten further than 'demon' when a click signaled someone had answered down the line.

"Caleb, listen to me-"

"Dean Winchester."

Dean froze, body going rigid as he slowly straightened. He turned sharply to Sam and Bobby. Green eyes darted over his brother's face even as his expression fell into something dark. Something bloody. Dean didn't recognize the female voice filtering through the phone, but he knew the tone. He could hear the smirk.

"Meg. You son of a bitch."

"You started a war, Dean. And war has casualties." He heard Caleb protest bravely down the line, silenced quickly with a pained grunt. Dean's eyes slid closed against the knowledge of what came next: what he had no way of stopping. "I want to know who you're getting your information from."

Dean didn't answer, but the phone shook dangerously in his hand and he knew he was close to breaking it. He didn't know what to say that to save Caleb's life. Because he already knew nothing would. Damn it, he had known Meg would go after their friends for the Colt. He'd written the damn thing down so he wouldn't forget. Why hadn't he called Pastor Jim and Caleb the second he'd gotten that damn gun?

Not that it would have saved Garth.

Because Meg had targeted John's friends last time. But John wasn't the one with the Colt right now.

"Fine."

He stiffened and yelled down the line, "No, don't!"

Caleb shouted out, but the sound was quickly swallowed in gurgling and Dean ran a hand viciously over his scalp, tugging at the roots of his hair as he listened to his friend die again. His eyes darted frantically around Bobby's kitchen and took in nothing. His jaw ached from how tightly he clenched his teeth and the device pressed to his ear gave an ominous crack as the plastic along the side finally gave.

"I am going to kill you, you hear me!" he spat into the phone, but Meg only laughed. There was a soft thud down the line as Caleb's body hit the floor.

"Come and get me, Dean. In the meantime, I'm going to gut each and every one of your friends. Anyone you've ever cared about, anyone you've ever saved. You'll get to listen to them choke on their own blood, unless you tell me who is helping you and give me the damn Colt!"

Dean met his brother's eyes, searching through the pain and grief. He and Bobby stood, looking equally lost and angry, but with nothing to channel that into. "Alright."

"What was that?"

"I said alright," he growled dangerously. He ran another hand through his hair again, mind racing. "But I need a day."

Her high-pitched laugh grated on the next-to-nothing that was left of his nerves. "Do you think I'm stupid?"

"I'm nowhere near Caleb's, okay? I need time."

There was silence on the other end and Dean did his best to wait it out.

"I'll tell you what. I'll meet you at Bobby Singer's house." Dean glanced at the older hunter, who looked as on edge as Sam and ready for instruction. But there was nothing any of them could do in this situation. "If you get to him before me, the old man lives. But no more games, Dean. If you're not there, with the Colt…well. I don't think I have to tell you what happens."

He could still hear the echoes of Caleb choking on his own blood. Yeah, he got the gist.

"See you soon."

The hunter snapped the phone shut and it broke straight in two. With a furious howl he launched it across the room, shattering what was left of it against the wall to the study. Both Sam and Bobby were on him in a second, but he shook his head. They didn't have time for a chat.

"If we're saving Dad, we have to do it right now." He turned to Bobby. "Is the house still demon-proofed?"

Sam snapped his mouth closed in surprise at the shut down and change of topic. Bobby was answering before he had a chance to demand what the hell had just happened.

"Sure," the older hunter gave a thoughtful nod. "Could probably boost it up a bit, if we got the time."

"Don't." Dean grabbed the forgotten mug of Dream Root off the table. "Meg's on her way here, and I need you to take the warding down."

"What?" Bobby barked at the same time Sam demanded, "Dean?"

The younger Winchester took half a step forward, anger filling every line of his body but for his eyes, which held the loss of two friends. "She killed Caleb and Garth, and we're going to….what? Just let her in?"

"We," Dean gestured to his brother and then himself, "are going to save Dad. Bobby is going to set a trap for Meg."

-o-o-o-

The two brothers carried chairs from the kitchen and a mug of disgusting smelling yellow tea down to the basement and into the panic room. Caleb lived in Lincoln, Nebraska: a solid three hours away from Bobby's even if Meg broke all speed limits and killed any cop who pulled her over.

So they had three hours to get into John's head and pull him back out before they had to deal with her.

Bobby had been pretty clear about his opinion of this plan, but it wasn't like they had a long list of options. John couldn't last forever against the Baku. Eventually, he would tell the thing where he was, and then they'd have a real problem on their hands.

In the meantime, there was always the risk the damn creature was feeding on him. Lucky for John, he was a hunter, which meant an endless damn feast of nightmares to choose from. The sparse good stuff – his hopes and dreams and happy memories – should be safe for at least a while.

Bobby stood in the door to the panic room, watching the two brothers with no small amount of grump, and certainly a fair bit of concern. "Get in and get out quick, you hear?"

Sam nodded to their surrogate father even as the two settled in the chairs and prepared to rescue their biological one. He knocked back half the tea, gagging at the foul taste and handing it over to Dean to equally suffer through.

"Get the house ready," Dean said even as he finished off the dregs of the tea with a grimace. "We'll be back in time."

"Right." Bobby sounded less convinced, but they were out of time to argue as the two succumbed to the sleep drug. He stared at his three house guests drooling in his panic room, before he turned and headed back upstairs to prep for a damn demon waltzing into his house.

He was getting too old for this crap.

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

-CHRONOLOGICAL ERROR: 09/16/2017 Reviews pointed out that the boys did not know Garth pre-apocalypse. This is a chronological misstep on my part that, with reader input, I've decided to leave in the story. Garth's getting an awesome/geek-tastic cameo I think you'll all love later on in the story as an apology for my sloppy research! Thanks to everyone who pointed it out, and all readers who gave feedback on whether or not I should change this chapter.