-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

-Editing: Hopefully not as spotty on this chapter, but oh, boy, it's a long one and I wanted to get it to you guys early to make up for the two week delay, which means I probably rushed but I hope I didn't (Okay, Silence, breathe, and end that run-on sometime soon, girl).

-Chapter Warnings: Sam's cracking voicemails, the boys are off to the Roadhouse, cameos are cameo-ing (because they can), Ellen's a badass mom-friend, Jo is making Dean all sorts of confused in the feels, and Ash is just...well...Ash. Did someone call for a killer clown?

-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)

Season 2: Chapter 19

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

Dean woke up from the most restful sleep he'd had in a long time. Not just in mind, but body too. That yellow-eyed bastard might have healed him back at the hospital, but his chest hadn't been right since. Not warm enough. Too tight. Too hollow. Aching when it had been fine only moments before. Whether it was the touch of that demon interacting with the chunk of angel in his chest, said angel recovering from his grace explosion, or just Dean's continued worry having not seen or heard from him since, despite Castiel's confirmation that her slivered counterpart was, in fact, there… Well, it was anybody's guess at that point.

Now, though, that comforting warmth was back in its rightful place. Maybe not as strong as before, but there, and Dean knew that counted for something. Everything. Most things.

Sam was already up, and movement from his side of the room drew Dean's attention. He was sitting on the other bed, cross-legged with a phone raised to his ear, a growing smile on his face and excitement in his eyes. Dean sat up, happy, dream-drugged brain a little slow on the uptake, but he realized that wasn't Sam's usual phone quickly enough.

"I got it," Sam announced with a wide grin, even as he pulled the phone from his ear, hit a button and followed it with the speakerphone.

"John, it's Ellen. Again. Look, don't be stubborn. You know I can help you. Call me."

Dean swung his legs off the bed as the message finished, that warmth in his chest right back to an unnatural tightness that had nothing to do with the angel sitting behind his ribcage. He tried for a grin matching his brother's – damn but it was good to hear Ellen's voice, even just a recording of it – but he had to fight through every ounce of guilt and pain that flared up at the follow-up thought: where their involvement in that woman's life had led.

Not that he hadn't had almost a week since finding Sam fiddling with Dad's phone to sort through all that. Of course, emotionally challenged as he was, he hadn't gotten that far. In fact… he'd kind of pushed it all to the side anytime the guilt and worry and questions came popping up, figuring he'd deal with it when it happened.

Well. Now it was happening and, like always, he really should have given himself more time to deal with the crap emotions that came with it. Right now he was somewhere between a bitter 'Some things have to stay the same, huh?' and the knowledge that some things actually did have to stay the same. The angel he'd almost ruined the Novak family's lives over (just for advice and a relief for the loneliness of this time traveling crap) had given them the wise wisdom of sticking to the original timeline. So, stick to it they would, which meant their next stop was the Roadhouse.

"We're going, right?" Sam asked, the brightness in his eyes reminding Dean that his kid brother was just that; a kid. A kid who'd grown up on the road, without friends, and who might have made a couple good ones in his four years of college, but lost them all to a road trip with his from-the-future brother fighting off the end of the world. Didn't leave a lot of time for friends. Or other people at all, really.

Fuck it. Sam needed this. Dean needed this. And not to toot their own horns, but he'd like to think the Harvelles wouldn't be worse off meeting them.

…As long as he could keep them alive this time, that was.

"Yeah, we're going," Dean replied, and the smile came easier that time. They hadn't gotten far through the state of Nebraska on their drive away from Manning yesterday, and Dean had purposefully taken the long road around. The one that went right past the Roadhouse. "We're only an hour out, tops."

Which would put them there a little earlier than they'd gotten there the first time. About a month sooner, but, hey, Castiel hadn't specified on timing over sequence. They'd cracked Dad's phone, learned about Ellen. The next logical step, if they weren't from the future and didn't already know who she was, would be to go check it out.

Time could suck it if she had a problem with that.

-o-o-o-

They were on their way into the bar – too early for the Roadhouse to be open – when they bumped into two guys walking out. The one, a tall, broad-shouldered man that could give Sam a run for his money in size, was busy walking forward while looking back, hollering something back into the bar with a gangly-armed wave. Dean, not having expected other patrons to be hanging around a dive bar at ten am, stumbled through the suddenly open door he'd been mid-push, and bodily shouldered into the dude.

"Watch it," he grumbled as the guy managed a step back, surprisingly kind eyes wide at the minor tumble.

"Whoa, sorry about that, buddy," the towering giant had either hand on Dean's shoulders, steadying him like some sort of child, and that just pissed him off even more. He was not a child and this guy and his ginormous hands and stupid eyes could fuck the fuck off.

(Dean wasn't really a morning person.)

He opened his mouth to tell the guy off, when Ellen's voice rang out from the bar, the dim lighting and bright outside sun making it difficult to see her. "Everything alright, Asa?"

Dean blinked, anger completely forgotten as the name echoed bells in his head and he took a second look at the beanstalk in front of him. He was a good looking guy, oozing charm and sincerity, with hazel-green eyes and short blonde hair.

Holy shit, Dean thought, that's Asa Fucking Fox.

"Yeah, Ellen, we're good!" Asa hollered over his shoulder, then turned back to give Dean a good-natured thump on the bicep in apology, smile bright on his face. Dean remembered Ellen and Jo practically fanning themselves over the man's smile, grinning conspiratorially between each other as Dean – and the other manly hunting men in the Roadhouse – balked. Women. Only now, yeah – aright, hell yeah – Dean could see it. His weak little fanboy knees could feel it. And he would take it to his grave that he was right there with Ellen and Jo, needing a little fanning himself.

Asa Fox was a legend. He was up there with Dr. Sexy, damnit.

"You're Asa Fox!" he announced loudly – too loudly – and Sam cringed behind him. Dean broke out a smile of his own, the patented Winchester grin. "Didn't you kill, like, five wendigos in one night?"

Behind the hunter, a second man laughed loudly, slapping Asa on the back of the shoulder. "That's our boy. Every time the story gets told that number grows." The man, shorter than his buddy by about a foot, with a red beard and unfortunate hairline, stuck his hand out to Dean. "Bucky Sims."

"Dean Winchester," the older Winchester offered as he shook the hunter's hand, still grinning back and forth between the two. "Was it really five?"

"You're just lucky we ain't drinking, or the next round would be on you." Bucky winked at him rather than answer. Asa gave his shoulder a playful push and rolled his eyes, apparently quite used to this reaction.

"I'll remember that," Dean answered with a grin. He'd spent enough time at the Roadhouse and the other occasional hunters' haunts that they stumbled across to know that most of those who'd made a name for themselves came with a code word that usually got them a round of drinks in honor of achievement among the ranks. Or it got everyone else around them drunk. Depended on the crowd, really.

"Winchester?" Asa echoed, meanwhile, a curious pinch to his brow. "Like John Winchester?"

"Our dad," Sam offered behind Dean, who suddenly remembered he had a younger brother among all his fanboying and glanced over his shoulder at him. As the other beanstalk in the conversation, Sam stuck his hand out to shake Asa and Bucky's, introducing himself.

"Sam and Dean Winchester." Bucky shook his head with a wry smile. "Heard about you guys. Heard about your dad. Hell of a hunter."

It was clear from the grin on his face and the admiration in his voice that he didn't know John Winchester was dead. News like that traveled fast, but it usually had to make it to a place like the Roadhouse first. Dean shared a look with his brother, and neither of them said a thing.

"I knew another Winchester, once," Asa was smiling, but there was something sad about it. "Hell of a hunter, too. Mary." His voice turned nostalgic, eyes in a far off place, an old smile on his face. "She saved my life once. Got me into hunting."

Dean blinked. Then blinked again. Because he couldn't be talking about their mom. He couldn't.

"Huh." Bucky was staring at Asa, having clearly heard this story before. "You never told me her last name was Winchester."

"You knew our mom?"

It was Asa's turn to be shocked. Actually, it was everyone's turn to shocked. Bucky, surprise lighting his face though it clearly wasn't so much for him as it was for his buddy. Asa, whose eyes had widened in size and that nostalgia replaced with something like eager hope. And Sam. Sam, whose reaction was such a bodily jerk that Dean felt more than saw him behind him.

Right. Spoilers. Kinda rudely delivered shock-spoilers.

Oops.

"Mary Winchester was your mother?" Asa parroted, shock still painting his face. He glanced between the boys. "Wait, your father-"

"Got into hunting because of her death," Dean supplied without needing to know the rest of the question. "She was retired, but…uh… that didn't stop her past from finding her."

Sam's hand fisted the back of his sleeve, near his elbow, and Dean winced. There were still some things he hadn't told his younger brother. Not because he was keeping secrets, but because there was just so much, and not all of it came up in, you know, every day conversation.

Like mom being a hunter long before John Winchester knew what demons were.

"Shit," Asa whispered, still staring down into those green eyes that he could now see Mary Winchester in so easily that he wondered how he'd missed it. "I thought… I'd hoped I hadn't found her because she got out."

Dean swallowed heavily, feeling his brother's hand shaking on his elbow with how tightly he was clenching his jacket. "She did. For a while."

The man huffed something sad and shook his head. He put his hands on his hips, and that smile was back on his face albeit there was more regret there now. "All this time. I could have just talked to John Winchester." He laughed again, but it was more self-deprecating than anything else. "You know, I met him once? He wasn't really a people person."

"Yeah," Sam laughed shakily from behind. "That sounds like our dad."

Asa had never been able to picture the woman he'd met in the woods that day – his guardian angel, really – with a man like John Winchester. So he'd written it off as a coincidence and never asked. Not to mention, John Winchester didn't really talk to people, and everyone Asa knew told him to stay away from the man. How damn stupid he was, after all the searching he'd done, to pass on the most obvious clue there ever was.

"Hey, man, I'm sorry," Dean suddenly spoke up, holding out his hand as some sort of apology and peace offer. Because, frankly, he was glad Asa Fox hadn't asked their dad if he knew a hunter named Mary. That… would not have ended well. "If I'd known, I woulda sought you out."

Not that he could have known. He wasn't supposed to find out about Mary Campbell's life before motherhood for another couple of years. But if he'd known… Hell, he would have sought Asa Fox out on reputation alone (screw what John Winchester had to say about associating with other hunters). But Asa knowing Mary? Dean would have hunted him down just for the family connection. Just for the story.

Asa grinned at him, understanding was clear in those friendly eyes, and he grabbed Dean's offered arm up to the elbow. He clasped it firmly in something the younger hunter recognized easily as comradery. "Bucky and I are on our way out. Middle of a case; just needed Ellen's help. But it's an honor to meet Mary's kids. We should grab a drink another time, trade stories. On me."

Dean couldn't help the grin on his face. They had never, in all their lives, been called Mary's kids. Only ever John's boys. Never Mary's.

"Absolutely," Sam offered with a shaky smile, finally releasing his brother's elbow, not that the other two hunters could see it. The Winchesters stepped to the side of the door, letting Asa and Bucky pass by them and head for their car.

"Hey," Asa called back just as the two brothers were about to disappear inside. They turned back to face him and he propped his elbow on the roof of his jeep. "If you two are anything like your mom… Or your dad, than you must be pretty damn good."

Sam exchanged a loaded look with his brother, a look that shared everything that had happened and was going to happen, and Dean's answering smile to the retreating hunter was weaker. "Yeah. We, uh… we do alright."

Bucky was laughing again as he climbed into the passenger seat of the jeep, shaking his head as he yelled something jumbled back but sounded like 'more than alright, if the rumors are true!' The two Winchesters watched as Asa Fox climbed into the driver's seat and the jeep pulled away, disturbing the dirt and leaving behind a low-hanging cloud.

Dean turned to go back inside and Sam grabbed his arm again. "Mom was a hunter?"

"Yeah," the older Winchester answered, an apology clear in his eyes right beside the anguish of that haunted memory from 1973. "The Campbells. Whole family were hunters. Came from a long line of 'em. Hunting's in our blood, Sammy."

Sam released his arm, a worried frown taking over the anger and hurt that had immediately flared up at yet another thing his brother had hid from him. But Dean sounded haunted, not secretive, and so Sam followed him into the Roadhouse without further argument. There'd be time later for all his questions, and he expected his brother to answer them.

-o-o-o-

By the time he slid onto one of the barstools, Dean was back to grinning, brutally shoving down the thoughts of Mary Winchester and her unavoidable fate with the skill of an emotionally challenged champion. Ellen Harvelle stood on the other side of the bar, propped up with an arm against the counter and an unimpressed look on her face at the man sitting in her saloon like he knew – and owned – the place.

"That was Asa Fox!"

The older Winchester couldn't help it, giddiness showing through (and if anyone pointed out that some of it was a little more forced than genuine, they could just fuck off.) Asa Fox was a damn near legend and Dean had been a bit of a fan for a while. Ellen used to tell stories of him all the time. Hell, everyone at the Roadhouse did. And it wasn't just running into something of a hero among the hunting community, it was that Asa knew their mom. Mary had gotten him into hunting. Asa. The legend. A hunter because of Mary Winchester.

Not even Sam's look – that one with the raised eyebrows and just a hint of embarrassment on his brother's behalf – the one that managed to say 'settle down' and 'grow up' all in one breath without ever opening his mouth – could kill his high now.

"Do I know you?"

But Ellen sure could. Her cold voice and hardened eyes, one arm on her hip and the other braced on the bar, smacked the smile right off Dean's face. Sammy came up to the bar just as Dean's expression sank, and then reformed into that terrifying blankness born from a future that hadn't happened yet. Sam bit back a look of sympathy, knowing his brother wouldn't appreciate it. More of his anger dissipated as he was yet again reminded that this wasn't easy on Dean, either. Like his brother had said on more than one occasion, being from the future sucked.

"Uh, no," Dean answered with a fake smile stretched so tightly across his lips that it looked painful. "I guess not."

Beside him, Sam cleared his throat, tried for a smile, and took over for his brother, "I'm Sam. This is my brother, Dean."

Ellen's eyes narrowed, but it wasn't suspicion in that almost unreadable gaze, just doubt. She glanced between the two young men, apparently deciding something as she eventually asked, "Winchester?"

Sam straightened, not having expected her to recognize them. Of course, knowing their last name didn't mean she did. Just that she'd heard of them, which he shouldn't find surprising. Dean had said her and Dad had been close at one time.

"You John's boys?" she followed up before either of them could answer her first question. They didn't really need to, though. It had practically been rhetorical. When the brothers just shared a look and Sam nodded with a weak 'yeah', her entire demeanor shifted. Gone was the harried, hardened bar owner used to strangers and trouble. A smile – wide and genuine and charming – overtook her face and she dropped her arm from the counter, likely right above where a shotgun was stored beneath the bar. "Son of a bitch."

Dean's smile was a little less tight, but only a little. So Sam tried to make up for it, though he wasn't exactly on even footing here. The fact that they couldn't screw this up, because they were supposed to befriend her, was not exactly helping. He'd never experienced meeting someone he sort of knew, if only through stories told by his brother, but which he knew he'd know eventually. Which, really, kinda threw you off your game. It was hard to act normal when the situation wasn't normal. Of course, by not acting normal, he or Dean could totally change how their entire friendship with this woman went. What would happen if they got off on the wrong foot? Or Sam said the wrong thing? Or nothing at all, which was the current event unfolding right now. All scenarios that could have completely unpredictable and possibly disastrous consequences for the future. Because he wanted to be friends with someone he didn't know, but knew he wanted to know, and already knew too much about to act one hundred percent like he didn't, but he needed to, and that was entirely the problem.

God, this was just meeting one woman. How had Dean done this for the last eight months?

"I'm Ellen," she said in the weird silence that had followed her abrupt change in stance and welcoming. She glanced between the two boys even as Sam cleared his throat with a jolt and nodded back at her. At least she was still smiling.

"I'm Sam," he said in response before wincing almost immediately. He'd already said that.

"Don't mind my brother," Dean said with a snort and a conspiratorial grin that was suddenly so much more believable than it had been a minute ago. Like Dean had just stowed all his crap and carried on. Sam refused to think about how intimidating his brother's proficiency at that really was. "He's a little star struck, running into Asa like that."

Sam choked and whipped his head at his brother with The Ultimate of bitchfaces (unnumbered, for it was Ultimate). "Me? I'm not the one tripping over his own-"

The younger Winchester blinked at Dean's open grin, realizing mid-sentence what his older brother had just done. Sam blushed slightly in embarrassment, but also relief, as he realized how easily he had fallen back into that realm of normal he'd been almost panicking to achieve a second ago. How easily Dean had pushed him back there. Because his big brother had seen the mounting panic and did what the older Winchester had done his entire life: watch out for Sammy.

Ellen was laughing, wiping her hands on a bar rag. Sam spared Dean a thankful, if not still bitchy, face and the jerk just winked at him. "Yeah, Asa's something else, alright."

"Was it really five wendigos?" Dean asked, maybe a little too eagerly, as Ellen raised an eyebrow at him and Sam snorted, muttering about who the real fanboy was. Dean kicked his shin without ever taking his eyes off the bartender, whose amusement only grew.

"You'd have to ask him that," she answered, which, damnit, is how she had always answered any time Dean asked, usually after one of the more outrageous tales of the man came up. The older Winchester managed not to pout only because Dean Winchester did not pout (and yes, he was sticking to that story, thank you very much.)

"So what can I do for you boys?" Ellen braced both hands against the bar in a far more open and friendly stance then before, a completely different woman than five minutes ago. And yeah, one Sam could definitely see them striking up a friendship with. "Did John send you?"

It was probably the silence that tipped her off. Or maybe the way that neither of the two boys quite met her eye, despite it looking like they both tried. But Dean dropped his head, for however briefly, and Sam looked away, if only for a second.

Ellen fell silent and dropped her arms from the counter, straightening unconsciously as she tensed for bad news. She stared at each of them, not wanting to believe it. "He didn't send you…"

Dean cleared his throat, though it was a strangled thing. "No."

It looked like he was going to say more, but when nothing came out, Ellen wanted to believe it even less. "Well… he's alright, isn't he?"

Sam chanced a glance at his brother, but the older Winchester was warring a battle in his head that he wasn't easily winning. Sam knew if there was one thing crippling to Dean, it was guilt. And God knew his brother was swimming in enough of it right now, no matter how many life preservers his family threw his way or how strong he was at swimming.

"No," Sam spoke up instead, eyes still lingering on his brother, who shot him an uncertain, but thankful look, before the taller Winchester turned a grieving – albeit strong – gaze back on Ellen. "No, he isn't."

Ellen looked…stunned. The kind of stunned that was completely understandable. John was a legend in his own way. A more terrifying, boogyman sort of legend than someone like Asa. The kind of dark knight that other hunters avoided tangling with, but still a hero of sorts. The kind that seemed immortal. John had been so strong, had survived so much and taken down even more, for so long… well, even Sam was still having trouble believing he was gone. That he could be taken down.

"I'm so sorry," Ellen offered, lips drawn tight but expression sincere. "Was it the demon?"

She looked immediately regretful to have asked it, expression clearly kicking herself, but she didn't take it back. Didn't tell them not to answer. Just stood there, hand back on her hip, no pity there. Sam kind of appreciated it.

"Yeah," Dean answered, fiddling with one of those cardstock coasters. He'd snagged it off the bar, needing something to do with his hands. "Guess it just got him before he got it."

The words sounded rehearsed to Sam's ears, and he wondered if Dean was trying to stick to a script formed from their first – their other first – meeting here.

"I know how close you were with your dad-" Ellen started, but Dean cut her off before she could continue on that topic, which was still a no-go even ten years later.

"It's alright," he said quickly, a forced smile spread across his lips. "We're okay."

Ellen hesitated for a moment more, the decision to call bullshit or not was pretty clear in her face, before she nodded. She knew the drill of fallen comrades and friends. They'd all been there, after all.

"Well, if there's anything you boys need…" She left the offer open, which got her a nod and a shaky smile in return. But her expression pinched as she thought a little further down that rabbit hole. "How did you know to come here if John didn't send you?"

"We heard your voicemail." Sam caught her gaze as he slid onto the stool next to his brother. The further furl in the bartender's brow said she wasn't quite following. "On dad's phone."

Her surprise when she realized what they were talking about was endearing, really. "That was months ago."

"Yeah." Dean's voice was a little rougher, but his smile more real. "Think we both know he wouldn't have taken you up on the offer but… He kept it cuz I think it meant something to him all the same."

Her eyes swam, a very not-Ellen thing to do, and yet also so much the woman he remembered that Dean's stomach did some weird flipping thing that was usually reserved for that warmth in his chest. She blinked to ward off the building water, looking up and off to the side in an attempt to disperse the lingering emotions. With a light sniff and a watery smile, she turned back to them.

"Yeah. Yeah, we weren't always on great terms, your daddy and I, but… I would have helped, if he'd have ever let me."

Which they all knew he never would have.

"How?" Sam asked, somewhat abruptly. "I mean, I'm assuming you're a hunter, but-"

"Oh, I just run a saloon," Ellen corrected, hands raised way too modestly. Dean had seen this woman fight. She was absolutely a hunter, through and through. "But hunters and the like have been known to pass through now and again."

She tossed her head towards the back of the bar, where Sam spotted a door with a dartboard hanging on the back of it. "I won't be much help against a demon, but Ash might." She huffed something that was probably closer to a snort than a laugh. "Whenever he wakes up."

Dean straightened in his seat because, holy shit, he'd almost forgotten all about that mulleted genius who had first helped them crack dad's research. Who had led them to Fossil Butte Cemetery and the Hell Gate.

…Who had died for that knowledge.

"Jo!"

Both boys jumped at Ellen's sudden holler, aimed over her shoulder at that same door. It slid open a minute later and a blonde head popped through, slim fingers wrapped around the edge of the darkly painted wood.

"Yeah, mom?"

Dean could only stare. Stare at that beautiful, young woman – just a kid, really, damn it – whose skin was filled with color and life, not drained of it – grey – as she bled out, splattered in blood, her own insides on the outside, lifeless in a forgotten hardware store-

He looked away, pretty sure he was going to throw up.

"Get Ash vertical, would you?" Ellen smiled at her daughter, who glanced at the two strangers next to her with a hint of wariness. "Got some folks he should meet."

"Sure thing." She disappeared back behind the door, which settled closed in her absence.

Ellen turned back to the boys. "He wandered in a couple months ago-" she paused with a sudden thought, blinking- "Hell, that was almost half a year ago now. Damn. Anyway, he isn't exactly a hunter, but he's scrappy. And-" she glanced between the two boys- "he's a genius."

-o-o-o-

The next time Ellen turned her back – dipping beneath the bar to snag a large container of pretzels – Sam snuck in a glance to his brother. The name had come up in some of Dean's stories, but they'd been more about the crazy, mulleted guy at the Roadhouse than anything actually helpful. And he hadn't mentioned that he was who Ellen had been calling their dad about. Which left Sam wondering what the heck they could get form a 'scrappy genius' in a back-road dive bar for hunters.

Dean just gave him this sort of apologetic shrug that said 'Later, Sammy' like he always did.

"What kind of genius?" he asked, curiosity winning out over patience. Dean might already know the answer, but asking would get it faster for Sam. Besides, there was an element of control – like being able to determine his own future – that came with not waiting for his brother to supply him with every answer he could ask for. And Sam craved that control more than he wanted to admit.

Plus, asking would only help them with their whole 'we're-not-from-the-future-we're-just-a-couple-of-normal-hunting-brothers-who've-never-met-this-Ash-man-before-just-perfectly-normal-boys-right-here-yeppers' cover.

"You'll see," the woman answered with a smirk, just as the back door opened and Jo walked back in.

"Well, he's awake," she said as she crossed over to them, coming to a stop a few feet away from the boys. She settled her hands on her hips, the spitting image of her mother, and jutted her chin their way. "Who are these guys?"

The words were sharp; no-nonsense and not planning on putting up with any either. Spitting image of her mother. It made Dean grin like an idiot, which only got him a raised eyebrow and a caustic glance up and down his body. Jo looked utterly impressed, a hint of 'in your dream's, buddy' painted across her sarcastic eyebrows, and Dean could only grin all the wider for it. Cas should be proud; that was pretty much the same as the first time, right? Score one for sticking to the timeline.

"These are John Winchester's boys." Ellen came around the edge of the bar to join them a little more informally. She set the pretzels aside for later, wiping her hands on her daughter's apron, tied low around the young woman's waist. Jo gave her a scandalized glare, even as her mother nodded to each of the boys in turn and introduced them as Sam and Dean.

"It's nice to meet you." Sam was up and off the stool, extending his hand to her, which got him a look as sarcastically incredulous as they came. A real 'are you kidding me?' and Dean was gonna need a crowbar to unhinge his jaw if his smile got any bigger. He couldn't help it. Damn, he'd missed this little lady.

Jo shook the younger Winchester's hand anyway, that look morphing into a wicked grin that Sam just knew was making fun of him even more than the sarcastic one. When she turned that sharp look Dean's way, he just stuck to a little two-fingered salute and Jo went back to looking unimpressed. Amused, but oh-so unimpressed.

Right on timeline, then. Score numero dos.

"What do they want with Ash?" She directed the question at her mother, and Sam shot Dean a little look that had his brother rolling his eyes.

He knew that look. That was the look that said 'you didn't tell me she was exactly your type.' The one that was usually followed up by a wry little 'How 'friendly' is this friend of yours, huh, Dean?' The less-than-scandalized-no-matter-how-hard-he-argued-he-was little brother looking for blackmail and humiliation ammo because he had fallen behind by about ten years.

Dean just glared back.

Truth was, he could absolutely feel that stirring of long-buried emotion at the sight of her. Jo had been different. A hunter, so he hadn't had to worry about the problems he'd had with Cassie. A badass, both with a gun and a sharp-witted tongue, which had never failed to turn him on like no other. Not to mention she was gorgeous, in a rugged, hardened way that Dean appreciated almost more than soft skin and gentle curves. A warrior, through and through, with the kind of body he wanted to sweep right off the floor and pin to a wall, those strong thighs wrapped around him and blonde hair tangled in his fingers.

Despite the obvious attraction between them, though, it had just never…triggered. Never lined up right. Dean had deeply rooted affection for Jo, there was no denying that. It was a love of sorts, for sure, but not the kind that evolved into more. They'd sort of tried, on occasion, but they misfired every time, on or both of them. Always the wrong place, wrong time.

And after… Well, after, there had just been too much guilt. Regret for ever getting her or her mother involved in their lives, their problems. Terrible grief for the terrible end they met. Overwhelming shame that it should have been him in their place. That feeling of star-crossed lovers, never quite meeting up, had faded into a distant fondness instead of heat. A memory of love lost in that idealized way that softened hard edges and painted everything a little more rose-colored.

Now, though…. While Dean couldn't deny the return of many of those distant feelings, nor the swell of warmth and family building within him at the mere sight of Jo giving him that wicked smile, he knew he couldn't, still. Even if he was back in the body of a youthful (translation: horny as all get out) twenty-seven year old, in mind and spirit and everything that really should count but absolutely didn't, Dean was almost pushing forty and he knew it. No matter the form he'd come back in, he was damn near twenty years older than Jo Harvelle now, and that was just…skeevy.

And Dean Winchester was not skeevy. It was a primary goal in Dean's life to never, ever have anything in common with witches, including adjectives. And witches were skeevy. So nope. Nuh-uh. No way. Dean Winchester might not be classy, he sure as hell wasn't skeevy.

Which meant that, while he could grin and appreciate that second glance up and down his body Jo was currently giving him even as Ellen talked about their mutual mulleted MIT mutt, Dean could not pursue that avenue this time around with anything more than the fondness of a big brother or a badass buddy.

Admittedly, it was going to take a hell of talking-to to get his receptive, stupidly horny body on the same page as his forty-something, dating-twenty-year-olds-is-just-plain-wrong brain. He'd have to, uh, work on that.

Sam's kick to his shin brought him back to the conversation, only to find Jo now openly smirking at him and he cleared his throat. Ellen was staring at him expectantly. The motherly kind of expectant. The badass, boy-I-can-kill-you-with-that-container-of-pretzels-if-you-look-at-my-daughter-wrong-again kind of mother. Dean swallowed a little loudly and offered a weak grin.

"Think Ash will be able to make heads or tails of dad's research?" he asked, forcing that smile through and completely falling back on the beauty that was being from the future and knowing what conversations were likely about if only because he'd lived through them once before and not because he'd actually been listening.

More than covering his own ass and not getting on the receiving end of Ellen's terrifying ire, getting Ash on their dad's research again was a good idea. Even if Dean knew what the crazy dude would find and where it would lead. It would not only keep the timeline close to the original, but Ash had been able to track Azazel. That was something they should probably have on hand again, especially if they started running into changes in the timeline.

Of course, it had been that research that got Ash – and others at the Roadhouse – killed. Maybe this was one of those things they should be changing. And gee, wouldn't it be nice to have an expert in time travel – like an angel – around to talk this over with. Dean fought down the urge to grumble and wallow about that, and instead decided, worst case, if it came down to it he could always warn Ellen and Ash about the Roadhouse attack closer to the actual date.

It was a compromise he wasn't thrilled about, but maybe it would satisfy the stupid timeline and its stupid having-to-stay-the-same stupidness.

Ellen's eyes stayed narrowed on him for only another moment before she offered a shrug. What Ash could and couldn't do was a mystery to all. The back door opened just then, admitting the one and only genius, in all his business up front, party in the back glory.

"What can I do for you, amigos?" he asked, sauntering up to the bar in what might be more leftover drunkenness than intentional swagger. Ellen reached over the bar to the soda hose, snagging a glass and filling it with something clear and bubbly – club soda? – then handed it back to Ash. He accepted it with a flourished brush of his long brown hair over one shoulder and an exaggerated wink in her direction.

Jo just rolled her eyes, hands back on her hips.

"We've got some research you might be interested in," Dean answered, glancing at Sam to see his younger brother following along with ease considering they hadn't exactly talked about this before coming here (his bad, he'd work on that too).

"What kind of 'research'?" The finger quotes were really less effective with just one hand, the other busy tipping the glass back as Ash drained almost the entire thing in one long go. The ladies looked amused. Dean remembered how crazy this guy was. Sam just stared. Ash lowered the glass with another head toss. "Ah. That's better. Thank you, mamacita."

"Call me that again and I'll dump the next one over your head," Ellen answered back easily enough, taking the glass from him and setting it back behind the bar.

"He could use the shower," Jo snorted from beside her mother and Ash favored her with a squished up face.

Sam cleared his throat, unsure if he should be getting them back on topic or not. "It's our dad's research. Weather patterns, crop and animal mutilation. Omens. He was tracking a demon with it. The…uh…" The brothers shared a look. "The one that killed out mom. And… and him."

Ash turned squinting eyes to the sasquatch, face screwed up in something like a raspberry, before he nodded and his features smoothed back out. This guy was crazy. "Condolences for your loss, my friend. Let's look at that research and see what you got."

Sam raised his eyebrows in surprise, but Dean was already up and off the stool, heading out to the Impala to grab the thick file that had gone into her trunk after they'd rebuilt her, along with anything else useful their father had on him or in his old pickup.

As he passed over the folder to a maybe-finally-sobering Ash, Dean repeatedly told himself (little good it did him) that he wasn't handing the man his death sentence.

-o-o-o-

Ash really was a genius, even more than Dean remembered. And just about as crazy, too, something Dean had sort of figured had become exaggerated in his memories over the years. But nope. Not so much. Dude was off his rocker, but he tackled their dad's research with the same gusto he had last time. First with amazement that anyone had tracked a demon this way with just a human brain and ridiculous amounts of research, and then excitement at the possibilities it presented when paired with his genius tech. He told them he'd have something in fifty one hours – which sounded familiar to Dean – and disappeared back through that door with his suped-up laptop.

They didn't need to hang around for his conclusion this time. Dean knew Ash would set up a brilliant tracker program for the omens and weather patterns his dad had been able to identify. However, he also knew that program wouldn't turn anything up immediately, and when it did the Roadhouse could just give them a call. So, as Ash disappeared into the back, muttering about non-parametrics, statistical overviews, and blah-blah-blah, Sam and Dean discussed their next move. They could return to Bobby's – check in on Angela – but, as Sam reminded him, they needed to get back on the road at some point. The family business called, as did Azazel's condition to Jess's safety, and Castiel had told them to stick as close to ordinary as possible, which meant hunting.

Speaking of hunts, Dean slid back onto the stool in front of Ellen, who had gone back to the chores of owning a bar, washing the counter down once Ash was busy with the Winchester's. Jo had been sent off to the store on a supply run, so Dean drummed his fingers along the wooden top until the bar owner spared him a look that said, clear as day, 'What do you want?'

"You boys heading out?" she asked instead, though that look didn't diminish and Dean was back to grinning again. Damn, he'd missed the Harvelles.

"Soon. We figure Ash can call us if he finds anything." Dean glanced over his shoulder at Sam, who wandered back over to them now that Ash had taken himself into seclusion. The older Winchester resisted making fun of how put out Sam had looked the minute their mulleted friend disappeared, taking his tech toys with him. "But first, there's something I gotta tell you, and you're not gonna believe me."

Both Ellen and his brother frowned at that, Sam glancing at him sidelong, trying to be subtle about it, and the bar owner outright staring.

"Because it's going to sound crazy," Dean continued, spreading his hands out in front of him on the bar. Sam came up beside him, now opening eyeing him with wariness – likely thinking he was about to drop the time traveling bomb – and Ellen just propped herself up on one arm, other hand securely at her hip in every mother's Oh-here-we-go pose. "But in a month or two, I'm gonna be proven right."

Ellen huffed something of a laugh, eyebrow raised in that patented Harvelle skepticism. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Dean answered, trying and failing not to return the Harelle look with the Winchester smirk. It was instinctual. Couldn't be overridden. "See, this carnival is gonna come to town. May be a county or two over, but you'll hear about it. It'll have a clown."

At this point, Ellen wasn't managing to hide her amusement any better than Dean. He could practically see the snarky, 'Really, kid? A carnival with a clown? You're shitting me.'

Dean couldn't help but think, 'Hold onto your butts,' in Samuel Jackson's voice, which then immediately switched over to a Jokered-up Heath Ledger because, 'Here…we…go.'

(Plus, the whole, you know, clown angle.)

"He's gonna kill some people."

Ellen's expression shifted almost immediately. First it was surprise – probably not the ending to that little story she'd been expecting – and then quickly suspicion, which was kind of valid. You didn't just tell a hunter that a hunt – a ridiculous hunt that no one had ever heard of before – was going to roll into town, and not include how you knew that.

Sam, meanwhile, knew the how and was busy standing ramrod straight, with eyes way too wide even as he fought to hide the obvious reaction. Dean would have busted out laughing at his poor, coulrophobic kid brother if Ellen wasn't right there with them and he was actually (mostly) serious about this.

"A killer clown?" the woman repeated, the skepticism on her face losing some of the sarcastic edge and falling more into incredulity. She wasn't sure if Dean was joking or not anymore, but she was probably hoping he was making it up. Hell, he knew Sam was sure as shit hoping for that.

"Yup. Killer clown."

Ellen was still regarding him uncertainly. "And how exactly do you know where it's gonna be?"

Dean opened his mouth and gave his most winning smile. "Because I'm psychic."

Beside him, Sam snorted in that way that suggested if he'd been drinking something just then, Dean would have been getting a shower.

"For real," he insisted as Ellen's thoughts clearly shifted towards this being a joke. One she wasn't particularly amused at as she eyed Sam, who was recovering. "Ask my brother."

She was, with intimidating mom eyes. And given the way that unamused look slid into unimpressed, she wasn't going for it.

"Oh," Sam breathed out once he could, you know, actually breathe again, "he's something, alright."

"Hey!" Dean sent a glare lacking any heat at the Samsquatch, and turned back to Ellen. "Don't listen to him; he's psychic too."

Sam was now eyeing him more than just warily, like he really wasn't sure they should be telling people this. It was one thing to play off Dean's future knowledge as a gift. Hunters used psychics all the time. But Sam's powers weren't natural; they came from the kind of source that a hunter would see as needing a shallow grave.

Dean didn't look worried though, still smiling at Ellen, who eyed the two of them warily now as well.

"If he's psychic, why didn't he know about the clown?"

Oh yeah, she'd noticed his little freak out as easily as Dean had, and Sam flushed a little. All six and a half feet of him fidgeting like a chastised child. He just didn't like clowns, alright? Lots of people didn't like clowns. It was normal!

Despite Dean making fun of the kid (which he would not be stopping anytime soon), even the older Winchester could admit a fear of clowns wasn't entirely unhealthy. At least, not when considering that a killer one was about to roll into town. And they would run into at least two more murderous types again in the future. Including ones that exploded into glitter of all things. Yeah, that case had been real fun.

"Oh, Sammy doesn't see the same stuff I see," Dean answered easily enough, having already prepared for all of this. He probably should have told his brother what that cover story would be, but he couldn't help it; the kids face when Dean mentioned the clown had been totally worth it.

The man from the future leaned into the bar, hunching his shoulders and maintaining a conspiratorial gaze with Ellen. She met him, play for play (still not sure this wasn't a joke), and leaned into the counter as well, as if the two were about to share some secret.

"He see's dead people," Dean whispered loudly. Beside him, Sam rolled his eyes. Well, at least if they were gonna spill that secret, of course his brother would make a joke and a movie reference out of it in one breath.

Ellen didn't pull back, but she did send a quick glance Sam's way, still playing along, though it was obvious she still wasn't sure if this was all a joke or not. It looked like she was starting to realize it really wasn't.

"Don't we all," she said, leaning a little closer to whisper back, "They're called ghosts."

Oh, yeah. This was definitely where Jo got it from. Like mother like daughter for sure with these two.

Sam finally gave up, letting out a lengthy, resigned sigh. "I get death premonitions."

Ellen finally straightened back up, regarding the brother that seemed less likely to be pranking her. She'd suspected Dean wasn't kidding, but the kid didn't exactly help much with the conviction bit of it. But Sam… Sam wasn't joking. She could tell in the way he wasn't really meeting her eyes, but kept darting back to her, worried. He was self-conscious about this – and she could figure out why easily enough – and probably hadn't wanted to tell her. She glanced at Dean, wondering if the older Winchester had given his brother a choice in the matter.

"You're serious," she said, making sure to keep her voice even. She might be a hunter, but she wasn't particularly quick to judge that line that made up black and white. "You'd think John woulda mentioned you two were gifted."

Dean huffed. She didn't believe them, if that was her go-to response.

"Really?" Sam asked suddenly, finally staring at her. "You think John Winchester would admit to anyone, let alone a hunter, about his freak son?"

"You're not a freak." Dean bit it out so quickly, so damn fiercely, that it surprised all three of them. Dean dropped his eyes to the bar top, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from saying more. Not after he just told Ellen they were both psychics, which should really mean they were both freaks.

Fuck, this probably wasn't going so well.

Sam's slip up with the singular form and not the plural might not have helped. Though, it wasn't untrue, either. Even if they went with this little play-pretend where Dean was psychic and more willing to embrace that 'gift' (he fucking wasn't, being from the future sucked), Sam, though… Sam had thought he was a freak. Still did, Dean realized with a dry throat and a spike of pain in his chest. Sam wasn't spinning some cover story. This was pure Sam Winchester. No lie, no story.

The worst part was, he wasn't wrong.

John Winchester never told anyone – even Dean – about Sam, about his powers or where they came from. He never would have said a word. Hadn't, even on his death bed, not really. No. John Winchester would have found a cure or he would have killed Sam himself. That's what John Winchester would have done, and Ellen, hard eyes trying to hide the emotion beneath – the one formed from personal experience of just what lengths John would go to – knew it too.

Her expression smoothed out, likely unable to stand in front of a kid clearly hurting so badly at his own father not understanding – not tolerating – what made him different. What made him special. As a mother – as a damn good mother – Ellen couldn't stand for it, let alone indulge it.

"No one's calling anyone a freak," she offered, voice still carefully even, though she nodded once at Sam. The beanstalk of a Winchester almost sagged. He probably hadn't even realized how tense he had become. His fingers unfurled from fists he hadn't even known he was clenching. The tendons ached, and he flexed them outward. She watched him for a moment more as he visibly relaxed, her expression a carefully maintained neutrality. "Just surprised, is all. Hard to believe."

Dean cracked that Winchester smile out again. Surprise he could work with. "You don't gotta believe it. Just call us in a couple of months when a kill clown case shows up on your doorstep."

She still looked at him like he was crazy – that or he was absolutely terrible at practical joking – but the sound of a car door slamming out in the parking lot outside signaled the return of Jo, or a customer or hunter, and so the topic dropped.

-o-o-o-

Five and a half weeks later, a contact of Ellen's and a regular at the Roadhouse walked through the door with a manila folder in hand, red sharpie scribbled across the outside. He set it down on the bar, ordered a drink, got to talking, and eventually pushed it the bartender's way. Reading the scrawl across the top was enough to make Ellen's breath hitch in surprise, but the information inside had her actually shaking her head. There was a wry little smile on her lips that definitely made her contact look at her all sorts of funny as she stared down at a hunt that was anything but humorous.

"Son of a bitch. He was telling the truth," she muttered to herself, closing the file and all but looking heavenward to avoid rolling her eyes. "Unbelievable."

Saluting her contact with the folder and promising to have someone look into it, Ellen dug out her phone and went looking for Dean Winchester's number. When he picked up on the third ring, she couldn't have kept the smirk or the disbelief out of her voice if she'd tried.

"So. Psychic, huh?"

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

-Asa Fox: It has been my goal since season 12 came out to slot Asa Fox into this story, alive, somewhere. My original idea was the boys joining Bobby in attending a hunter's funeral for Garth with Asa being there. However, it didn't fit with the somber mode I had pegged (I thought about a deleted scene, but it would have been a long one and I haven't had the time). So I managed it here :) And yes, if this story had featured Season12!Dean and not Season11!Dean, he absolutely woulda pulled Asa to the side and told him to keep an eye on that 'best friend' of his.

-Ellen and Jo: I know there wasn't much Jo in this chapter, but I'm working them into the story a lot like they worked them into the show. Slowly! Introductions first, and we'll go from there. I promise, we'll be seeing plenty of the Harvelles in the future :)

-Update News: Okay, so I have good news and bad news. Good news: next chapter is also a long one! Bad news: I am actually going back to my favorite internet-less vacation spot on only-the-most-beautiful-lake-in-da-world next week (which I snuck into this story a long time ago. Gave it a little cameo description when I realized the boys were actually going to drive right by it. Bonus points if anyone can spot it! Kinda stalkery bonus points actually... Hmmmm...). Anyhoo, in conclusion, I likely won't be able to post next weekend. Apologies once again and thank you for hanging with me and being patient!

-Up Next: Back to the good news. The next chapter is jam-packed with SO MUCH STUFF. Including, but not limited to, Chuck, the bunker key, our mystery green-eyed woman, demon blood, Azazel being a creepy mcCreeper, poor Sammy getting the exact opposite of a feel-good dream visit from his guardian demon, and a FREE TOASTER!

…Okay, the toaster may have been an exaggeration (aren't they always).

-Reviews: Alright guys. I know the two week delay is going to suck (again) but please drop a line anyway! I prefer to warn you when delays are coming rather than you guys not know why an update didn't happen, but I also know it hurts reviews, and I do love reviews, as you all well know by now. Hearing from you guys makes me all warm and fuzzy like having a little chest!Cas of my own. So bring on those fuzzy-warm-girly-hair-braiding-slumber-party-emotions-that-aren't-quite-mine-but-definitely-make-me-feel-good-and-are-possibly-homo-erotic-but-lets-not-get-into-that!

…Wait, what? I think I lost my point somewhere in there…