A/N: The last third (or so) of this chapter has been rewritten and is quite a bit different from what was originally published a couple of weeks ago. Sorry for the redundancy, but I'll hope you'll give it a read. Next Chapter on the way with the week. Bye,bye,bye.

Chapter 2

He spent an afternoon in Lawrence, watching the house. He saw his mom come out to the mailbox mid afternoon. She looked good and he had to fight with himself not to go to her. She came out again when his dad pulled a pickup into the driveway. He filled his eyes with them both as they greeted each other and chatted, smiling, before they went into the house. Dean really didn't know how to feel. Except cheated. Cheated of an apple pie life. Maybe he should stay. Figure out who and what his alter was and step into his boots. Let some other poor bastard hunt in his place. It wasn't fair and maybe he had a chance to change that now. He'd automatically assumed that whoever had stuck him here did it out of malice. But maybe not. Maybe this was a second chance.

But things loomed large in the back of his mind. Why hadn't anything come up about him on the internet? Even the most anonymous person had an entry or two about them somewhere. And what about Sammy? Unless he had been dropped here, too. But part of him knew that Sam was at home, hopefully tearing things up looking for him instead of hitting another dog and forgetting he had a brother. It still stung, well more than stung, that Sam hadn't lifted a finger while he scratched and clawed his way out of Purgatory. But he'd made peace with it within himself. It wasn't worth letting those feelings overwhelm him again. Plus, he didn't want Sam to try to attempt the trials without him. So on one hand, it made sense that if he was thrown out of place, maybe Sam was, too, to keep them from attempting to close the Hell gates. So, could it have been Crowley? Dean really didn't think he could bend time or throw him through timelines. Waking up in the dead empty bunker like he'd woken up in the dead empty motel room when Zachariah had punted him through time, that's what had made him think angel meddling. But then, Balthazar had used a spell to send them to the universe where he and Sam were just characters on a TV show. So really, anyone who could pull off that spell was a suspect. Dammit! Why does everything have to be so damn complicated?

He started the car and headed west. A part of him wanted to go north into Nebraska and see the roadhouse and Ellen and Jo. And knock one back with Ash for old time's sake. Plus he really needed to get another set of eyes on this. Ash might be able to help, but he needed his pocket geek. Dean knew he was smart, even though he often played the brawn to Sam's brains, but this situation was getting too complicated and he needed another point of view. Hopefully, Samuel Winchester, Esq., was as big a nerd as Sam Winchester, Hunter, was. But, one way or another he needed to get to this world's Sam and convince him to help.

Surprisingly, the Nova held up until he was only a few miles out of Reno where it threw a rod. This steel horse was out of its misery, so he gathered up his belongings, stowing the revolver in the bursting backpack and rolling the blanket and shotgun up like a bedroll to hang from straps on the bottom and hit the road. He was picked up by a trucker before he'd gone a mile in the early desert morning and caught a bus in Reno to San Francisco.

-wWw-

Over coffee the next morning Dean decided to visit Sam at his office since he found it was in downtown San Francisco. It would save figuring out how to get to Walnut Grove as well as keep Jessica out of the picture because he was afraid that she would only complicate things.

On his way to the address he had for Sam he rehearsed his explanation. Going over it in his mind until it felt like he was giving enough information without unnecessarily complicating things. But when he found himself in the reception area of Lalley, Winchester and Burke, he felt a nervous sweat coat his palms. The pretty receptionist smiled at him, eyes lingering on his face for just a beat longer than was strictly polite. Dean gave her a wide smile and a quick wink.

"Hi," He checked her nameplate, "Chelsea, can I see Sam? Um, Mr. Winchester?"

Her smile widened and one eyebrow rose. "Well, his nine o'clock is running late. Who may I tell him is here?"

"His brother. Dean."

Again, her eyes rested on him just a fraction too long, and though her smile held an invitation, he decided that more flirting would have to wait.

Chelsea keyed a button on her phone, still staring at Dean. "Mr. Winchester? Your brother Dean is here to see you."

There was a long pause, then he heard Sam's quizzical tone as he replied, "All right, send him in."

Chelsea motioned to the nearby door with a golden plaque bearing the word Partner beneath Sam's name. "See you later. Dean."

Dean grinned and winked at her again as he opened the door. "Later."

He entered the office, closing the door quietly behind him. The office was huge, filled with expensive furnishings and art. A picture window with a view of the golden Gate Bridge and the bay filled one wall. Sam's back was to the magnificent view and he watched Dean impassively as he entered.

"Hi Sam."

Sam was sitting back from his desk in a leather executive chair. His posture was stiff, but at Dean's greeting he nodded and said, "Good morning. How can I help you?"

Dean grinned at Sam's formal tone, it was like Sam was playacting. "Come on. It's me, dude."

"I'm sorry?"

Dean's grin faded. He was so surprised that all his carefully formulated explanations evaporated. "It's me, Dean. Your brother."

"My brother died when I was a baby. So, who are you?"

A cold knife pierced his heart at hearing that his alter wasn't alive here. "I – uh ...Sammy, it's me..."

"My name is Samuel." He said, a slight frosty edge to his voice.

"Yeah, right."

Dean slid into a chair across the desk from Sam. He took a deep breath and tried to marshal his thoughts into some semblance of order. "Okay, I know how all of this is going to sound, I really do. But every word of it is the truth, I swear, Sammy. I am your brother, but I'm not from here. I mean from this world. I mean, I'm from a different timeline, or something. Whatever. I don't really know how I got here but it was probably an angel, or well, maybe a spell, but the point is, I'm here and I need your help to get back."

Dean tried to stay calm and explain things rationally, but he felt so unsettled that everything was coming out wrong. Samuel's face had remained carefully neutral, but Dean could read the disbelief in his eyes. Still, he had to try. He needed Sam, and this Sam was the only one he had.

Samuel continued to stare at him for a beat, lips slightly pursed. "An angel."

"Yeah. But don't get too excited. Most of them are dicks."

"Sure." Samuel nodded.

"Where I come from Mom died in a fire when you were six months old. Dad took us with him on the road. He was a hunter." He rolled his bottom lip over his teeth and bit it for a second. He couldn't believe he was about to give Sam the talk. "There are, uh, monsters out there. And Dad and you and I, we kill them. It was a demon that killed mom and we hunted and killed it. You didn't become a lawyer there because, well, I pulled you out of school to help me find Dad and, uh, you never went back."

Samuel didn't reply and after a nervous moment Dean cleared his throat, "you're not buying any of this are you?"

Samuel raised an eyebrow, "not a word."

Dean leaned back in the chair, smelling defeat. He rubbed a hand down his face, murmuring, "I wish I knew what to say..."

After a long moment Samuel keyed a button on his desk phone, and spoke softly. "Chelsea, would you please call Security and have them come up to my office?"

Dean stiffened, his face falling. He stared Samuel down for a moment, but he could read nothing in his expression. "Okay. I'll leave, you don't need Security." He rose and with slow steps he made for the door, then turned to regard Samuel one last time. "Just think about it. Some part of you has to know I'm not lying. So just think about it, okay?"

As he passed to the elevator, Chelsea tried to catch his eye, but he was deep in his own head and didn't see her disappointed look. Once outside he headed down the busy street, looking for an alley or an alcove, somewhere a little more private. He was stunned. He knew this wasn't going to be easy, but he'd thought Sam would help. That he'd recognize something in him, in the situation, perhaps not something familiar, but at least something intriguing enough to want to know more.

Numbly he continued walking, realizing, now that they lay broken at his feet, that he'd pinned all his hopes on Sam being willing to help him. So what now? He needed to think. After a couple of more blocks he found an alley between buildings. He started down it and was pleased to see it widened to a small plaza with tables for workers to lunch at. Since it was only a little after nine-thirty, it was mostly unoccupied, except for a couple of skirt suit-clad women off to one side smoking and talking.

He took a seat and folded his arms on the tabletop, resisting the urge to put his head down and shut out the world. This couldn't have gone more wrong. He thought through his options. He could try Samuel again in a few days. Maybe Sam would think about it and give him a chance to really explain. He could try Bobby, though he figured if Sam and their father weren't hunting then maybe Bobby wasn't either. He could try to come up with some plausible story for why he was back that meshed with what Sam told him about his doppelganger in this timeline and approach their parents. But he'd already screwed that pooch by telling Samuel where he was from. Maybe he should just head to Bobby and befriend him. If it turned out that Bobby was still a hunter in this timeline eventually he would be able to share his true origins wouldn't he?

"Cass," He whispered. "Where are you? Maybe you don't know me here, but you're an angel, can't you help me anyway? Please?"

-wWw-

Two Stolen cars and eighteen hundred miles later he knocked on the familiar white-painted door. After a moment it opened and Dean sighed with relief when he saw Bobby's grizzled face under a worn ballcap. Then he noticed a large leather-bound tome in his hand, forefinger trapped between pages as a bookmark. He caught the word 'Majick' in the title. "You're a hunter!"

Bobby stared him down for a moment. "Who're you?"

"I'm Dean. Listen, Bobby, I need your help!" In his relief at finding his surrogate father appearing to be a hunter, all his carefully practiced explanations had flown the coop. "Man, it's good to see you!"

Bobby took a half step back from the doorway, setting the book on a stack of them on a side table. He kept his hand carefully behind that stack and Dean also took a step back, fearing a knife.

"Okay, yeah, uh, I know this is weird, but if I can just talk to you for a few minutes I can explain everything."

"Oh?" Bobby responded, and Dean hoped that was curiosity he saw on the older man's face.

"Yeah. You don't know me because in this world I'm dead. I mean, I'm from another timeline. I don't know how I got here and I don't know how to get back, but I know you there. In my timeline, I mean. That's why I came to you, Bobby. You gotta help me figure this out." The words tumbled out and though Dean realized he was probably speaking gibberish he couldn't get control of his thoughts and emotions. He was just so damn glad to see a familiar face.

Bobby squinted his eyes and looked Dean over for a minute. "Turn around, boy."

Dean's whole being sagged thinking that Bobby was turning him away. Why wouldn't anyone just give him a chance to explain?

"Come on, turn," Bobby commanded.

Reluctantly Dean slowly turned around and was starting off the porch when he felt his .45 pulled out of his waistband and untangled from his shirt. He turned back and stared at Bobby in disbelief.

"You packing anything else? You're not coming into my home with weapons."

"Here, nothing else," Dean answered truthfully. He handed over his lock-back knife which was the only other weapon he'd secreted on his person. Getting all his usual hidden weapons had been the furthest thing from his mind while dealing with the whole mindfuck of his situation.

"All right," Bobby nodded and stepped aside so Dean could enter the house. "Have a seat at the table, I was just about to put some coffee on."

Dean picked up his pack from where it leaned against the railing and stepped into the familiar cluttered house.

Dean followed Bobby into the kitchen and sat at the chair he indicated. Bobby busied himself at the coffee maker and after a few minutes he set a thick ceramic mug in front of Dean. Seeing the silver spoon in the cup Dean grinned and looked up to see Bobby watching him intently.

Dean removed the spoon, and set it on the table. "I take it black, thanks." And he took a healthy swallow of what he was sure was holy water laced joe. "Any other tests you want me to pass? Borax maybe?"

Bobby sat across from Dean, then, a quizzical look on his face asked, "borax?"

"Yeah, right, you won't have had leviathans here." Dean shook his head. His predicament was taking a lot of getting used to.

"Levia whats?"

"Yeah, uh, I guess I have a lot to catch you up on."

Their conversation proceeded slowly, stilted and uneven. At first he held things back in an abundance of caution. Just as he'd left his pack near the door, intentionally not mentioning the weapons it contained to Bobby, which felt like a bit of a cheat, but he wasn't quite ready to fully trust thisBobby yet.

Ultimately, Dean spent more than an hour filling Bobby in on his past. It was more like an interrogation Dean realized partway through. Bobby was tasking him to dig deep into his memory and provide details that Dean himself didn't know he possessed. But he began to appreciate the thoroughness of Bobby's questions, and realizing that though this wasn't his Bobby, he was still Bobby and was absorbing the details in an effort to make sense of it all.

"So, say I was to believe all this nonsense. What then?" Bobby's look was frankly skeptical.

"You – I mean my Bobby - knows more lore than anybody else I've ever met and you, I mean he, have books that nobody else has. I'm hoping you can help me find a way back home." Dean didn't realize how pleading his expression was, but it wasn't lost on Bobby.

"Well, if you're not a lyin' idjit, this is an interesting problem you've got."

Dean half grinned at the familiar innuendo. "So you'll help me?"

After a long moment Bobby nodded, "I'll give it a think. But don't be gettin' your hopes up too high. I've never heard of anything like this before, and who knows if we can even find any lore on it."

Dean kept his expression neutral but disappointment and fear lodged a stone near his heart.

Both hunters were quiet for a few moments, and as Bobby's font of questions seemed to be to drying up, Dean decided to turn the tables a bit, "Bobby? How long you been hunting?"

"About twenty years."

Dean nodded, then asked gently, "You got into it because a demon possessed your wife?"

"That what happened in your world?" Bobby's voice took on a gruffness that Dean thought meant he was right.

"Yeah."

"Well..." Bobby turned to a window and gazed out for a long time.

"I'm sorry."

Bobby jumped slightly and turned back. "I know you are, boy. But don't you be worryin' about me."

Bobby got up and poured himself another cup of coffee, raising the nearly empty carafe in question at Dean who shook his head. "Guess I oughta be thinking on cookin' some supper. Hope you like chili. And if you don't mind a lumpy couch and swilling ol' rotgut 'til all hours with me while we do some research into your little problem I think you oughta stick around."

Dean gave him a half-grin, "I'd sure appreciate that."

Bobby looked at him with narrowed eyes, nodding to himself, "Ain't got nothin' better to do for a few days."

A/N: Okay, little bit of a short one here, but that's how it worked out...Hope you're enjoying. :)

Oh, PS, I should have mentioned last time that this takes place somewhere about two-thirds of the way into season eight. Cass is back, Dean no longer wants to kill Sam for leaving him in Purgatory, and they haven't started the trials quite yet.