Chapter Text
“We’ve got bigger shit to worry about than some “haunted house” Dean,” Sam said as he pulled his duffel over his shoulder. Dean rolled his eyes and gave his little brother an annoyed glare.
“Yes, I am completely aware that God himself is trying to kill us, but this isn’t just some random house. It has history,” is how he replied, eyes locked with Sam’s. “There’s been reports of missing kids here, again. We gotta check it out.”
“Yeah, I know. Dad checked it out when we were kids, half of the page for it is missing from his journal, and then you and Dad checked it out again when you were what, 19? And you can’t remember what happened. You’ve told me a million times.”
“Well then, you know we’re checking this shit out then.”
“I just don’t get why you didn’t want to bring Cas along,” Sam said, changing the subject now as they turned to look at the large two-story house behind them. Dean groaned, but didn’t look at him now.
“Because if shit goes bad, we need someone at the bunker for backup.” The unspoken for you was loud in Sam’s ears. For whatever reason, Dean expected this house to fuck him up, but not Sam. Sam thought that perhaps the last time Dean had been here, maybe he was just drunk and stupid.
Oh, how they were both wrong…
…
20 years ago…
“I don’t get why I can’t go with you guys,” Sam, in the prime of his sulky-teenage years at the edge of 14 going on 15, grumbled. His older brother Dean, a very pretty, very scary, 19-year old, just scoffed.
“You hate hunting, and we both know it. So why would you wanna go?” Sam rolled his eyes but sunk himself lower into the uncomfy chair. They were staying in a small rundown motel - what else was new - while their dad had splurged on a room of his own, which was fine by his boys since his snoring had gotten worse lately. Sam would much rather had Dean stay and hang out with him, or hell, even tag along. But no, here his stupid brother was, treating him like a fucking kid. “Besides, it's good to have backup waiting for us.” The just in case was left unspoken, but Sam could hear it.
“You sure you don’t wanna stay here… with me?” he asked, eyes widening ever so slightly into a pleading look. Dean glared at him as he shoved various things into the duffle he planned on taking with him.
“Oh you little bitch you know what that fucking look does to me,” he mumbles, watching as Sam turned from pleading to smirking in a matter of seconds. “Fuck you. Stay here.”
“You gotta ask nicely first.” Dean growled as he strode over to his little brother - who had yet to hit any type of growth spurt, still sitting at barely above the 5-foot mark - and pressed a hard kiss to his forehead.
“Such a little bitch,” Dean said fondly, making Sam giggle as he pulled away.
“Jerk. Go hunt. Don’t get yourself killed.”
“Not my time to go yet Sammy my boy. Not yet. Got so much more to teach you.” Sam rolled his eyes and watched as his brother left, blowing an exaggerated kiss over his shoulder as the crappy motel door closed behind him.
…
The two of them entered the house cautiously, rock-salt shotguns at the ready, various other weapons hidden on their bodies and in their jackets. The house was nice, not as rundown as one would expect a “haunted” house to be. No one lived here, hadn’t in a good few years, but people had started going missing again, so Dean just knew he had to check it out.
He wanted to know what had happened to him all those years ago. What had happened to his dad the first time he had come to this house? With missing pages and blank minds, something had happened, and Dean was going to find it, and kill it.
So, he led the way, his back to the wall so he could keep an eye on his surroundings and on Sam as well. No matter what has happened to them over the years, no matter who was trying to kill them, he wouldn’t let anything happen to Sam. He would die before that happened.
Sam thought this was excessive - there wasn’t anything here. No haunted house, no monsters, no demons. Just two brothers walking around looking like crazy-people.
But maybe not as crazy as they thought. The door at the end of the hall - what had originally been a closet when they had first checked - swung open, tendrils of blue light seeping out towards the two brothers.
…
Dean had followed his dad into the house – dark and empty, obviously abandoned with barely any furniture and even some cracks in the walls. It had been empty a long time it seemed, but there had been reports of people going missing, and it wasn’t the first time. Their dad had come here when Dean and Sam were so much younger, and apparently whatever was taking people had messed with him, because the last two pages of that journal entry were gone, and John had no idea why.
He didn’t know what to expect, but he did as his dad taught him, checking each door they came across, but most of them were either hall closets or empty rooms. He had found his way into the kitchen, gun at the ready, when he heard his dad let out a surprised yelp from the hallway. He ran in there just in time to see bright blue light burst out of the hall closet and slam into his dad, pulling him into the closet and slamming the door closed behind it.
“Dad!” Dean cried out, making the rookie mistake of tossing his gun to the side and going to try to open the door. He was flung back as the door opened and more light seeped out, this time wrapping around his legs and pulling the 19-year old into the bright glowing light, slamming the door closed as he felt the light bleed into his lungs before everything went dark.
The house now stood empty, a lone sawed-off shotgun tossed haphazardly onto the ground the only sign that someone had been in here.
…
Dean tried to shoot at the light, but it knocked him on his back, his gun flying out of his hand.
“Dean!” Sam cried, about to go for his brother when the light pushed him back, slamming him into the wall. It didn’t try to grab him like it had the 39-year old, instead making him stay away as it pulled the struggling older man towards the closet. Dean was barely able to glance at Sam before the light was wrapping around his head, blocking out his vision.
“Sammy!” The word was muffled, but Sam heard it as he struggled to pull away from the wall. He fell flat on his face as the light disappeared, the closet door slamming shut. He looked up, shaking his hair from his face. Dean was gone.
Sam lurched to his feet and ran to the closet, yanking the door open.
It was empty – no Dean, no light, nothing.
…
Dean yelled as he felt himself tossed into a wall, then what felt like tossed down a flight of stairs as he tumbled head over ass over and over again. He couldn’t see anything, and he couldn’t seem to move his arms to stop himself from falling. All he could do was worry as he fell, worry about his dad, worry about Sam. Sam… Dean wasn’t going to let himself die, or whatever the fuck this fucking light wanted with him. He would make his way back to Sammy. He would. No matter what, he would get back to him.
…
Dean groaned as his body was slammed onto the hard floor. He had been falling for what felt like hours, and he wasn’t exactly young anymore, so shit like this would definitely leave a bruise. He wondered if this is what happened to him all those years before, but no, he was pretty sure he’d remember being ‘beamed into the light’ then thrown down a flight of stairs. Or was it up a flight of stairs? Who the hell cares, he’s stopped, so he was thankful for that. He just had to figure out how to get out of here and get back to Sam. Fuck, he couldn’t believe he was stupid enough to get grabbed by something and leave Sammy alone. Even after all the shit they’ve been through, that was the one thing he never wanted to do in his life. He’d find some way to get back to his brother. He would.
…
Sam had wanted to stay, tear the house down to the studs to find his brother, but in his heart, he knew it wouldn’t do any good. So, he decided to head back to the motel and come back in the morning. Hopefully by then Cas and Other-Bobby would be able to get out to him and help him search.
Sam wasn’t going to lose Dean again. Not without a fight this time.
…
Sam was getting worried – it was nearing 1 in the morning, and neither Dean or his dad were back yet. His dad wasn’t answering his phone, which was a worry all on its own – he always tried to answer, but sometimes he didn’t. So, Sam laid down in one of the beds – wearing nothing but his boxers and one of Dean’s shirts he snagged from his bag – and tried to get some rest.
Dean would be back in the morning, he was sure of it. Dean wouldn’t leave him, not like this.
…
He groaned as he could finally open his eyes. He was flat on his back in the small closet, the small single lightbulb flickering above him. His limbs felt so heavy, so stiff. Falling backwards and forwards and being thrown into walls could do a man in, he was sure. With great effort, he was able to lug himself to his feet. Once he was back on his own two legs, the door to the closet opened, letting him go back into the hallway where this all started.
There was no one there, no one waiting for him, no one looking for him. But now that he was out of that damn blue light, his only train of thought was to get back to the motel. Sam had to be worried by now.
…
Cas had tried to convince Sam to come back to the bunker, but he refused. He was going to find Dean, or die trying. There was too much hell on earth for him to give up this easily. Sam glanced at his phone, hoping against hope that maybe Dean would message him or call, but no, there was nothing. It had been hours, and still, nothing. He shouldn’t have left the house. He should have waited for Dean, should have looked for him…
There was a harsh knock at the door, three loud raps that had Sam jerking to his feet and pulling his gun out, just in case.
…
Sam huffed as he poured himself an-almost empty bowl of cereal. Dean needed to get his ass back here and go to the fucking store – that asshat had taken all the money with him, obviously not expecting this to take so long. And Sam had considered going out to find him, but no, it would be better to just stay in the motel room and wait for Dean to come back.
Then there was a hard knock at the door, the three loud raps that was their family's signature knock. Just to be safe, Sam grabbed the shotgun his dad had left him - not that he liked to use it, but still, better safe than sorry - and went to hesitantly open the door.
…
Sam yanked open the door and aimed his gun at the young man’s face.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“Who the fuck are you? What did you do with my brother?” Sam groaned as he found himself flat on his back, gun out of his hands and a boot on his chest. “Speak now old man, before I put a warning shot in your head.” Sam groaned and focused his eyes on the guy he just opened the door on, who now held his gun in his hands.
Sam couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The young man, a teenager really, was wearing a slightly too big brown leather jacket, holey jeans, scuffed boots, and a black t-shirt. And around his neck….
“...Dean?”
…
“Sammy?” The older man asked, staring in shock at the young teen who had opened the door. Sam aimed the gun right at the man’s chest, eyes hard.
“Who the hell are you?” he asked, voice cracking just a bit in fear. Dean raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.
“How old are you kid?”
“29. Now start talking before I blow holes in your chest,” Sam said, cocking the gun for good measure. But then he got to take a good look at the man, who wasn’t making any move to either get closer or move away. His face was scruffy, the beginnings of a beard forming already, his short dark blonde hair a mess, but that wasn’t what gave Sam pause. It was the eyes. He would know those eyes anywhere…
“Dean?”
…
Sam didn’t understand – it was Dean, but it was a young Dean. Like, teenage Dean. Maybe young adult Dean – he couldn’t be any older than 20, if even that.
“Did you… did you get cursed again? What happened to you?” Sam gasped, the heavy boot still on his chest. He didn’t understand. This was Dean, it looked like Dean, and he had the amulet… Dean hadn’t worn that in 10 years.
“Where’s my brother?” young-Dean asked, still holding the gun and aiming it at his head now. “Where’s my dad?”
“Dad…? Dean…”
“How the hell do you know my name? WHAT DID YOU DO TO SAMMY?” It was hearing that voice – the voice that wasn’t yet roughened by life and Hell and war – saying his name like that, that broke him. He looked up and saw Dean watching him, his face twisting in confusion as he found himself focusing on Sam’s eyes. He could see it, the swirl of colors, the green and yellow and blue that makes his heart beat so fast in his chest…
“How....”
“Dean, it’s me. It’s Sammy.”
“…What?”
….
“I don’t … I don’t understand. What happened to you?” Sam asked, dropping the gun on the table as old-Dean sat down on one of the beds, his face crumpling in thought. “Dean? Are you… you?”
“Yeah Sammy, I’m me. I’m me from 20 years in the future. This must be what happened that I don’t remember.”
“What do you mean?” The 14-year old asked, sitting next down to him on the bed and leaning into him, making Dean immediately slip an arm around his waist. How long had it been since they had been like this? How long had it been since Dean had his arms around Sam?
No, now was not the time to think about things like that.
“I went to check out the haunted house with Dad, right?” Sam nodded and rested his chin on Dean’s shoulder, just staring up at him in wonder. Fuck, it had been a long time since his little brother had looked at him like that. “I think I can figure out what happened.”
…
“So I’m 20 years in the fucking future,” Dean said, pacing back and forth while Sam sat on one of the beds, watching him. “That fucking blue light yanked older me into the closet, and shoved me back out. What the fuck?”
“Dean…”
“And you… you sasquatch, are Sammy? My little Sammy?” Sam tried to ignore the burst of warmth in his chest – it had been a long time since Dean had ever called him his.
“Hit a growth spurt,” is all Sam says, giving Dean a smile. If Dean had any concerns about this, that smile and those dimples made it all go away. That was all Sam right there.
“Fuck Sammy, look at you,” Dean said, stopping and crossing his arms across his chest as he faced him. Sam felt that warmth in his chest again – Dean hadn’t looked at him like that in a really really long time, and it made him squirm a little bit. Dean smirked when he noticed the movement. “Good to know some things don’t change huh Sammy?” Sam’s face flushed and he tilted his head down so he could hide behind his hair.
“A lot’s changed Dean. A lot.”
…
“Don’t look at me like that Sammy,” Dean said, pulling away from his little – emphasis on little – brother.
“Like what?” Dean shook his head, remembering how close the two of them had once been, how they had been…
“Just… don’t.” Sam’s face fell as he realized something while looking at this version of his brother.
“You’re not wearing it.” Dean’s hand goes up to his chest, right over his heart where there was always that phantom weight that had never quite gone away. “You said you’d never take it off,” Sam said, trying not to let the sadness creep into his voice. “You said…”
“I know Sammy. Things have gotten really fucking crazy over the last 20 years,” is what Dean said as he pulled the small teen into his arms. Sam clung to him, and Dean found himself leaning too much into the touch. He had missed this version of his little brother – the one who loved him more than anything, the one who didn’t doubt what he had to say, the one who… “Sammy…”
…
“So 20 years huh. We’re not dead yet I see.”
“Not for long at least,” Sam said with a little laugh, making Dean chuckle.
“Yeah, figured we wouldn’t go down without a fight huh?” Sam watched the 19-year old version of his brother look around, a frown creasing his face now. “Is dad…?”
“Went down fighting.” Dean nodded and sniffled briefly before he laughed.
“Good for him. Can I ask… something?” Sam nodded and Dean moved to sit on the other bed, turning so he could face his big-little-brother. “The yellow-eyed demon… do we find it?”
“You kill him.” Dean lets out a relieved breath at his brother’s words.
“Thank fuck.” They were silent for another minute before Dean locked his eyes with Sam. “What happened to us?”
“Dean-“
“No. Sammy I can tell that something changed. We used to… Well where I’m from, we still are. But you look at me like…”
“I know,” Sam said with a sigh. “A lot can happen in 20 years Dean. We just…” He sighs again and pulls out his phone. “I need to call some people. I’m gonna step outside real quick.” Dean nodded and watched him go, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth.
If he was gonna be stuck 20 years in the future, then he was gonna fix whatever was going on between him and his brother. He didn’t want a future where Sam looked at him like that.
…
Dean gave Sam some of the cash he had on him and told him to go to the store and buy some stuff for dinner. He stayed in the motel room and tried to sort out what was going on. He was 20 years in the past, with a 14-year old version of his little brother who looked at him like he hung the moon in the sky.
Dean remembered what he was like when he was 19. He remembered how he and Sammy were, and fuck, it hurt to see this version of his little brother because Dean wanted nothing more than to just be there for him the way he used to.
But so much shit had happened between them over the years, that he knew he couldn’t be what this Sam wanted from him. Even though he really wanted to. But maybe, since he was going to be stuck here for a little bit –until he could figure out how to get home, and get 19-year old Dean back, since he assumed that must be what had happened, which explains why he couldn’t remember what happened years ago – maybe he could see if he could make himself a better version of the big brother he had become.
So, when Sam returned with a small bag of groceries, he stood up and took the bags and sat them on the table. Sam stared at him, with his wide hazel puppy eyes, and Dean felt his heart crack.
“How about we watch a crappy movie on the crappy TV?” Sam giggled and let Dean pull him to one bed so they could sit together, Sam snuggled up against his older-future-brother’s chest.
…
Dean shrugged out of his leather jacket and draped it over a chair. Sam was outside, pacing as he talked into his phone – yes, Dean had creeped on him, because he kept an eye on his brother, no matter where or when he was. He seemed to be deep in conversation, his shoulders hunched as he talked. It was still hard for Dean to believe that this giant was his little brother. Sammy had always been small and thin, and then suddenly he was over 6-feet tall, taller than Dean, and broad and muscled and –
Okay, Dean was getting distracted. He needed to focus on taking care of Sammy. Because it was obvious something was wrong with his big-little-brother, and if there was one thing Dean ever did with his life, it was to make sure that Sammy was okay.
So, when Sam came back in, Dean strode up to him – all cocky and as much Dean as Sam could ever hope to see – and pulled his little brother into his arms.
Sam, even though much taller now, melts into the hug and lets his big brother hold him. He lets Dean pull him to sit down so he can tuck himself up under his chin, a position he used to sit in when he was much smaller. Dean pressed a kiss to Sam’s hair, and Sam felt like his heart was breaking.
Fuck, he had really missed this version of Dean.
…
“Hey Dean?”
“Yeah Sammy?”
“What do you think happened to Dad? He went with, well, my you, to the house. You came back, but he didn’t.”
“Well, if I’m here, hopefully Dad is somewhere good too.” Sam nodded against his chest, and Dean chanced a glance at him, noticing how his eyes struggled to stay open. Dean shifted him so they could lay next to each other. “We’ll figure this out tomorrow. Get some sleep Sammy. I’ll be right here.” The 14-year old grinned at him and leaned up, pressing a quick kiss to Dean’s stubbly cheek.
Oh, Dean was screwed. No matter what age he was, when it came to any version of Sam, he was so royally screwed.