SN Fic: A Detour In Time
x-posted
Title: A Detour In Time
Author: Trystan
Rating: Teen; language
Category: Timeshifter AU (see The Shadow out of Time, and Fool's Errand)
Characters: Sam, Dean, John & Mary (credits at the end)
Spoilers: “Pilot,” “Home;” my fic, “ Fool's Errand”
Timeline: S1 after “Home;” and “22 years ago…”
Notable Credits: Beta-read by acostilow, diamondback158, jainadurron, and beluga; title inspired by uinendolothen. Sam and Dean are not mine, although goddess knows I wish Dean was. Facts about cell phones are from “History of Cellular Phones.”
Tagline: Dean and Sam are taken back in time to the day before their mother’s death. But can they save their mother, and will anyone believe who they are and why they’re there?
Remember, I love you, I won’t be far away.
Close your eyes and think of yesterday,
And we’ll be there together.
Love will turn back the hands of time.
Turn back
Turn back the hands of time.
~ Grease 2, © 1982
Science fiction and romance novels are rife with time travel. The concept has fascinated people time and again, resulting in several questions one can ask: “What’s the one thing you would change if you went back in time?” “If you could go back in time, what famous person would you meet?” “Can you meet your younger self back in time?” “What happens to yourself in this time, if you go back in time?” and “Do you age when you go back in time?”
One theory that arises during time-travel discussions is that all timelines need to be existing at the same time in order for time travel to be possible. Which means that all the historical events that ever happened and that ever will happen are happening now. Which is a mind-boggling possibility to even begin to fathom.
There are others still who can shape the time-continuum to their likings. These timeshifters are formless, manifesting as a mass of cold air. In some cases, these timeshifters can create a time barrier. Anything traveling at a high enough rate of speed though this barrier may be transported though time.
This journey started with a particular ’67 Impala, as it entered into Kansas that cool, crisp morning, speeding though such a barrier.
~*~
They’d gotten an early start to their next job; it was in the middle of Kansas in a place called Junction City. The only problem, Dean realized as he studied the map, was the quickest way to go from where they were to where they needed to be would take them to Lawrence. The last time they were there, they’d vanquished a ghost from their old house. But they’d also said goodbye to their guardian spirit, their mother.
Now, as Sam drove a little too fast, Dean folded the maps back as best he could, and returned them to the glove compartment. The parts of Kansas they’d seen were still open farmland, which stretched further than the eyes could see.
“We’re headed the right way, Sammy.” He rested his head against the back of the seat. “I’m exhausted; wake me when we stop for coffee.”
Sam glanced over at his older brother, understanding why Dean did that about every time Sam drove. Took a nap, that was. And Dean looked as if he hadn’t slept in a week, if the bags under his eyes were any indication. As Sam popped a Green Day cassette into the player, he figured he wouldn’t wake Dean until lunchtime.
Traveling at a steady speed of about 75 miles an hour down the long, straight stretch of road that ran along one of the many cornfields, Sam felt a resistance, a pushing, on the front end of the car. He figured it was an eddying air mass, and sped up to get through it. As he did so, the car shook and shivered, and shimmered into existence on the other side of an invisible time barrier. The car gave a final shudder, and Dean stirred and sat up.
“What the hell was that?” he asked, and shivering, he reached for the heater knob. It was now freezing in the car, and something nagged at the back of his brain.
“I have no idea,” Sam said. The sudden cold unnerved him, like he’d been cold like this before. But before he could process the information, he spotted a sign up ahead advertising coffee.
“All right, Dean, time to get up,” the younger Winchester said, playfully punching his older brother on the upper arm. Dean punched back.
“Not while I’m driving here, Dean!” Sam said.
Dean immediately stopped. There was no way he’d be responsible for Sam driving his baby into a telephone pole. Moments later, Sam turned the car into the gravel driveway of a coffee shop that could have passed for an abandoned building, but for the dozen cars parked outside.
As they walked past the cars, with Dean admiring every single on of them, he stopped just outside the front door. A wrinkle furrowed his brow.
“What’s up, Dean?”
“Don’t know. Might be nothing. None of these cars are newer than an ’83.”
“Wow.” Sam was used to his brother’s knowledge of cars. Then he shrugged his shoulders. “If you say so. Let’s get something to eat, I’m starved.” And Sam entered the little shop with Dean close on his heels.
Roadside diners tend to blur together and all look alike when you’re constantly on the road, and this was no exception. Sitting at the counter, they both ordered a coffee from a waitress who gave Dean the impression she’d rather be anywhere else right now. Especially at nine in the morning. She had a bored look on her face, the result of doing the same thing every day. For a fleeting moment, Dean wished he could have that same look on his face.
“Is that everything, guys?” Their waitress returned, and her voice sounded just as bored as she looked. The brothers looked at each other, nodded in assent, and Dean nodded to the waitress. She scribbled the bill on her notepad, placed the slip of paper upside down between then, and told them they could pay at the register.
It was Dean who flipped it over, and stared at it. For a good full minute.
“Dean? It’s just two cups of coffee.”
“Yeah, for the price of one,” he said, showing Sam the $1.15 bill.
The hair on the back of Sam’s neck prickled, but only for an instant. He thought of the car shimmying, the coldness, Dean’s observation of the cars…
“Miss?” Sam called to the waitress, “do you have today’s paper here, by any chance?”
She caught Sam’s eye, and smiled. She went to the bin where the papers were neatly stacked and brought one over. Ignoring the lead article on President Regan, Sam’s eyes went right to the date. He froze.
“Sammy? What is it?” Dean asked, a shivering feeling now going down his back.
Sam put the paper down on the counter between them, and pointed to the date.
November 1, 1983.
“What the hell...?” Dean started to ask. But Sam stopped him.
“Dean, what woke you up back there?” he asked, searching for information.
The elder Winchester was silent a moment, thinking. “The car shook. Felt like it was gonna get pulled apart by ...something, I don’t know. And then it was so damned cold - ” Dean stopped for a moment.
Sam looked at him, encouraging his brother to make the same connection he did.
“That damn timeshifter again!” Dean said, anger in his voice. “How long is it going to keep playing with us?” he demanded. “How long has it been messing with us?”
“The one thing that time loops showed us was that things can be changed,” Sam started.
“You don’t know that, Sammy. This timeshifter could be just playing with us, yanking our chain. It’s controlling events.”
“There’s only one way to find out for certain, Dean,” Sam said, sounding as if he was about to impart a great secret.
“And how’s that? Did they teach Time Travel 101 at Stanford, Sammy?”
“If we can save Mom.”
Dean stared at his brother like he’d sprouted another head.
“And how do you propose we do that? Waltz right into our old house, tell ‘em who we are and what’s supposed to happen tomorrow night?”
“Well, something like that. C’mon, I’ll tell you in the car.”
Before they made their way to the register, Dean carefully went through his bills and coins, to make sure they were all dated from 1983 or before. At the register, Dean winked at the waitress, and added a generous tip to the bill.
~*~
They stood outside the front door of their childhood home, about to knock on the door, and tell their parents what was to happen the next night. Or at least some version of it anyway.
Wearing dark blue coveralls and holding a clipboard, Dean knocked on the door of the house.
“You think this will work, Dean?” Sam asked skeptically. Sam wore matching coveralls, but looked infinitely more comfortable in them than his older brother. Even Sam had to admit, his brother looked like a dork.
The door opened, and Dean looked up, expecting to see their mother, but there was no one there. He put down the clipboard, and standing in the doorway, was a little blond-haired boy, who was only a few months shy of his fifth birthday.
Dean crouched down next to his younger self, but made certain they stayed a good distance apart.
“Hey there, little guy. Is your mom home?”
The young Dean nodded, and turned and scampered back into the house.
“Can you do that in time travel?” Sam asked. “Meet your younger self?”
“I just did, College Boy,” Dean said.
“No, I mean, doesn’t that screw up the time continuum?” Sam hissed.
“I have no ide - ” Dean was cut off by the appearance of their mother in the door way. He had to bite his tongue from saying “Mom.”
“Can I help you boys?” she smiled pleasantly, and Dean glanced over at his brother, who was trying not to gape. Sam had almost no memories of their mother, just her spirit who saved them those few months ago.
“We’re Inspectors Martin,” Dean pointed to himself, and then Sam, “and Davis. We’re doing termite and vermin home inspections in the neighborhood this week, and this house is on our list today. You’re - ” he picked up the clipboard and pretended to look at it “ - Mrs. Mary Winchester?”
“That’s right. Uh, we weren’t expecting any inspections, and my husband isn’t home right now - ”
“It’s just a preliminary inspection, ma’am,” Sam found his tongue, and was doing a remarkable acting job for their mother. “We’ll be in and out in 20 minutes,” he looked at Dean, who made a face at his brother. Sam glared at him, and turned back to Mary. “30 minutes, tops.”
“Well, all right, I suppose.” She stood aside to let the brothers inside. They waited by the door for Mary to “show” them into the house.
“The kitchen is through there,” she pointed down a hallway, and we have a basement, the door is through the kitchen.
“We’ll need to check the upstairs too, ma’am,” Sam said. “See if there’s any beginning signs of termites.”
There was movement at Mary’s legs, and the young Dean peered out at the strange men in their house.
“The baby’s upstairs, he’s in for his morning nap.” She reached down and picked up Dean, who was now almost at eyelevel with the older Dean.
“That’s means baby Sammy is sleeping,” the four-year old Dean needed to add.
“We’ll make sure not to wake him then,” the older Dean said, as he and Sam made their way to the kitchen.
“Well, that was weird,” Sam said, once they were in the kitchen, opening their bags of equipment they’d brought in. Dean’s gear included his homemade EMF detector that resembled a busted walkman.
“You're telling me?” Dean shot back. “You didn’t just see your four-year-old self. You’re upstairs taking a morning nap!”
“Well, Missouri was right - you were a goofy looking kid!”
“That reminds me, we gotta stop by her place this afternoon, too.”
“We have to what, Dean? Are you nuts?”
Dean looked over at his brother and raised his eyebrows. “You’re just now figuring this out now, Sammy?” he asked, and popped the earbuds for his EMF reader in his ears.
Dean did get a faint reading on the converted walkman, but nothing significant. He headed down to the basement, while Sam went upstairs.
Playing the part, Sam went into all the bedrooms, and finally stopped at the room where the baby Sam was sleeping. Quietly opening the door, he stepped inside. The room was the same as everywhere else in the house, but for a moment, Sam had gotten a chill down his spine.
He looked in the crib at the six-month old, sleeping peacefully, without a care in the world, not knowing that tomorrow night, everything might change. But not if he could help it.
He would give himself a normal life for a change.
~*~
By the time they regrouped by the front door, neither Dean nor Sam had identified any obvious paranormal activity in the house. Which was odd, considering what was supposed to happen the next night.
“How was everything?” Mary came over to where the brothers were standing, talking softly and comparing notes.
“No signs of the pesky little critters,” Dean said. He was thinking fast to come up with an excuse to come back the next evening and not have it look suspicious. “We, uh… we left some markers that need to be checked in about 30 to 36 hours.” He looked at his watch, which read 10:30. “We could come by after dinner tomorrow night, if that’s not a problem, Ms. Winchester,” Dean said politely.
“Well, I - I suppose so. My husband comes home late some nights, but usually around 6. If you needed to come back, I suppose 7:30 ought to be good for us.”
“Then we’ll see you tomorrow evening,” Dean said with a slight nod of his head, and Sam opened the door, and Dean followed him out. They were several steps down the walkway, when Mary called out to them.
“Have I ever met you gentlemen before?” she asked after them. They both turned back, but it was Sam who spoke.
“No, ma’am. Don’t think you have.” He smiled at her, and she turned away for the briefest moment. Then she looked back up at them. “You never did tell me your first names.” At their questioning looks at each other, she explained, “so I can tell my husband who was here?”
Dean and Sam exchanged glances. Should they tell her? In the space of a heartbeat, Dean made up his mind, and Sam was pretty impressed with his brother’s quick thinking.
“Rick. Rick Martin. And Jim Davis,” he said. Mary looked disappointed, like she was hoping for something different. As Mary returned to the house, they walked to the corner, where the Impala was parked.
“That was pretty good thinking. Rick Martin. You’re a laugh.”
“Yeah, well, you’re a cartoonist,” Dean reminded him.
Sam watched Dean as he opened the car door. When Dean looked up, he grinned at his brother like a lunatic. Sam just shook his head.
Dean got in the car, cranked it up, and let it idle a moment. Sam got in to the passenger seat, and looked over at Dean.
“What?” Dean asked.
“What are we doing here, Dean?”
“Trying to save Mom.”
“Why are we going to see Missouri?”
Dean shot a glance at his bother, and then pulled out onto the street.
“You don’t know why, do you?” Sam snapped.
“Look, Dad’s journal said she came to the house after Mom died. She felt the evil in there. Maybe she could tell us if we can stop it.”
“She hasn’t met us yet,” Sam tried again. “In this time,” he added.
“She’s psychic,” was Dean’s lame argument.
“You’re psycho.” Sam looked around. Things looked slightly familiar, but there were less houses here now. “Where are you going, Dean?”
“Lunch. Can’t go freaking psychics out on an empty stomach.”
“You’re incorrigible, Dean,” Sam said.
“Damn straight,” Dean agreed, and fiddled with the radio until he found a rock station he liked. It was, after all, 1983.
~*~
Dean raised his hand to knock on the door at the address they had for Missouri Moseley. But before he could actually knock, the door opened. Dean was momentarily caught off guard at the younger and thinner woman who stood before him. He glanced over at Sam, but Sam didn’t seem to notice.
“Well, don’t just stand there, come on in. It’s gettin’ cold out there, boys.”
They entered, Sam closed the door behind him, and found they were in a waiting room of sorts. While they had done this before, Dean wondered for a moment if Missouri didn’t have a weird sense of déjà vu when she’d opened the door for them. The brothers sat along opposite walls of the small room.
The energetic woman bustled into a back room, and a moment later, came back to the waiting room, and was showing a young woman to the door.
“Everything will be fine, dear. You’ll see.” She told the young blonde, who nodded, and opened the door a crack, and sliding through the narrow space. It was as if she didn’t want the outside world to see in, and she didn’t want to be seen leaving a psychic’s office. Dean watched the blonde leave from a window in the waiting room.
“It’s sad,” Missouri turned to the brothers. “I’ve been here for a few years now, and people are still scared to come see me.”
“And why’s that, ma’am?” Sam asked, curious.
“I think it’s the word psychic,” Missouri confided. “Now, as to you boys...” Missouri started, but then stopped. While she was talking aloud in their direction, it seemed more like musings to herself.
“Well, that’s not right. It can’t be. Oh my lordy, it is,” was what she finally decided on.
She stood between the brothers, and looked back and forth. “Let me see you two. How is this even possible?”
“How is what, ma’am?” Sam asked again.
She turned to face the younger brother. “That’s enough of the ‘ma’am’s, I don’t need none of that, Sammy Winchester. You hear?”
Sam was so taken aback at the use of his name, he just simply nodded. Dean looked up at her when he heard the name.
“Oh, my, my, my... If it isn’t little Dean Winchester, all grown up.” She paused a moment. “Stop thinking that, boy. You already know I’m for real.”
“But - ” Dean started to say something, but silenced himself. When they’d met her in their own time, she’d done the same thing. And he hated it because it completely unnerved him. He preferred to stay on guard at all times.
“I’ll ask the questions here, starting with this: why are you boys here? This isn’t right. It can’t be right. Something must have gone wrong.” She lapsed into a silence, in which both brothers could see her trying to rationalize what was happening.
Sam ventured to speak. “What do you mean, ‘something must have gone wrong’?” he asked. She was still silent. He tried again. “Have you ever heard of a timeshifter?”
That got her attention, and she looked at them.
“We think a timeshifter sent us back here. For a reason,” Sam started to explain.
“And what reason d’you think that might be?” she asked.
Dean stood up and went over to her. “Our mom is supposed to die tomorrow night,” he said, not mincing words, but choosing them carefully. “A demon we’ve been hunting for 22 years kills her, and maybe we can stop it now, in this time.”
Missouri shifted her gaze to Dean. She searched his face, his aura, his words.
“I - I don’t know what to tell you, Dean. I don’t know what I can do.”
“Sure you do,” Sam finally stood up from his seat, and came over to stand next to her and his brother. “We’ve encountered a timeshifter before. We were caught in a time loop, repeating the same day over until we got it right.”
“Actually, Sam,” Dean interrupted. “I think the timeshifter was done playing with us. When it felt we got it right, then it was ‘game over.’ I don’t think we really had any control over it.”
“Well, that’s a cheerful thought,” Sam replied.
“Anyway, Missouri,” Dean now turned to the woman who was watching their exchange with interest. “What if we have the chance to change things? What if we can save Mom?” Missouri raised her eyebrows. “What if,” Dean finished, “we can change the past?”
“If you can change the past, you’d cease to exist the moment the past was altered, would be my guess. But that’s not really what you’re asking, is it?” she speculated.
“No, it’s not,” Sam said. “Can we change the past?”
“Yeah, that is the question,” she agreed.
“So, can we?” Dean asked her.
Missouri was silent a moment, trying to sense an answer for the brothers. For the first time since she’d learned that she knew things, could sense things, feel what was going to happen, the future was dark. There wasn’t even a glimmer of light, a flash of a vision - nothing. It was all black.
“I’m sorry, boys, I just don’t know.”
“We’re very sorry to have bothered you, Missouri,” Dean said, turning towards the door.
“Bothered? No, not at all,” she said, with a lilt to her voice. “You just about nearly gave me a heart attack, is all.”
Dean smiled wryly, and Sam looked embarrassed as they started to leave the house. Sam was out on the walkway, and Dean was closing the door, when he popped his head back in.
“If Dad comes to see you about a week before Christmas, you’ll know we didn’t change anything,” he told her.
“I wish you boys luck,” she said sincerely. Dean smiled warmly at her, then closed the door softly behind him.
~*~
Several hours later, they’d looked through more microfilm than Sam could ever remember. They were at the library at the University of Kansas, in downtown Lawrence, slowly going though many reels of the film, looking for any unexplained fires similar to the one that they were hoping to stop.
“I got nothin’,” Dean said, exasperated, looking over at Sam.
“Same here. It would help if we knew when and where we were even looking.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean.” Dean was silent for a moment. “Wish we knew when Max’s mom was killed - ” he cut off for a moment, struck by a sudden thought.
“We know one thing,” he said, looking through the labeled boxes again. He selected one of the little reels, threaded it though the machine, and scrolled though the dates, searching for one. He stopped on November 2, 1971, and not seeing what he was looking for, Dean advanced it to the next day.
The lead story was about a woman who had died the night before in a mysterious fire in her home. Sam read the article over Dean’s shoulder.
“Maryanne Taylor, 34, was killed a fire that consumed the upper portion of her home last night, local authorities reported. The fire was confined to one of the bedrooms, believed to belong to their six-month-old daughter, Renee.” Sam stopped reading. “Whoa, I think we got something here,” he said.
Sam pulled up a chair next to his brother, and they scrolled through the articles that told how Maryanne’s husband Roger was thought to be a suspect, but was later cleared. In an article in December of ’71, buried at the bottom of the last page of the first section, Dean pointed out a statement from the Cause and Origin Inspector.
“Says here they believe the origin of the fire was on the ceiling,” Dean said.
“Dean, we know all this. It’s not telling us anything new. And besides,” he looked at the clock on the wall. “It’s just about closing time, and I need a serious break. We’ll come back tomorrow, and look for more stuff.”
“You can, you’re the scholar. I’ll scope out the house, the neighborhood, maybe even talk to the neighbors, see if they’ve noticed anything odd in the last few days.”
Sam gathered up his backpack and slung it over his shoulder.
“You ready?” he asked.
“Yeah, let’s get outta here. I gotta say one thing, though, Sammy. We better find a way to save Mom, or that timeshifter is my next project.”
Sam nodded in agreement, and they left the library.
~*~
That night, Sam typed an entry for his Hunter’s Blog on his laptop. He saved it in a word processing program that would upload directly to the blog when he connected to the internet the next time. Whenever that would be. Maybe it would turn out that he wouldn’t ever need to upload the entry. By the time he’d read it in his present, maybe it would all sound like a bad science fiction TV show.
By late morning, he was back at the library, slogging through microfilm, fiche, and dusty old newspapers. The only things Sam figured out was he was allergic to dust, and there wasn’t another mention of a strange house fire like the case of Maryanne Taylor. Sam hoped the trail would end there. They would save their mother, and they’d grow up together. As a family.
It was finally late in the afternoon when Sam sat outside on the step of the library. He felt better in the crisp November air, and flipped open his phone. Odd that there was a signal showing on his phone... He selected Dean’s number, pressed send, and then realized that his brother’s phone probably wouldn’t ring. No cell towers.
He almost dropped the phone when Dean answered.
“Dean?”
“Yeah, Sammy, I’m here.”
“I could have sworn it wouldn’t have worked. I called you on auto-pilot,” Sam said. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I’m fresh out of nothing over here. You?”
“Same. By all accounts, we’re a normal family, doesn’t bother anyone, cute kids...” Dean trailed off. “Some cuter than others...” he added.
“Goofy-looking, I’m telling ya,” Sam jested.
“Well, I don’t know, I didn’t see you - you were napping yesterday.”
“I’m gonna come back over now. We have a fake inspection to follow up on,” he reminded his older brother. Sam closed his phone and still sat on the step. For the briefest of moments, a thought flashed in his brain, and then was gone.
What if they couldn’t change the past?
The thought was only for a fleeting instant, but it was there. Sam shook his head to get it out. He didn’t need any pessimistic distractions. Not now.
He parked the Impala around the corner from the Winchester house, as they didn’t want either of their parents seeing it, and thinking it was John’s car. Well, it was, just not in the time this car came from.
Around six, Dean watched John’s Impala pull into the driveway, and he did a double-take. It was one thing to see have seen your younger self; it was completely different for Dean to see his car pull up in the driveway. Ok, not his car. But it was still disconcerting.
It was a little after seven when they donned their coveralls from the previous day and walked along the sidewalk to the Winchester house.
Mary opened the door to the boys, and smiled in recognition.
“Come on in, we’re just finishing dinner, and then we’ll be out of your hair. You won’t be too long tonight?” she asked. The brothers looked at each other, back at Mary, and shook their heads in unison, and Sam softly added a “no, ma’am.” She smiled at the young man’s manners and headed back to the kitchen, leaving Dean and Sam in the foyer. They heard her talking in the kitchen.
“Those men I told you about are back, those bug inspectors. Just a follow-up for something they did yesterday.”
A chair slid a long the floor, there were some low voices, and John Winchester emerged from the kitchen.
“We don’t have bugs or anything, do we gentlemen?” he asked, a warm smile on his face.
Sam looked at his brother with a questioning look on his face. Dean ransacked his memories from 22 years ago and earlier. His father had been warm, loving, caring, and devoted to his family. Life was good then. And remembering why they were there, he nodded at Sam, and then stuck out his had to his father.
“Rick Martin,” Dean said. “I hope not, sir. We planted some markers to test for termites, and they need to set for about a day and a half.” John returned the handshake heartily. He looked over at Sam.
“Jim, uh, Jim Davis, sir,” he said, shaking his father’s hand. Sam tried not to stare in disbelief at this man, who was his father, who was so different from the man who had raised Sam. No, Sam amended to himself. The man who called himself “Dad.” Dean did a lot of the dad-stuff too. Glancing at his older brother, Sam filed away the knowledge that Dean had done a lot for him when they were kids, and sincerely hoped that after this night, things would be different.
Dean glanced toward the kitchen, then turned back to his father.
“We have markers in the kitchen, basement,” he turned to Sam for additional locations, and Sam continued, “bathroom, and one of the bedrooms. Bathroom because if there’s been leaks, they might gravitate towards soft wood,” Sam made up an explanation on the spot.
Dean raised his eyebrows, and added to the reasoning, “Same for the basement, if it’s damp downstairs.”
Mary came out of the kitchen, carrying the baby, and the young Dean following behind her.
“Hey!” the four-year-old said pointedly, “you guys were here yesterday. Do we have any bugs? I like bugs. Actually, I like worms myself,” he rattled on.
“Dean,” Mary said, looking at the four-year-old, so she didn’t notice the older Dean look at her as well. “I don’t think these men are interested in the worms, honey.”
“Oh, it’s no problem, Mrs. Winchester. I love kids.” The older Dean knelt down beside his younger self.
“Worms, huh? Like when it rains, and they all - ”
“ - end up on the streets? Yeah!” the younger Dean excitedly finished the older one’s sentence. Sam shook his head at his brother, and looked at Mary, holding the baby.
“Sammy, right?” Sam asked her.
“Yes,” she said smiling. “I’m surprised you remember.”
Sam smiled back, and then smiled at his younger self. “How old is he?” Sam asked her.
“Six months. Today, actually,” she said, realizing that milestone. Sam offered a bittersweet smile this time.
Dean was still talking to his younger self about the worms, the bugs and anthills, when Sam nudged him.
“You ready?” Sam asked when Dean stood up again.
“Uhm, yeah.” Dean looked down at the boy and smiled at him. “You do what your parents tell you, got that?” he told his younger self, who had looked up at him. Dean ruffled the young boy’s hair, smiled at baby Sammy and Mary, and then followed his younger brother into the kitchen.
“You were right, Dean.” Sam said, putting his bag on the table to open it up.
“I was what?” Dean asked, making sure he heard his little brother correctly.
“You were right,” Sam repeated. “That was weird.”
Dean had out his EMF reader, and was headed towards the basement. At the door, he turned back to Sam.
“You checked your room, right, Sam?” Dean asked.
“Of course I did, Dean. That was the whole idea of this, yeah?” Sam was offended Dean would even ask that.
“Cool,” Dean said, and disappeared down the stairs. Sam went out of the kitchen, back through the main part of the house, and up the stairs. They had left “markers” there - popsicle sticks painted red or green. Sam had left all green ones, meaning there were no odd readings in the room. He later found out that Dean’s markers were green too.
Once completed their reinspections, they met again by the front door. John was just heading up the stairs to tell his sons goodnight.
“What do I owe you gentlemen?” he asked them.
Sam looked at Dean for help in answering. He wasn’t sure what Dean was planning - if anything.
“First inspection is free, Mr. Winchester,” Dean paused, as calling his father “Mr. Winchester” sounded very odd to him. “Since we didn’t find anything, we won’t need to come back out.”
“Fair enough then,” he said, and opened the door for them. “You boys have a good night,” he told them as the left the house and started down the walk.
When they compared notes back in the car, the only readings either of them registered were some faint electrical readings throughout the house, including the baby monitor in Sam’s room.
~*~
Coveralls stowed in the trunk, Dean drove the car around the block and parked it down a few houses and across the street from the Winchester house. It was just about eight at night, and from what little their dad had put in his journal about the night of November 2, 1983, the lights flickered about 12 after, and the house became dark. John had fallen asleep watching the television. By the time Mary’s scream woke him, he’d been groggy having woken up in the comfy chair. The room was lit from the glow of the TV, but everything else was dark.
And so it was, about 12 after eight, the house plunged into total darkness.
“The hell?” Dean said, sitting up in his seat.
He relaxed when he saw a grey-blue light coming from one of the downstairs windows. He sat back in his seat, realizing it was just the light from the television that John was watching. They had to be alert now, not knowing when the demon would strike.
Dean got out the car and opened the trunk. Having not yet caught the demon in their own time, Dean selected several guns of varying sizes and calibers, a rifle, a dagger, a wooden stake, and a vial of holy water, to be on the safe side. He left the trunk open while Sam selected a similar arsenal, and closed the trunk.
“I’m going in,” Dean said, tossing Sam the car keys.
“You’re doing what? Dean!” Sam called after him, but Dean was already across the street.
Sam got back in the car, this time in the driver’s seat. To wait some more.
Dean climbed up the gutter at the corner of the house hidden from the street. There was a small roof right outside Sammy’s bedroom, and it was though this window Dean climbed quietly into the house.
He pulled out his EMF reader, which showed some activity, but it wasn’t completely to the far right of the meter. Earlier in the day, as well as the day before, it was bouncing in the normal zone on the left side of the scale. He looked in the crib at baby Sammy, who was sleeping peacefully.
Quietly opening the door, he went down the hall to another door, and carefully opened it. It helped that the hinges were well-oiled. His younger self was sleeping on his stomach, not a care in the world, not afraid of what’s out there in the night. There were no readings in this room however, so Dean returned to the hallway.
A loud screech from the end of the hall made Dean wince, and his EMF reader spike to the right for just a moment before settling where it was, pointing right in the middle. Dean quickly ducked behind the bathroom door as Mary groggily came down the hall to check on Sammy.
He heard her talking to someone, but couldn’t quite hear what she was saying. But their father was downstai - He cut off mid-thought. The demon! he realized, and carefully approached Sammy’s room. He looked in, and saw no one. And when he looked at the EMF reader, it had gone dead. Dean smacked it, but he had no luck.
A moment later, Mary rushed past him into Sammy’s room, going right to the crib, not even seeing there was someone strange in the house. Dean felt something - a presence - claw his left arm so suddenly he collapsed to the floor and had to grasp his rifle tight enough to dig into his palm to keep from passing out.
And then he heard his mother scream.
Outside, in the quiet, still night, Sam heard the scream.
Weapon in hand, Sam leapt from of the car, and sprinted across the street and across the front yard.
Through Dean’s pain-filled haze, he saw his father rush in to the room, frantically calling for his wife, and making sure Sammy was all right.
And then the flames.
Downstairs, Sam flung open the front door to hear John screaming his wife’s name. Taking the stairs two at a time, Sam met the older Dean leaning against the wall outside Sammy’s room holding his arm. Sam raised his eyebrows at Dean’s injury; Dean shook his head in response. The younger Dean appeared sleepily in the hallway, awakened by... something.
“I had a bad dream, and went to find Mom,” the boy told Dean and Sam, tugging on Dean’s shirt. Dean leaned forward and ruffled the boy’s hair, but couldn’t bring himself to tell him it would be all right.
Sam nudged Dean as they saw John coming out in to the hallway, carrying the baby. He briefly noticed the two young men in the hallway, but focused on the boy first.
“Daddy!” Dean called, running to his father. John gave the boy his baby brother, who was still wrapped his blanket. His voice was urgent.
“Take your brother outside as fast as you can! Don’t look back! Now, Dean! GO!”
The boy turned and ran outside as fast as he could.
John turned his attention to the young men in the hallway, who looked as panic-stricken as he was. He briefly noted they each carried a rifle, the shorter one’s sleeve was bloody and torn. They both looked somehow... familiar.
“I don’t know who you two really are,” he started, and then gave up on forming sentences. He was still trying to grasp what was happening. “My wife…” the words came out pained. “She’s in…” His words cut off as he entered the room again, with Dean and Sam on his heels.
The room was in flames, the ceiling, the walls, the furniture, and it was growing. Every thing was consumed in the fire. The men shielded their faces from the heat and wind the fire created.
Dean looked at the ceiling, and gestured to Sam. Both watched in horror as they saw everything in the room consumed. A scrap of fabric came flying, and at first, Sam thought it came from the crib sheet, and passed it to Dean. He shook his head, and showed it to John.
Grasping the fabric, John sobbed above the noise of the fire. Mary couldn’t be dead, he told himself. Not my Mary!
As the fire raged, the heat and force grew, and threw John out into the hallway. He never knew the names of the men who had shared this moment of grief with him. Who were they, and why did their faces mirror the horrified look on his?
He never would learn; as the fireball that knocked him from the room hurled Dean and Sam back though the time barrier and...
~*~
...landed on the ground outside a familiar-looking house in Lawrence, Kansas. It was early evening, and the brothers were momentarily dazed. Dean clutched at his arm, remembering a shadow demons had clawed him, and quite good, too. Sam was kneeling a distance away from him, looking quite pale, despite the soot and ash on his face. Dean’s arm hurt like hell.
A woman came out the house carrying a shotgun, but it was pointed downwards. She looked at the brothers in confusion.
“Dean? Sam?” Jenny asked. She looked at them, could see dirt and smudges on their faces, and could smell the smoke from the fire. She also realized they were carrying rifles.
“I know I’m cooking dinner, but it’s not that - ” she trailed off, realizing from the brothers expressions they were not in that kind of a mood just now.
Dean stood and looked up at the house. It was completely restored, as it had been when they’d returned to Lawrence all those months ago. He turned and glanced across the street, and marveled that the car was there.
“Jenny,” Dean asked, sounding winded. “How long has that car been there? The Impala across the street?”
She looked across the road to the car in question. Her brow furrowed as she frowned.
“What the hell?” she said, surprised. “Never saw that car in that spot until, well, just now,” she admitted.
Sam stood up, and looked across the street to the car.
“It must have come with us,” he said. “At least it’s a considerate Timeshifter,” Sam added as an afterthought.
“It would have had to come with us,” Dean pointed out. “There were two cars there, remember. Would have looked kind of creepy.”
“I hope you guys know what you’re talking about, ’cause I have no idea,” Jenny said.
Dean smiled wryly. “Do you have today’s newspaper?” he asked. She nodded, and returned to the house.
Once Jenny returned inside, Sam sank back to his knees, put his head in his hands, and finally let out a sob. Dean reached over gingerly and mussed his brother’s hair, but then realized the action, and pulled his hand away. He bit his lip, and turned away. He was the strong one. Helplessness and loss were not things he was used to feeling. And seeing it happen...
He composed himself when he heard the front door open. He risked a glance at Sam, who was once again on his feet, but now looking at them and the grass instead of up. Dean took the proffered paper without making eye contact with Jenny.
“You guys want to come in for a little bit? That arm looks like it hurts.” she offered. Dean looked at the paper, intending to glance at only the year; he didn’t really care about the actual date at this point. But the entire date was in his vision, and the masthead told him that it was the evening of the same day they’d started this damned journey.
“Nah, we’re good.” Dean said, handing back the newspaper. “Thanks, though.”
Jenny nodded, remembering the last time the Winchester brothers were at her house. Dean had been the moody one, she recalled. But Sam was being moodier this visit, she realized, as she watched Sam slowly follow his brother over to the car.
Sam tossed Dean the keys, and he opened the trunk first, and they put their weapons back it the hidden compartment. Everything had made the time travel journey in once piece, and Dean breathed a sigh of relief. He closed the trunk, looked at his brother, then back at the house. Sam sighed, and Dean could hear the ragged breath of someone who’d been crying.
Dean unlocked his door, and after getting in, he leaned across the passenger seat to unlock the other door. Both brothers in the car, doors closed, Dean cranked the engine. It turned over immediately, and purred with its familiar sound.
The car had traveled back in time with them, and survived the return trip no worse for the wear. Dan would be pleased at the durability of the Impala. Dad... Dean thought, mulling over the possibility that Dad had tried to look up the two men he knew as Rick Martin and Jim Davis.
It was in John Winchester’s nature to investigate everything connected with the supernatural. Dean was certain their father was curious - no, needed to know - who they were and how they knew to be there that night. Their next meeting with their father would prove interesting. But first, they had some unfinished business.
“Hey, Sam,” he turned slightly towards his brother.
“Yeah, Dean?” Sam sounded tired, as if he hadn’t slept in a long time. How difficult would sleep be now, after witnessing what they’d only heard about?
“Remember what I said? About my new project?” Sam nodded. Dean put the car in gear and started down the street, ignoring the pain in his arm for the moment. “Let’s go hunting.”
“Sacrifice - the future has it’s price;
And today is only yesterday’s tomorrow...”
***
Supernatural Alternate Universe Fan Fiction
For entertainment only
© 2006 by Caren Franco
Only the Timeshifter and Maryanne Taylor are original. Beta-read by Athena, Beluga, Dantana Skywalker and Diamondback; Athena wrote three lines and suggested a better scene mirroring the Pilot episode. Title inspired by Lady Aurora. Dean, Sam, John, Mary Winchester, Missouri Moseley, Max Miller, Jenny and Sari were created by Eric Kripke, Robert Singer, Kripke Enterprises Scrap Metal and Entertainment; and Warner Brothers. “(Love Will) Turn Back the Hands of Time” from “Grease 2 Soundtrack” sung by Maxwell Caulfield & Michelle Pfeiffer, ©1982. “Circle of Hands” from “Demons and Wizards” by Uriah Heep, ©1972.
Title: A Detour In Time
Author: Trystan
Rating: Teen; language
Category: Timeshifter AU (see The Shadow out of Time, and Fool's Errand)
Characters: Sam, Dean, John & Mary (credits at the end)
Spoilers: “Pilot,” “Home;” my fic, “ Fool's Errand”
Timeline: S1 after “Home;” and “22 years ago…”
Notable Credits: Beta-read by acostilow, diamondback158, jainadurron, and beluga; title inspired by uinendolothen. Sam and Dean are not mine, although goddess knows I wish Dean was. Facts about cell phones are from “History of Cellular Phones.”
Tagline: Dean and Sam are taken back in time to the day before their mother’s death. But can they save their mother, and will anyone believe who they are and why they’re there?
Remember, I love you, I won’t be far away.
Close your eyes and think of yesterday,
And we’ll be there together.
Love will turn back the hands of time.
Turn back
Turn back the hands of time.
~ Grease 2, © 1982
Science fiction and romance novels are rife with time travel. The concept has fascinated people time and again, resulting in several questions one can ask: “What’s the one thing you would change if you went back in time?” “If you could go back in time, what famous person would you meet?” “Can you meet your younger self back in time?” “What happens to yourself in this time, if you go back in time?” and “Do you age when you go back in time?”
One theory that arises during time-travel discussions is that all timelines need to be existing at the same time in order for time travel to be possible. Which means that all the historical events that ever happened and that ever will happen are happening now. Which is a mind-boggling possibility to even begin to fathom.
There are others still who can shape the time-continuum to their likings. These timeshifters are formless, manifesting as a mass of cold air. In some cases, these timeshifters can create a time barrier. Anything traveling at a high enough rate of speed though this barrier may be transported though time.
This journey started with a particular ’67 Impala, as it entered into Kansas that cool, crisp morning, speeding though such a barrier.
~*~
They’d gotten an early start to their next job; it was in the middle of Kansas in a place called Junction City. The only problem, Dean realized as he studied the map, was the quickest way to go from where they were to where they needed to be would take them to Lawrence. The last time they were there, they’d vanquished a ghost from their old house. But they’d also said goodbye to their guardian spirit, their mother.
Now, as Sam drove a little too fast, Dean folded the maps back as best he could, and returned them to the glove compartment. The parts of Kansas they’d seen were still open farmland, which stretched further than the eyes could see.
“We’re headed the right way, Sammy.” He rested his head against the back of the seat. “I’m exhausted; wake me when we stop for coffee.”
Sam glanced over at his older brother, understanding why Dean did that about every time Sam drove. Took a nap, that was. And Dean looked as if he hadn’t slept in a week, if the bags under his eyes were any indication. As Sam popped a Green Day cassette into the player, he figured he wouldn’t wake Dean until lunchtime.
Traveling at a steady speed of about 75 miles an hour down the long, straight stretch of road that ran along one of the many cornfields, Sam felt a resistance, a pushing, on the front end of the car. He figured it was an eddying air mass, and sped up to get through it. As he did so, the car shook and shivered, and shimmered into existence on the other side of an invisible time barrier. The car gave a final shudder, and Dean stirred and sat up.
“What the hell was that?” he asked, and shivering, he reached for the heater knob. It was now freezing in the car, and something nagged at the back of his brain.
“I have no idea,” Sam said. The sudden cold unnerved him, like he’d been cold like this before. But before he could process the information, he spotted a sign up ahead advertising coffee.
“All right, Dean, time to get up,” the younger Winchester said, playfully punching his older brother on the upper arm. Dean punched back.
“Not while I’m driving here, Dean!” Sam said.
Dean immediately stopped. There was no way he’d be responsible for Sam driving his baby into a telephone pole. Moments later, Sam turned the car into the gravel driveway of a coffee shop that could have passed for an abandoned building, but for the dozen cars parked outside.
As they walked past the cars, with Dean admiring every single on of them, he stopped just outside the front door. A wrinkle furrowed his brow.
“What’s up, Dean?”
“Don’t know. Might be nothing. None of these cars are newer than an ’83.”
“Wow.” Sam was used to his brother’s knowledge of cars. Then he shrugged his shoulders. “If you say so. Let’s get something to eat, I’m starved.” And Sam entered the little shop with Dean close on his heels.
Roadside diners tend to blur together and all look alike when you’re constantly on the road, and this was no exception. Sitting at the counter, they both ordered a coffee from a waitress who gave Dean the impression she’d rather be anywhere else right now. Especially at nine in the morning. She had a bored look on her face, the result of doing the same thing every day. For a fleeting moment, Dean wished he could have that same look on his face.
“Is that everything, guys?” Their waitress returned, and her voice sounded just as bored as she looked. The brothers looked at each other, nodded in assent, and Dean nodded to the waitress. She scribbled the bill on her notepad, placed the slip of paper upside down between then, and told them they could pay at the register.
It was Dean who flipped it over, and stared at it. For a good full minute.
“Dean? It’s just two cups of coffee.”
“Yeah, for the price of one,” he said, showing Sam the $1.15 bill.
The hair on the back of Sam’s neck prickled, but only for an instant. He thought of the car shimmying, the coldness, Dean’s observation of the cars…
“Miss?” Sam called to the waitress, “do you have today’s paper here, by any chance?”
She caught Sam’s eye, and smiled. She went to the bin where the papers were neatly stacked and brought one over. Ignoring the lead article on President Regan, Sam’s eyes went right to the date. He froze.
“Sammy? What is it?” Dean asked, a shivering feeling now going down his back.
Sam put the paper down on the counter between them, and pointed to the date.
November 1, 1983.
“What the hell...?” Dean started to ask. But Sam stopped him.
“Dean, what woke you up back there?” he asked, searching for information.
The elder Winchester was silent a moment, thinking. “The car shook. Felt like it was gonna get pulled apart by ...something, I don’t know. And then it was so damned cold - ” Dean stopped for a moment.
Sam looked at him, encouraging his brother to make the same connection he did.
“That damn timeshifter again!” Dean said, anger in his voice. “How long is it going to keep playing with us?” he demanded. “How long has it been messing with us?”
“The one thing that time loops showed us was that things can be changed,” Sam started.
“You don’t know that, Sammy. This timeshifter could be just playing with us, yanking our chain. It’s controlling events.”
“There’s only one way to find out for certain, Dean,” Sam said, sounding as if he was about to impart a great secret.
“And how’s that? Did they teach Time Travel 101 at Stanford, Sammy?”
“If we can save Mom.”
Dean stared at his brother like he’d sprouted another head.
“And how do you propose we do that? Waltz right into our old house, tell ‘em who we are and what’s supposed to happen tomorrow night?”
“Well, something like that. C’mon, I’ll tell you in the car.”
Before they made their way to the register, Dean carefully went through his bills and coins, to make sure they were all dated from 1983 or before. At the register, Dean winked at the waitress, and added a generous tip to the bill.
~*~
They stood outside the front door of their childhood home, about to knock on the door, and tell their parents what was to happen the next night. Or at least some version of it anyway.
Wearing dark blue coveralls and holding a clipboard, Dean knocked on the door of the house.
“You think this will work, Dean?” Sam asked skeptically. Sam wore matching coveralls, but looked infinitely more comfortable in them than his older brother. Even Sam had to admit, his brother looked like a dork.
The door opened, and Dean looked up, expecting to see their mother, but there was no one there. He put down the clipboard, and standing in the doorway, was a little blond-haired boy, who was only a few months shy of his fifth birthday.
Dean crouched down next to his younger self, but made certain they stayed a good distance apart.
“Hey there, little guy. Is your mom home?”
The young Dean nodded, and turned and scampered back into the house.
“Can you do that in time travel?” Sam asked. “Meet your younger self?”
“I just did, College Boy,” Dean said.
“No, I mean, doesn’t that screw up the time continuum?” Sam hissed.
“I have no ide - ” Dean was cut off by the appearance of their mother in the door way. He had to bite his tongue from saying “Mom.”
“Can I help you boys?” she smiled pleasantly, and Dean glanced over at his brother, who was trying not to gape. Sam had almost no memories of their mother, just her spirit who saved them those few months ago.
“We’re Inspectors Martin,” Dean pointed to himself, and then Sam, “and Davis. We’re doing termite and vermin home inspections in the neighborhood this week, and this house is on our list today. You’re - ” he picked up the clipboard and pretended to look at it “ - Mrs. Mary Winchester?”
“That’s right. Uh, we weren’t expecting any inspections, and my husband isn’t home right now - ”
“It’s just a preliminary inspection, ma’am,” Sam found his tongue, and was doing a remarkable acting job for their mother. “We’ll be in and out in 20 minutes,” he looked at Dean, who made a face at his brother. Sam glared at him, and turned back to Mary. “30 minutes, tops.”
“Well, all right, I suppose.” She stood aside to let the brothers inside. They waited by the door for Mary to “show” them into the house.
“The kitchen is through there,” she pointed down a hallway, and we have a basement, the door is through the kitchen.
“We’ll need to check the upstairs too, ma’am,” Sam said. “See if there’s any beginning signs of termites.”
There was movement at Mary’s legs, and the young Dean peered out at the strange men in their house.
“The baby’s upstairs, he’s in for his morning nap.” She reached down and picked up Dean, who was now almost at eyelevel with the older Dean.
“That’s means baby Sammy is sleeping,” the four-year old Dean needed to add.
“We’ll make sure not to wake him then,” the older Dean said, as he and Sam made their way to the kitchen.
“Well, that was weird,” Sam said, once they were in the kitchen, opening their bags of equipment they’d brought in. Dean’s gear included his homemade EMF detector that resembled a busted walkman.
“You're telling me?” Dean shot back. “You didn’t just see your four-year-old self. You’re upstairs taking a morning nap!”
“Well, Missouri was right - you were a goofy looking kid!”
“That reminds me, we gotta stop by her place this afternoon, too.”
“We have to what, Dean? Are you nuts?”
Dean looked over at his brother and raised his eyebrows. “You’re just now figuring this out now, Sammy?” he asked, and popped the earbuds for his EMF reader in his ears.
Dean did get a faint reading on the converted walkman, but nothing significant. He headed down to the basement, while Sam went upstairs.
Playing the part, Sam went into all the bedrooms, and finally stopped at the room where the baby Sam was sleeping. Quietly opening the door, he stepped inside. The room was the same as everywhere else in the house, but for a moment, Sam had gotten a chill down his spine.
He looked in the crib at the six-month old, sleeping peacefully, without a care in the world, not knowing that tomorrow night, everything might change. But not if he could help it.
He would give himself a normal life for a change.
~*~
By the time they regrouped by the front door, neither Dean nor Sam had identified any obvious paranormal activity in the house. Which was odd, considering what was supposed to happen the next night.
“How was everything?” Mary came over to where the brothers were standing, talking softly and comparing notes.
“No signs of the pesky little critters,” Dean said. He was thinking fast to come up with an excuse to come back the next evening and not have it look suspicious. “We, uh… we left some markers that need to be checked in about 30 to 36 hours.” He looked at his watch, which read 10:30. “We could come by after dinner tomorrow night, if that’s not a problem, Ms. Winchester,” Dean said politely.
“Well, I - I suppose so. My husband comes home late some nights, but usually around 6. If you needed to come back, I suppose 7:30 ought to be good for us.”
“Then we’ll see you tomorrow evening,” Dean said with a slight nod of his head, and Sam opened the door, and Dean followed him out. They were several steps down the walkway, when Mary called out to them.
“Have I ever met you gentlemen before?” she asked after them. They both turned back, but it was Sam who spoke.
“No, ma’am. Don’t think you have.” He smiled at her, and she turned away for the briefest moment. Then she looked back up at them. “You never did tell me your first names.” At their questioning looks at each other, she explained, “so I can tell my husband who was here?”
Dean and Sam exchanged glances. Should they tell her? In the space of a heartbeat, Dean made up his mind, and Sam was pretty impressed with his brother’s quick thinking.
“Rick. Rick Martin. And Jim Davis,” he said. Mary looked disappointed, like she was hoping for something different. As Mary returned to the house, they walked to the corner, where the Impala was parked.
“That was pretty good thinking. Rick Martin. You’re a laugh.”
“Yeah, well, you’re a cartoonist,” Dean reminded him.
Sam watched Dean as he opened the car door. When Dean looked up, he grinned at his brother like a lunatic. Sam just shook his head.
Dean got in the car, cranked it up, and let it idle a moment. Sam got in to the passenger seat, and looked over at Dean.
“What?” Dean asked.
“What are we doing here, Dean?”
“Trying to save Mom.”
“Why are we going to see Missouri?”
Dean shot a glance at his bother, and then pulled out onto the street.
“You don’t know why, do you?” Sam snapped.
“Look, Dad’s journal said she came to the house after Mom died. She felt the evil in there. Maybe she could tell us if we can stop it.”
“She hasn’t met us yet,” Sam tried again. “In this time,” he added.
“She’s psychic,” was Dean’s lame argument.
“You’re psycho.” Sam looked around. Things looked slightly familiar, but there were less houses here now. “Where are you going, Dean?”
“Lunch. Can’t go freaking psychics out on an empty stomach.”
“You’re incorrigible, Dean,” Sam said.
“Damn straight,” Dean agreed, and fiddled with the radio until he found a rock station he liked. It was, after all, 1983.
~*~
Dean raised his hand to knock on the door at the address they had for Missouri Moseley. But before he could actually knock, the door opened. Dean was momentarily caught off guard at the younger and thinner woman who stood before him. He glanced over at Sam, but Sam didn’t seem to notice.
“Well, don’t just stand there, come on in. It’s gettin’ cold out there, boys.”
They entered, Sam closed the door behind him, and found they were in a waiting room of sorts. While they had done this before, Dean wondered for a moment if Missouri didn’t have a weird sense of déjà vu when she’d opened the door for them. The brothers sat along opposite walls of the small room.
The energetic woman bustled into a back room, and a moment later, came back to the waiting room, and was showing a young woman to the door.
“Everything will be fine, dear. You’ll see.” She told the young blonde, who nodded, and opened the door a crack, and sliding through the narrow space. It was as if she didn’t want the outside world to see in, and she didn’t want to be seen leaving a psychic’s office. Dean watched the blonde leave from a window in the waiting room.
“It’s sad,” Missouri turned to the brothers. “I’ve been here for a few years now, and people are still scared to come see me.”
“And why’s that, ma’am?” Sam asked, curious.
“I think it’s the word psychic,” Missouri confided. “Now, as to you boys...” Missouri started, but then stopped. While she was talking aloud in their direction, it seemed more like musings to herself.
“Well, that’s not right. It can’t be. Oh my lordy, it is,” was what she finally decided on.
She stood between the brothers, and looked back and forth. “Let me see you two. How is this even possible?”
“How is what, ma’am?” Sam asked again.
She turned to face the younger brother. “That’s enough of the ‘ma’am’s, I don’t need none of that, Sammy Winchester. You hear?”
Sam was so taken aback at the use of his name, he just simply nodded. Dean looked up at her when he heard the name.
“Oh, my, my, my... If it isn’t little Dean Winchester, all grown up.” She paused a moment. “Stop thinking that, boy. You already know I’m for real.”
“But - ” Dean started to say something, but silenced himself. When they’d met her in their own time, she’d done the same thing. And he hated it because it completely unnerved him. He preferred to stay on guard at all times.
“I’ll ask the questions here, starting with this: why are you boys here? This isn’t right. It can’t be right. Something must have gone wrong.” She lapsed into a silence, in which both brothers could see her trying to rationalize what was happening.
Sam ventured to speak. “What do you mean, ‘something must have gone wrong’?” he asked. She was still silent. He tried again. “Have you ever heard of a timeshifter?”
That got her attention, and she looked at them.
“We think a timeshifter sent us back here. For a reason,” Sam started to explain.
“And what reason d’you think that might be?” she asked.
Dean stood up and went over to her. “Our mom is supposed to die tomorrow night,” he said, not mincing words, but choosing them carefully. “A demon we’ve been hunting for 22 years kills her, and maybe we can stop it now, in this time.”
Missouri shifted her gaze to Dean. She searched his face, his aura, his words.
“I - I don’t know what to tell you, Dean. I don’t know what I can do.”
“Sure you do,” Sam finally stood up from his seat, and came over to stand next to her and his brother. “We’ve encountered a timeshifter before. We were caught in a time loop, repeating the same day over until we got it right.”
“Actually, Sam,” Dean interrupted. “I think the timeshifter was done playing with us. When it felt we got it right, then it was ‘game over.’ I don’t think we really had any control over it.”
“Well, that’s a cheerful thought,” Sam replied.
“Anyway, Missouri,” Dean now turned to the woman who was watching their exchange with interest. “What if we have the chance to change things? What if we can save Mom?” Missouri raised her eyebrows. “What if,” Dean finished, “we can change the past?”
“If you can change the past, you’d cease to exist the moment the past was altered, would be my guess. But that’s not really what you’re asking, is it?” she speculated.
“No, it’s not,” Sam said. “Can we change the past?”
“Yeah, that is the question,” she agreed.
“So, can we?” Dean asked her.
Missouri was silent a moment, trying to sense an answer for the brothers. For the first time since she’d learned that she knew things, could sense things, feel what was going to happen, the future was dark. There wasn’t even a glimmer of light, a flash of a vision - nothing. It was all black.
“I’m sorry, boys, I just don’t know.”
“We’re very sorry to have bothered you, Missouri,” Dean said, turning towards the door.
“Bothered? No, not at all,” she said, with a lilt to her voice. “You just about nearly gave me a heart attack, is all.”
Dean smiled wryly, and Sam looked embarrassed as they started to leave the house. Sam was out on the walkway, and Dean was closing the door, when he popped his head back in.
“If Dad comes to see you about a week before Christmas, you’ll know we didn’t change anything,” he told her.
“I wish you boys luck,” she said sincerely. Dean smiled warmly at her, then closed the door softly behind him.
~*~
Several hours later, they’d looked through more microfilm than Sam could ever remember. They were at the library at the University of Kansas, in downtown Lawrence, slowly going though many reels of the film, looking for any unexplained fires similar to the one that they were hoping to stop.
“I got nothin’,” Dean said, exasperated, looking over at Sam.
“Same here. It would help if we knew when and where we were even looking.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean.” Dean was silent for a moment. “Wish we knew when Max’s mom was killed - ” he cut off for a moment, struck by a sudden thought.
“We know one thing,” he said, looking through the labeled boxes again. He selected one of the little reels, threaded it though the machine, and scrolled though the dates, searching for one. He stopped on November 2, 1971, and not seeing what he was looking for, Dean advanced it to the next day.
The lead story was about a woman who had died the night before in a mysterious fire in her home. Sam read the article over Dean’s shoulder.
“Maryanne Taylor, 34, was killed a fire that consumed the upper portion of her home last night, local authorities reported. The fire was confined to one of the bedrooms, believed to belong to their six-month-old daughter, Renee.” Sam stopped reading. “Whoa, I think we got something here,” he said.
Sam pulled up a chair next to his brother, and they scrolled through the articles that told how Maryanne’s husband Roger was thought to be a suspect, but was later cleared. In an article in December of ’71, buried at the bottom of the last page of the first section, Dean pointed out a statement from the Cause and Origin Inspector.
“Says here they believe the origin of the fire was on the ceiling,” Dean said.
“Dean, we know all this. It’s not telling us anything new. And besides,” he looked at the clock on the wall. “It’s just about closing time, and I need a serious break. We’ll come back tomorrow, and look for more stuff.”
“You can, you’re the scholar. I’ll scope out the house, the neighborhood, maybe even talk to the neighbors, see if they’ve noticed anything odd in the last few days.”
Sam gathered up his backpack and slung it over his shoulder.
“You ready?” he asked.
“Yeah, let’s get outta here. I gotta say one thing, though, Sammy. We better find a way to save Mom, or that timeshifter is my next project.”
Sam nodded in agreement, and they left the library.
~*~
That night, Sam typed an entry for his Hunter’s Blog on his laptop. He saved it in a word processing program that would upload directly to the blog when he connected to the internet the next time. Whenever that would be. Maybe it would turn out that he wouldn’t ever need to upload the entry. By the time he’d read it in his present, maybe it would all sound like a bad science fiction TV show.
By late morning, he was back at the library, slogging through microfilm, fiche, and dusty old newspapers. The only things Sam figured out was he was allergic to dust, and there wasn’t another mention of a strange house fire like the case of Maryanne Taylor. Sam hoped the trail would end there. They would save their mother, and they’d grow up together. As a family.
It was finally late in the afternoon when Sam sat outside on the step of the library. He felt better in the crisp November air, and flipped open his phone. Odd that there was a signal showing on his phone... He selected Dean’s number, pressed send, and then realized that his brother’s phone probably wouldn’t ring. No cell towers.
He almost dropped the phone when Dean answered.
“Dean?”
“Yeah, Sammy, I’m here.”
“I could have sworn it wouldn’t have worked. I called you on auto-pilot,” Sam said. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I’m fresh out of nothing over here. You?”
“Same. By all accounts, we’re a normal family, doesn’t bother anyone, cute kids...” Dean trailed off. “Some cuter than others...” he added.
“Goofy-looking, I’m telling ya,” Sam jested.
“Well, I don’t know, I didn’t see you - you were napping yesterday.”
“I’m gonna come back over now. We have a fake inspection to follow up on,” he reminded his older brother. Sam closed his phone and still sat on the step. For the briefest of moments, a thought flashed in his brain, and then was gone.
What if they couldn’t change the past?
The thought was only for a fleeting instant, but it was there. Sam shook his head to get it out. He didn’t need any pessimistic distractions. Not now.
He parked the Impala around the corner from the Winchester house, as they didn’t want either of their parents seeing it, and thinking it was John’s car. Well, it was, just not in the time this car came from.
Around six, Dean watched John’s Impala pull into the driveway, and he did a double-take. It was one thing to see have seen your younger self; it was completely different for Dean to see his car pull up in the driveway. Ok, not his car. But it was still disconcerting.
It was a little after seven when they donned their coveralls from the previous day and walked along the sidewalk to the Winchester house.
Mary opened the door to the boys, and smiled in recognition.
“Come on in, we’re just finishing dinner, and then we’ll be out of your hair. You won’t be too long tonight?” she asked. The brothers looked at each other, back at Mary, and shook their heads in unison, and Sam softly added a “no, ma’am.” She smiled at the young man’s manners and headed back to the kitchen, leaving Dean and Sam in the foyer. They heard her talking in the kitchen.
“Those men I told you about are back, those bug inspectors. Just a follow-up for something they did yesterday.”
A chair slid a long the floor, there were some low voices, and John Winchester emerged from the kitchen.
“We don’t have bugs or anything, do we gentlemen?” he asked, a warm smile on his face.
Sam looked at his brother with a questioning look on his face. Dean ransacked his memories from 22 years ago and earlier. His father had been warm, loving, caring, and devoted to his family. Life was good then. And remembering why they were there, he nodded at Sam, and then stuck out his had to his father.
“Rick Martin,” Dean said. “I hope not, sir. We planted some markers to test for termites, and they need to set for about a day and a half.” John returned the handshake heartily. He looked over at Sam.
“Jim, uh, Jim Davis, sir,” he said, shaking his father’s hand. Sam tried not to stare in disbelief at this man, who was his father, who was so different from the man who had raised Sam. No, Sam amended to himself. The man who called himself “Dad.” Dean did a lot of the dad-stuff too. Glancing at his older brother, Sam filed away the knowledge that Dean had done a lot for him when they were kids, and sincerely hoped that after this night, things would be different.
Dean glanced toward the kitchen, then turned back to his father.
“We have markers in the kitchen, basement,” he turned to Sam for additional locations, and Sam continued, “bathroom, and one of the bedrooms. Bathroom because if there’s been leaks, they might gravitate towards soft wood,” Sam made up an explanation on the spot.
Dean raised his eyebrows, and added to the reasoning, “Same for the basement, if it’s damp downstairs.”
Mary came out of the kitchen, carrying the baby, and the young Dean following behind her.
“Hey!” the four-year-old said pointedly, “you guys were here yesterday. Do we have any bugs? I like bugs. Actually, I like worms myself,” he rattled on.
“Dean,” Mary said, looking at the four-year-old, so she didn’t notice the older Dean look at her as well. “I don’t think these men are interested in the worms, honey.”
“Oh, it’s no problem, Mrs. Winchester. I love kids.” The older Dean knelt down beside his younger self.
“Worms, huh? Like when it rains, and they all - ”
“ - end up on the streets? Yeah!” the younger Dean excitedly finished the older one’s sentence. Sam shook his head at his brother, and looked at Mary, holding the baby.
“Sammy, right?” Sam asked her.
“Yes,” she said smiling. “I’m surprised you remember.”
Sam smiled back, and then smiled at his younger self. “How old is he?” Sam asked her.
“Six months. Today, actually,” she said, realizing that milestone. Sam offered a bittersweet smile this time.
Dean was still talking to his younger self about the worms, the bugs and anthills, when Sam nudged him.
“You ready?” Sam asked when Dean stood up again.
“Uhm, yeah.” Dean looked down at the boy and smiled at him. “You do what your parents tell you, got that?” he told his younger self, who had looked up at him. Dean ruffled the young boy’s hair, smiled at baby Sammy and Mary, and then followed his younger brother into the kitchen.
“You were right, Dean.” Sam said, putting his bag on the table to open it up.
“I was what?” Dean asked, making sure he heard his little brother correctly.
“You were right,” Sam repeated. “That was weird.”
Dean had out his EMF reader, and was headed towards the basement. At the door, he turned back to Sam.
“You checked your room, right, Sam?” Dean asked.
“Of course I did, Dean. That was the whole idea of this, yeah?” Sam was offended Dean would even ask that.
“Cool,” Dean said, and disappeared down the stairs. Sam went out of the kitchen, back through the main part of the house, and up the stairs. They had left “markers” there - popsicle sticks painted red or green. Sam had left all green ones, meaning there were no odd readings in the room. He later found out that Dean’s markers were green too.
Once completed their reinspections, they met again by the front door. John was just heading up the stairs to tell his sons goodnight.
“What do I owe you gentlemen?” he asked them.
Sam looked at Dean for help in answering. He wasn’t sure what Dean was planning - if anything.
“First inspection is free, Mr. Winchester,” Dean paused, as calling his father “Mr. Winchester” sounded very odd to him. “Since we didn’t find anything, we won’t need to come back out.”
“Fair enough then,” he said, and opened the door for them. “You boys have a good night,” he told them as the left the house and started down the walk.
When they compared notes back in the car, the only readings either of them registered were some faint electrical readings throughout the house, including the baby monitor in Sam’s room.
~*~
Coveralls stowed in the trunk, Dean drove the car around the block and parked it down a few houses and across the street from the Winchester house. It was just about eight at night, and from what little their dad had put in his journal about the night of November 2, 1983, the lights flickered about 12 after, and the house became dark. John had fallen asleep watching the television. By the time Mary’s scream woke him, he’d been groggy having woken up in the comfy chair. The room was lit from the glow of the TV, but everything else was dark.
And so it was, about 12 after eight, the house plunged into total darkness.
“The hell?” Dean said, sitting up in his seat.
He relaxed when he saw a grey-blue light coming from one of the downstairs windows. He sat back in his seat, realizing it was just the light from the television that John was watching. They had to be alert now, not knowing when the demon would strike.
Dean got out the car and opened the trunk. Having not yet caught the demon in their own time, Dean selected several guns of varying sizes and calibers, a rifle, a dagger, a wooden stake, and a vial of holy water, to be on the safe side. He left the trunk open while Sam selected a similar arsenal, and closed the trunk.
“I’m going in,” Dean said, tossing Sam the car keys.
“You’re doing what? Dean!” Sam called after him, but Dean was already across the street.
Sam got back in the car, this time in the driver’s seat. To wait some more.
Dean climbed up the gutter at the corner of the house hidden from the street. There was a small roof right outside Sammy’s bedroom, and it was though this window Dean climbed quietly into the house.
He pulled out his EMF reader, which showed some activity, but it wasn’t completely to the far right of the meter. Earlier in the day, as well as the day before, it was bouncing in the normal zone on the left side of the scale. He looked in the crib at baby Sammy, who was sleeping peacefully.
Quietly opening the door, he went down the hall to another door, and carefully opened it. It helped that the hinges were well-oiled. His younger self was sleeping on his stomach, not a care in the world, not afraid of what’s out there in the night. There were no readings in this room however, so Dean returned to the hallway.
A loud screech from the end of the hall made Dean wince, and his EMF reader spike to the right for just a moment before settling where it was, pointing right in the middle. Dean quickly ducked behind the bathroom door as Mary groggily came down the hall to check on Sammy.
He heard her talking to someone, but couldn’t quite hear what she was saying. But their father was downstai - He cut off mid-thought. The demon! he realized, and carefully approached Sammy’s room. He looked in, and saw no one. And when he looked at the EMF reader, it had gone dead. Dean smacked it, but he had no luck.
A moment later, Mary rushed past him into Sammy’s room, going right to the crib, not even seeing there was someone strange in the house. Dean felt something - a presence - claw his left arm so suddenly he collapsed to the floor and had to grasp his rifle tight enough to dig into his palm to keep from passing out.
And then he heard his mother scream.
Outside, in the quiet, still night, Sam heard the scream.
Weapon in hand, Sam leapt from of the car, and sprinted across the street and across the front yard.
Through Dean’s pain-filled haze, he saw his father rush in to the room, frantically calling for his wife, and making sure Sammy was all right.
And then the flames.
Downstairs, Sam flung open the front door to hear John screaming his wife’s name. Taking the stairs two at a time, Sam met the older Dean leaning against the wall outside Sammy’s room holding his arm. Sam raised his eyebrows at Dean’s injury; Dean shook his head in response. The younger Dean appeared sleepily in the hallway, awakened by... something.
“I had a bad dream, and went to find Mom,” the boy told Dean and Sam, tugging on Dean’s shirt. Dean leaned forward and ruffled the boy’s hair, but couldn’t bring himself to tell him it would be all right.
Sam nudged Dean as they saw John coming out in to the hallway, carrying the baby. He briefly noticed the two young men in the hallway, but focused on the boy first.
“Daddy!” Dean called, running to his father. John gave the boy his baby brother, who was still wrapped his blanket. His voice was urgent.
“Take your brother outside as fast as you can! Don’t look back! Now, Dean! GO!”
The boy turned and ran outside as fast as he could.
John turned his attention to the young men in the hallway, who looked as panic-stricken as he was. He briefly noted they each carried a rifle, the shorter one’s sleeve was bloody and torn. They both looked somehow... familiar.
“I don’t know who you two really are,” he started, and then gave up on forming sentences. He was still trying to grasp what was happening. “My wife…” the words came out pained. “She’s in…” His words cut off as he entered the room again, with Dean and Sam on his heels.
The room was in flames, the ceiling, the walls, the furniture, and it was growing. Every thing was consumed in the fire. The men shielded their faces from the heat and wind the fire created.
Dean looked at the ceiling, and gestured to Sam. Both watched in horror as they saw everything in the room consumed. A scrap of fabric came flying, and at first, Sam thought it came from the crib sheet, and passed it to Dean. He shook his head, and showed it to John.
Grasping the fabric, John sobbed above the noise of the fire. Mary couldn’t be dead, he told himself. Not my Mary!
As the fire raged, the heat and force grew, and threw John out into the hallway. He never knew the names of the men who had shared this moment of grief with him. Who were they, and why did their faces mirror the horrified look on his?
He never would learn; as the fireball that knocked him from the room hurled Dean and Sam back though the time barrier and...
~*~
...landed on the ground outside a familiar-looking house in Lawrence, Kansas. It was early evening, and the brothers were momentarily dazed. Dean clutched at his arm, remembering a shadow demons had clawed him, and quite good, too. Sam was kneeling a distance away from him, looking quite pale, despite the soot and ash on his face. Dean’s arm hurt like hell.
A woman came out the house carrying a shotgun, but it was pointed downwards. She looked at the brothers in confusion.
“Dean? Sam?” Jenny asked. She looked at them, could see dirt and smudges on their faces, and could smell the smoke from the fire. She also realized they were carrying rifles.
“I know I’m cooking dinner, but it’s not that - ” she trailed off, realizing from the brothers expressions they were not in that kind of a mood just now.
Dean stood and looked up at the house. It was completely restored, as it had been when they’d returned to Lawrence all those months ago. He turned and glanced across the street, and marveled that the car was there.
“Jenny,” Dean asked, sounding winded. “How long has that car been there? The Impala across the street?”
She looked across the road to the car in question. Her brow furrowed as she frowned.
“What the hell?” she said, surprised. “Never saw that car in that spot until, well, just now,” she admitted.
Sam stood up, and looked across the street to the car.
“It must have come with us,” he said. “At least it’s a considerate Timeshifter,” Sam added as an afterthought.
“It would have had to come with us,” Dean pointed out. “There were two cars there, remember. Would have looked kind of creepy.”
“I hope you guys know what you’re talking about, ’cause I have no idea,” Jenny said.
Dean smiled wryly. “Do you have today’s newspaper?” he asked. She nodded, and returned to the house.
Once Jenny returned inside, Sam sank back to his knees, put his head in his hands, and finally let out a sob. Dean reached over gingerly and mussed his brother’s hair, but then realized the action, and pulled his hand away. He bit his lip, and turned away. He was the strong one. Helplessness and loss were not things he was used to feeling. And seeing it happen...
He composed himself when he heard the front door open. He risked a glance at Sam, who was once again on his feet, but now looking at them and the grass instead of up. Dean took the proffered paper without making eye contact with Jenny.
“You guys want to come in for a little bit? That arm looks like it hurts.” she offered. Dean looked at the paper, intending to glance at only the year; he didn’t really care about the actual date at this point. But the entire date was in his vision, and the masthead told him that it was the evening of the same day they’d started this damned journey.
“Nah, we’re good.” Dean said, handing back the newspaper. “Thanks, though.”
Jenny nodded, remembering the last time the Winchester brothers were at her house. Dean had been the moody one, she recalled. But Sam was being moodier this visit, she realized, as she watched Sam slowly follow his brother over to the car.
Sam tossed Dean the keys, and he opened the trunk first, and they put their weapons back it the hidden compartment. Everything had made the time travel journey in once piece, and Dean breathed a sigh of relief. He closed the trunk, looked at his brother, then back at the house. Sam sighed, and Dean could hear the ragged breath of someone who’d been crying.
Dean unlocked his door, and after getting in, he leaned across the passenger seat to unlock the other door. Both brothers in the car, doors closed, Dean cranked the engine. It turned over immediately, and purred with its familiar sound.
The car had traveled back in time with them, and survived the return trip no worse for the wear. Dan would be pleased at the durability of the Impala. Dad... Dean thought, mulling over the possibility that Dad had tried to look up the two men he knew as Rick Martin and Jim Davis.
It was in John Winchester’s nature to investigate everything connected with the supernatural. Dean was certain their father was curious - no, needed to know - who they were and how they knew to be there that night. Their next meeting with their father would prove interesting. But first, they had some unfinished business.
“Hey, Sam,” he turned slightly towards his brother.
“Yeah, Dean?” Sam sounded tired, as if he hadn’t slept in a long time. How difficult would sleep be now, after witnessing what they’d only heard about?
“Remember what I said? About my new project?” Sam nodded. Dean put the car in gear and started down the street, ignoring the pain in his arm for the moment. “Let’s go hunting.”
“Sacrifice - the future has it’s price;
And today is only yesterday’s tomorrow...”
***
Supernatural Alternate Universe Fan Fiction
For entertainment only
© 2006 by Caren Franco
Only the Timeshifter and Maryanne Taylor are original. Beta-read by Athena, Beluga, Dantana Skywalker and Diamondback; Athena wrote three lines and suggested a better scene mirroring the Pilot episode. Title inspired by Lady Aurora. Dean, Sam, John, Mary Winchester, Missouri Moseley, Max Miller, Jenny and Sari were created by Eric Kripke, Robert Singer, Kripke Enterprises Scrap Metal and Entertainment; and Warner Brothers. “(Love Will) Turn Back the Hands of Time” from “Grease 2 Soundtrack” sung by Maxwell Caulfield & Michelle Pfeiffer, ©1982. “Circle of Hands” from “Demons and Wizards” by Uriah Heep, ©1972.