Dean wondered what was coming next. After seeing...after seeing his mother die—well, there couldn't possibly be anything worse. He didn't know how whoever had made this had gotten the footage, but he didn't care. Watching her burst into flames had brought on a fresh wave of guilt. It had happened fifteen years ago, and the pain still hadn't faded. No matter how many times Bobby told him none of it was their fault, Dean refused to believe there was nothing he could have done to save her.

He turned back to face the screen, awaiting the next scene with abated breath.

Stanford University.

Present Day.

The letters flashed across the TV, stark white against the deep black background. Sam couldn't help but move closer. Stanford was one of the most prestigious universities out there. Getting into that school would be like a dream come true. Of course, even if he did manage to get in anywhere, despite their constant moving and hunting, Dad would never let him leave.

"Sam!" called a woman rounding the corner, dressed in what appeared to be a nurse's outfit, adjusting her earrings. She had long and wild blonde hair, reaching down past her shoulders. "Get a move on, would ya? We were supposed to be there, like, fifteen minutes ago."

The camera zoomed in on a framed picture of John and Mary Winchester before panning out to show a young man stepping out from behind the doorframe.

"Whoa, Sammy, what the hell," breathed Dean, looking back and forth between Sam and TV Sam. "Is that you?"

"You get tall, boy," murmured Bobby.

"And you get a hot girl too. She's way out of your league, dude," Dean added.

Sam ignored them and silently watched what was no doubt his older self—same nose, same cheekbones, same goddamn face. Only he looked maybe six or seven years older. But it wasn't the television somehow predicting the future that really got him. It was fact that he was at freaking Stanford. Would he actually escape this life? It looked to good to be true.

"Do I have to?" asked the older Sam, smiling.

"Yes!" answered the blonde. "It'll be fun!"

"You know how I feel about Halloween," said Sam in reply as the screen transitioned from the little room into a bar complete with music and several people wearing costumes—a Halloween party.

John watched in shock as his son drank shots with his future-girlfriend and they talked about LSATS and law. What was going on? Sam wasn't going to college and becoming a lawyer of all things. Unless...had they already caught the yellow-eyed demon by then? Had he avenged Mary's death? Judging from the previous scene, this must be maybe seven years into the future. Perhaps yellow-eyes was dead and they were living a happy life.

But he doubted it.

John chanced a glance at his youngest son. The boy actually looked kind of happy. He knew that Sam never liked the hunting life, but he wouldn't abandon his family to go to school, would he?

Although, John had to admit, his son had gotten into Stanford. And he couldn't help but feel proud when Jess, Sam's girlfriend, announced his LSAT score of one-seventy-four. That was good from what he had heard.

"How does it feel to be the golden boy of your family?" asked Sam's friend, dressed in a cloak and a mask of some kind.

"Nah, they don't know," replied Sam, shaking his head and looking down.

"Oh, no, I would be gloating!" exclaimed the darker-skinned man. "Why not?"

"Because we're not exactly the Bradys," replied Sam, smiling a little sadly.

"You not speaking to us in the future, Sammy? What, are you jealous I get all the girls?" joked Dean. Sam looked over at his brother sitting next to him and he could see the thinly masked sadness hidden beneath his features. Sam knew Dean liked to hide behind his humour, and this situation wasn't any different.

He focused his attention back on the scene playing out in front of him.

"What would I do without you?" Sam sighed, looking lovingly at Jessica as their friend left to get more shots.

Jess smiled. "Crash and burn."

When they kissed, Dean gagged mockingly and pretended to retch. "Geez, what is this? A show about Sam's lacking love life?"

"Shut up, Dean," mumbled Sam. He couldn't help but feel the knot of warmth grow in his stomach. If this was real, then he would be living the life he had always wanted. Pre-law at Stanford, friends, a girlfriend...The only thing that bothered him was that he supposedly wasn't speaking to his Dad and Dean anymore.

Back at his apartment, Sam slept soundly on a bed with Jess, back-to-back. Not a moment passed before the window opened and Sam's eyes snapped open, alert and wary. He climbed out of bed and went to investigate, moving stealthily through the dark.

Sam quickly spotted the open window and not soon after, he saw the silhouette of a man facing him. He was upon the mystery man in moments and the two fought with each other, punching and kicking. Both were clearly well trained.

They appeared evenly matched as they fought, until the intruder managed to pin Sam down on his back, one hand on his wrist and the other on his neck.

"Whoa, easy tiger!"

Sam stared, breathing heavily. "Dean?!"

"Wow, I'm even better looking in the future!" smirked Dean. "And I can still beat you in a fight, little bro."

Sam glared.

"You scared the crap out of me!" breathed the taller man pinned to the floor.

Dean laughed. "That's 'cause you're out of practice."

Within the next moment, Sam had reversed their positions and was now sitting atop Dean.

"Or not!"

John smiled. It looked like his boys hadn't lost any of their training after all. In fact, their skills had improved significantly. He still had a lot of questions about this supposed future, but he decided to continue watching. Hopefully, he would get some answers about this mysterious tape soon.

Sam watched as his future-self lifted Dean to his feet (he didn't miss the choking sound Dean made from beside him as he realized Sam had grown taller than him).

"Dean, what the hell are you doing here?" hissed Sam, the slight anger in his voice not going unnoticed.

Dean made a couple of quips before telling Sam seriously, "We need to talk."

"Uh, the phone?" pointed out Sam.

"If I'd a called, would you have picked up?"

"Since when did'ya boys talk to each other like that?" murmured Bobby, looking back and forth between Sam and Dean.

Dean noticed sadly that he and his younger brother no longer had the same ease on the screen as they did right here and now. They seemed to have grown apart, and everyone could see it.

John frowned, but didn't say a word as he continued watching.

Jess entered the room and Dean turned to look at her, making a few suggestive comments. Jess didn't seem too surprised, as if she had expected this from Sam's brother, but Sam was looking at Dean with stony features.

When Sam insisted Jess stay in the room with them while Dean said whatever he had to say, the older Winchester sighed. "Okay...um, Dad hasn't been home in a few days."

Sam didn't look impressed and dismissed his father's absence, sounding uncaring.

John gulped as he watched his boy. What had he done to Sam to make him feel this way about him? Had the youngest Winchester really gravitated this far from his family? Did he really not care that his own father was missing?

Speaking of which, where the hell had he gone? He had been apart from his boys before, but not for long enough to make Dean seek out help in this way.

"Dad's on a hunting trip," said Dean, in an attempt to get through to Sam. "And he hasn't been home in a few days."

Sam's face remained impassive, but his demeanour changed slightly. He told Jess he needed to speak with his brother, and then followed Dean down the stairwell, arguing all the way down.

"You remember the poltergeist in Amherst? The Devil's Gate in Clifton? He was missing then too," hissed Sam. "He's always missing, and he's always fine."

Future-Sam didn't seem to be too concerned over the disappearance of his father and that unnerved Bobby. The boy had changed. Sure, now he was rebellious and nothing like his older brother in nature, but Bobby could have never imagined this.

John looked at his youngest son and saw the boy attempt to sink deeper into the sofa beside Dean. Did Sam really feel this way about him?

Sam wasn't sure what to feel as he watched his future self argue with Dean. He remembered the poltergeist in Amherst, when Dad had gone missing—it had only been maybe a year ago. The oldest Winchester had returned to their motel bloody and maybe even a little drunk, having destroyed the poltergeist. It had been November 2nd, 1997—the fourteenth anniversary of their mother's death.

"Not for this long. Now are you going to come with me, or not?" asked Dean, in all seriousness.

"I'm not."

"Why not?" demanded the older brother.

"I swore I was done hunting. For good."

At those words, all three adults turned to look at the teenager curled into the sofa. Sam gulped, but refused to look at them and kept his eyes on the screen. It was true: he didn't like hunting. Not in the least bit. But he never thought he would have the courage to actually leave the life.

"Come one," chided Dean. "It wasn't easy, but it wasn't that bad."

"Yeah?" challenged Sam as he followed Dean down the hallway. "When I told Dad I was scared of the thing in my closet, he gave me a .45!"

"Well, what was he supposed to do?" argued Dean, stopping short to face his younger brother.

"I was nine years old! He was supposed to say, 'don't be afraid of the dark'!"

Dean scoffed at that and reminded Sam of the dangers out there in the dark.

Sam shot back with a quick retort. "The way we grew up, after Mom was killed, and Dad's obsession to find the thing that killed her. But we still haven't found the damn thing, so we kill everything we can find!" shouted the boy, clearly seething.

"We save a lot of people doing it too," said Dean quietly, shaking his head once.

Dean nodded, agreeing with his older self.

There was a pregnant pause before Sam came in again. "Do you think Mom would have wanted this for us?"

John took a deep breath in and closed his eyes wearily. He knew Mary would have never have wanted her boys to grow up this way. But he had no other damn choice. He had to avenge her. He wished they didn't have to live this way—he wanted Sam to go to school and become a lawyer. He wanted Dean to build a family of his own.

Dean looked at Sam hard and opened the door, leading the way into the dark lot.

"The weapon training," continued Sam, unrelenting, "and melting the silver into bullets? Man, Dean, we were raised like warriors!"

"So what're you going to do, live some normal, apple pie life? Is that it?" growled Dean, turning back around to face his younger brother.

"No, not normal," countered Sam. "Safe."

"And that's why you ran away," said Dean, breathing out through his nose and turning to look to his side.

"I was just going to college," Sam defended. "It was Dad who said if I was gonna go, I should stay gone...and that's what I'm doing."

Sam's eyes widened and he looked at his father, whose eyes were glued to the screen. Would his Dad really do that to him? Kick him out? Tell him to stay gone? He held in a bitter laugh at the irony of it all. Most parents would be proud if their son got into Stanford of all places. Most parents wouldn't take their son out on a freaking demon hunt.

Dean bit his lip as he watched himself and Sam argue. They barely fought like that. How had their relationship gotten to this point? "Dad, you wouldn't say that, would you?" asked Dean quietly.

John remained silent and continued to watch, ignoring his son.

"Yeah, well Dad's in real trouble right now," growled Dean. "If he's not dead already, I can feel it." A moment passed in silence. "I can't do this alone." It was almost a plea.

"Yes, you can."

"Yeah, well I don't want to."

Sam sighed and looked down. When he spoke, it was almost in resignation. "What was he hunting?"

John watched the two of them on the television. They were finally working together...well, somewhat together. He hadn't liked seeing them at odds, even though he knew it was far off into the future.

"So, you decide to help me find Dad, huh, Sammy? I guess you're not that much of an ass in the future," smirked Dean. The comment was supposed to lighten the mood, but Sam cringed at his older brother's words. Dean noticed and he offered Sam a quick glance of apology.

The show continued with the two of them tracking their father's whereabouts and attempting to discover clues on where he could have disappeared to. John wondered himself where he was. Had the yellow-eyed demon killed him? Had some hunt finally gotten the best of him? Whatever the case was, he hoped he would get back to his boys soon.

Dean watched as him and his older brother investigated several disappearances and slowly researched their first case together—just the two of them. It was when they were staking out the bridge that they got into the next fight.

"Sooner or later you're going to have to face up to who you really are," said Dean, mid-argument.

"And who's that?"

"One of us," Dean replied, motioning with his arms.

"No, I'm not like you. This is not going to be my life," hissed Sam bitterly. More and more pent-up anger and sourness was building in his voice.

The four of them remained silent as tension mounted. Dean should have known another argument wouldn't be too far off after the last one.

"You have a responsibility to—"

"To Dad?" interrupted Sam. "And his crusade?"

John eyes darkened and Sam's breath hitched in his throat. "Is that what you think this is, Sam?" he whispered, a little hurt. "You think of this as a crusade?" John couldn't help the slight accusatory tone from leaking into his voice. He knew this future might not even be a reality, and that Sam hadn't done or said any of this yet, but it didn't stop him from envisioning the boy sitting next to him saying the very same words.

The teenager didn't reply.

"If it weren't for pictures, I wouldn't even know what Mom looks like. And what difference would it make? Even if we do find the thing that killed her, Mom's gone. And she isn't coming back."

Bobby heard the anger in the boy's voice, but also the exhaustion. He was tired of it. Tired of it all. And somehow, he could understand what Sam was—will be—going through.

Dean, on the other hand, didn't feel too kindly toward Sam at the moment. He knew it was in the future, and Sam hadn't even done anything yet, but it didn't stop him from feeling the anger building in his stomach. No one, not even his brother, could talk about her like that.

Dean moved forward and pinned Sam against the railing. Sam didn't even try to fight back. "Don't talk about her like that."

Dean nodded, agreeing with his on-screen self. He breathed a sigh of what was almost relief as a ghostly woman jumping off the bridge interrupted their fight. Awkward tension hung in the air as the on-screen versions of themselves investigated further.

"I'm sorry, Dean," whispered a small voice. The fifteen-year old beside him was looking at him through sad eyes, holding much more pain and suffering than any kid his age should ever have to go through.

"No worries, Sammy. You haven't done anything." The yet part of his answer hung in the air like a rock getting ready to drop down on them all. If this truly was the future, then Dean didn't like it. Not one bit.

John kept his eyes focused on the screen, watching his sons later check into a local motel, and then splitting up. He cringed when Dean was arrested and accused of possible involvement in the disappearances. All the while, Sam was tracking down the dead woman's husband and attempting to get Dean an opportunity to escape the police station. He was proud of them—both of them. They worked well together, without him around.

Sam spoke with Dean on the phone, having just helped his brother escape the police station after faking a 9-1-1 call. "Dean, what the hell is going on?" asked Sam, half-angry and the other part genuinely curious.

He suddenly let go of his cellphone as a woman dressed in white appeared in the middle of road. He jerked his car to a stop, letting of a cry of mixed surprise and panic. He faintly heard Dean calling his name from his phone, but there was no time to answer.

Once the car was safely stopped, Sam sat breathing heavily in the driver's seat. He didn't have another moment to register what had happened before he noticed the ghostly woman sitting in the back seat of the Impala.

Her voice echoed menacingly as she spoke. "Take me home." When he didn't answer she repeated the order again, more insistent. "Take me home!"

"Shit..." breathed Dean from the sofa, leaning forward. He knew it was in the future—hell, it might not even be a real future—but Dean felt a very real panic for his little brother. All of the other men the woman in white had chosen to go to had died. That couldn't happen to Sam.

"No," Sam replied firmly. As soon as the refusal was out of his mouth, the woman glared. The doors locked and the car began to drive itself forward, reckless and fast. It eventually pulled up to an abandoned and dilapidated little house.

"I can never go home," said the woman in white, Constance.

"You're scared to go home."

As quick as a flash, the woman was on top of him, pleading for him to hold her as he argued back. He struggled harder and she moved in to place her lips on his.

Dean shuddered. "God, Sammy, why is it that you're getting all the action, huh?"

"Shut up, Dean," mumbled Sam, somewhat mortified as he watched his older-self struggle on the television.

The woman suddenly pulled back and disappeared, showing her grotesque features only for a moment. Sam lifted his head and looked around, before suddenly screaming in pain and falling back. He ripped open his jacket to see five growing holes in the cotton—Constance's fingers.

The four of them watched, enrapt, as future-Sam screamed in pain. John cringed and had to look away. He couldn't see his son like this, no matter how old. He couldn't see his son like this and not be able to do anything to help him.

A sudden gunshot rang out and the spirit fell back and vanished in an instant, escaping the oncoming bullets. Dean approached the car, gun in hand and at the ready.

"Looks like I'm still saving your ass in the future," smirked Dean.

Sam punched him in the arm, and his older brother didn't even flinch.

Sam sat up in his seat, revving the engine. "I'm taking you home," he growled. The twenty-two year old drove the car straight into the decrepit house, crashing through drywall and furniture.

Sam watched as future-Dean helped him out of the car. The concern in his older brother's eyes was reminiscent to the hunts they would go on every weekend, when Dean would constantly stay in front of him, no matter how much it annoyed him.

He watched as Constance, the spirit, was finally destroyed by her own dead children dragging her down through the floor. It chilled Sam, but at the same time made him proud of their future selves.

Dean drove his little brother back to the place he shared with Jessica. Sam was going to stay at school while Dean went on to look for their father.

"Sam!" called the twenty-six year old, as Sam exited the car. "Y'know, we made a hell of a team back there.

Sam nodded, smiling a little. "Yeah."

"Good enough to help me look for Dad," grumbled Dean from the sofa. "Honestly, Sammy, you're abandoning us? Apparently for the second time?"

Sam glared. "I don't know, maybe there was a good reason I left—will leave! Maybe school's important to me!"

John sighed, rubbing his forehead, and Bobby looked back and forth between the three Winchesters. He could see where Sam was coming from—the kid just wanted to live his dream, for god's sake. He didn't like hunting, that much Bobby could tell from the moment the boy made his first kill.

"Jess!" called Sam, entering the little house. "You home?" He smiled as he saw the plate of cookies, and grabbed one before going to lie down on their bed. Sam closed his eyes, smiling slightly.

A drop of red fell on his forehead.

"Oh, god, no," whispered John from his chair, putting a hand to his mouth. No, no, no, no. This couldn't be happening. Not to his son.

As the second droplet of red fell, Sam opened his eyes. The confusion morphed instantly into fear as he saw Jess pinned to the ceiling, bleeding from her stomach.

"NO!"

Flames engulfed her body just as Dean kicked open the door. "Jess! Jess! NO!" shouted Sam in panic and fear and pure horror as he shielded himself from the flames on the bed.

Dean burst into the room and grabbed his little brother, carrying his struggling form out of the blazing inferno.

They all stayed silent for a moment as the fiery screen faded before them. Dean was afraid to look at his little brother. What the hell had just happened? Did Sam's girlfriend just burn on the ceiling...exactly like their mother had?

One look at their father, and Dean knew it was true. The oldest Winchester seemed older than ever, and he was looking at Sam with a dreadful sort of sadness, as if he could have never wished anything worse upon the teenager.

Sam, on the other hand, was shock-pale. His Adam's apple bobbed in his throat and he refused to look at any of them. He had had it—a perfect and safe life, away from it all. And then his girlfriend had had to go and burn on the ceiling. He knew for a fact that his future-self would want revenge. Sure, he hadn't known Jess—at least he didn't know her yet—but if it were Dean burning on the ceiling, Sam would go to the ends of the earth to find his older brother's killer.

He turned back to the television as it continued, almost not wanting to watch what came next.

Dean stared the burning house for a minute before heading over to Sam at the trunk of the Impala. The young man was loading the guns. They looked at each other for a moment before Sam, grim-faced, threw the last firearm back into the trunk.

"We got work to do," he said firmly.

The trunk slammed shut and the screen went black.