WARNING: Language, I guess, and a mini spanking scene at the end, it's barely there, really. It's just how I see the characters reacting.

Edited: January 10th 2019

Chapter 1- The Week it Began

The ceiling wasn't right.

It was light green when he went to sleep, definitely not bright yellow.

The mattress squeaked as Sam rolled to his side and sat up. The empty bed next to his, the small, dingy bathroom and kitchenette clued him in.

Then it came to him. He no longer lived with Amelia. Don was back.

Sam put his head in his hands. His face surprisingly smooth. He didn't remember shaving the night before. Nor checking in a motel. He must have drank more than intended.

He stood up and looked around cautiously. He had gone straight to Rufus's cabin and hadn't really gone out since. Not only that, the room felt different. Somehow more spacious or more grounded - perhaps near the coast.

The room was cluttered with books and take-out in a way only hunters managed, but clean of suspicious artifacts or creatures. The door and windows were salted even.

Sam went to investigate the bathroom, then. Nothing out of the ordinary. Paste, a toothbrush, soap a mirror, aspirins, a toilet and a shower. A flashback of Bobby's ghost assaulted him. Thinking it was worth to try. Sam leaned to to tarnish the sink's mirror when his breath failed him.

The reflection was him, alright. Just not twenty-nine year old him.

"Dean-!" called Sam, before recalling his brother had died the year before via exploding dick.

Unless...

Unless, Sam dared to hope, he was actually back in time somehow and Dean was still alive.

He ran back to the room and reached for an old nokia cellphone identical to the one he had during his teens. Sure enough the first contact read: 1DW. Not even thinking about it he pressed call. It had been so long since he last spoke to dean he had begun to forget what his voice sounded like.

"'S up, man?" answered Dean.

Sam's eyes prickled. Dean's voice wasn't quite as grave as it would become, but damn it if Sam wasn't damn grateful to hear it.

"Hey, Dean," said Sam, coughing once to cover the tremble that threatened to escape him.

"Hey yourself, short stuff. What's up?" said Dean.

Sam cursed himself and tried to dig up something to say. He couldn't regret making the call, though.

"Uh, nothing, uh, 'm just wondering, uh, when, yeah, when will you guys be back?" stammered Sam, messing up his hair. God, he had forgotten how short it was.

"Dude," sighed Dean - Sam could imagine him pinching the bridge of his nose -, "like I told you yesterday, we'll be back by Monday, chill already."

Sam hummed his agreement.

"Okay, Dean. Be careful," was all he managed to say, sure his voice would break.

"Right, man, whatever," said Dean, "See ya'," and he hung up.

Sam sat down on the bed and stared at nothing. His body was stone-still but his heart and mind were racing.

He really was in the past. He could change everything. More importantly, he could save Dean.

With that idea, he took the notebook on the bedside table. He ripped off the notes on lore and started a list.

Possible Cause:

Angels

Demons (A deal? Crowley?)

Djin

Witch

Wishing Fountain

That was pretty much the only things that could have send him back, for real or in a dream, other than God maybe, but Sam seriously doubted it.

Next, he turned on the motel's crappy TV and searched for a news channel. The reporters weren't exactly helpful. They kept saying 'yesterday' and 'last sunday' and 'today', but they didn't mention the day, month or the freaking year. By the time the anchor finished the transmission Sam had learned it was Tuesday 8th thanks to the weather report. Fucking Tuesdays.

Sam updated the list:

Possible Cause:

Angels (Gabriel?)

Demons (A deal? Crowley?)

Djin

Witch

Wishing Fountain

Sam stood up, rummaged the drawer for money and headed out in search of a corner store. Cars were kinda hideous and seemed easier to steal. Sam had the urge to take one, he had a lot of practice after months of dodging leviathans, but police would notice someone so young driving around. He huffed. Apparently he was stuck walking everywhere for the week. Or more. He could up and leave, wouldn't have to explain his father and brother all his screw ups or pretend everything was normal. He could just concentrate on making sure his future didn't happen.

Except, he couldn't do that to Dean. He would feel responsible. Worse even, Dad would make him responsible for it. And, honestly, Sam missed his brother too much to let go of him so easily.

Crossing the street, a small, black shop stood out. "Maggie's Emporium" offered antiques and psychic consulting. It was most likely a fraud, but Pamela was able to tell them Cas' name back when Dean got out of hell. It was worth a try. He'd enter on the way back.

The newspaper he bought at the mini market a block away said it was Tuesday September 8th, 1998. That made him fifteen. That age sucked. He rolled up the paper and entered the psychic's shop.

"Welcome to my emporium," greeted a woman behind the cash register, sipping tea.

"You're Maggie?" said Sam.

Maggie nodded. "What can I do for someone in the wrong time?" she asked, raising an eyebrow as she set her mug down.

Sam's shoulders relaxed. So, she was the real deal.

"I need to find out what brought me here, if you know what I mean," he said looking her in the eyes. She didn't back away.

"I see," she sipped her tea. "I haven't done this through time and space before, so I will need some extra help. I'm going to need to order some lolite crystals. They should be here in three days."

Sam internally cursed the apparently non-existing e-commerce.

"Okay, I'll be back then." He made his way towards the door.

"And," Maggie said, halting his retreat. "I'm going to need payment."

"Right. How much?" said Sam, repressing a groan.

"A hundred," she answered simply, stirring her tea with a pleased smirk.

"Dollars?!"

She raised her eyebrow.

"Of course," bit out Sam, walking out. It better not be a fraud.

"I will see you on Friday," said the psychic.

Wednesday, September 9th 1998

Sam spent the rest of Tuesday looking for money in the motel room with little luck. There were $40 in total. Having still two and a half days more to worry about it, he began another list of key events and other important things.

To consider:

-Righteous man goes to hell. Breaks 1st seal. (Dad or Dean)

-If Lilith dies before the 1st seal, the apocalypse can't happen.

-Get the colt

-Alternatively befriend Ruby to get the knife (proceed to kill her)

-Michael could posses Dean or Adam (or Dad?)

-Adam

-Links to Lilith: Ruby, Azazel, Crowley?

This day however, Sam needed to put together a hundred dollars. He wouldn't be let in a bar. No one would authorize a credit card to someone that looked so young, either. He could always pawn something at a shady pawn shop.

Sam ate re-heated Chinese for breakfast and later lunch. Taking a pocket knife, clips and a wire that used to be a cloth hanger hidden in his jacket, he took off into the night.

Seven blocks away from the motel he found a lonely enough street near an alley. There were few cars but all of them looked to have something worth some bucks. Sam shook his head; 90's people trusted too much on their car locks. He took out the wire next to a '94 Nissan. Sliding the wire between the window and metal he calculated he could get at least $35 for the stereo, if he calculated well the inflation. Hopefully he'd find something else in the glove box. He finished dislodging the stereo with the help of his knife when he heard a low whistle.

Sam's instincts told him to run.

He turned slowly, instead, knife at ready.

"Nice stereo, kid," the teenage voice of the stranger said from the alley.

"Thanks," said Sam, not lowering his knife.

"Haven't seen you around before," said the stranger, not finding Sam threatening whatsoever.

"I'm new in town," Sam lower his tone, standing as tall as he could, "that gonna be a problem?"

The guy laughed.

"Nah, we're more into deals around here."

Sam tensed at the word 'deals'. He looked around, making sure no one else was there.

"Yeah? How come?" he said, preparing his mouth to begin to exorcise.

"I sell the sweet stuff 'round here, if you're interested," said the guy, shaking his long coat.

Sam shook his head. "Need quick cash, actually."

"Oh, in that case there's a place where you could triple your money if you know how to bet," offered the stranger.

Sam pondered on it. Worst case scenario the kid was a demon taking him to a desolated place to kill him. But, even smaller, he was still well trained in self-defense and his adult mind gave him some advantage. Besides, he could always try the stereo route the next night.

"Where's this place?" he asked, keeping an even face.

"Tell you something, you give me that stereo, I take you there."

Sam pressed his lips together and made a show of putting his knife in his pocket.

"Okay."

The place turned out to be the basement of an abandoned building.

Not as bad as Sam had imagined.

Three poker tables half-full were barely visible among the smoke of tobacco and, if Sam remembered right, weed. At the back of the room, people at the bar drank and snorted. Coke, probably. Shatter was everywhere, but it was discrete in volume. No one seemed to be doing anything legal.

Eying the suited men flanking certain people, Sam was sure every single person in that basement was armed and not afraid to use their weapons. By now he really should know better than to go anywhere without at least a gun with rock salt. Dean would rip him a new one if he ever found out.

He took a deep breath. No use wallowing. He just needed to be extra careful not to provoke anyone.

Having given the stereo to the guy that brought him there, Sam only had $40. Hoping he wasn't screwing up, he sat down at the closest table and put all his money on the table. The first bets were of five dollars. Sam noticed some had drugs instead of money or chips.

"It's about strategy and your poker face, Sammy," he heard Dean's voice in his mind from years before, attempting to teach him to play. A week later he had been declared hopeless.

Yet, he reminded himself, he managed to win against an immortal poker master. This should be easier.

He loses the first two rounds on purpose, getting a feeling of his opponents and letting them get cocky. The man to his left eyed him suspiciously when he won the next round with a flush.

The man snapped his fingers in the air and pointed at Sam. Sam's pulse rushed as his hand snaked in his pocket, feeling for his knife.

Only the bartender responded to the snapping, approaching Sam with a shot, a joint and a lighter. Understanding the power-play for what it was, Sam took the joint and lighter. At that age he hadn't build up alcohol tolerance yet, so marijuana was his best choice. He had tried it at college and it hadn't diminished his ability to pass exams, so a game of poker should be a piece of cake.

Sam lit up the joint, looking the man to his left in the eye the whole time. The man merely smirked.

Apparently the rule was that the winner had to take a drag of some drug or a shot of vodka. At the other's insistence, however, he drank about five shots of vodka throughout the game.

Three hours later Sam walked back to the motel with $300 and a pocketful of different drugs. He felt lighter than ever. That night he wasn't scared of nightmares. He was too high in the clouds for them to reach him.

Thursday, September 10th 1998

After-high and hangover didn't make a fun combination, Sam realized, hugging the toilet. He was dizzy, hungry, nauseous and in pain at the same time. Crawling to his duffel bag, he took out a joint. Dean sometimes said the best way to cure a hangover was with more beer. It was worth trying the theory with marijuana. After all, it was supposed to be medicinal.

He managed to summon the energy to order take out around mid afternoon.

Friday, September 11th 1998

"Do you have the money?"

Sam nodded. "Do you have my answers?"

"We'll find out," said Maggie.

Much like Pamela, Maggie took him to a table with candles in the back room, holding his hands across it.

"Did you travel whole or is it just your mind that did?" she asked before starting.

"Just my mind or memories, maybe."

She nodded and leaned to touch his forehead. Sam noticed some bluish crystals hanging by her neck.

"I invoke you, appear before me. I invoke you, appear before me. I invoke you-... Cassiel? No, Castler-"

"Castiel," gasped Sam.

Maggie looked at him with widened eyes. She nodded.

"Appear before me, Castiel. Appear-"

"Stop!" called Sam, letting go of her hands. "That won't be necessary," he assured her. They didn't need another incident with burned out eyes.

"If you're sure," she said, surprised.

"Castiel, if you're listening, I really need your help," prayed Sam, back in the motel. "Are we supposed to change things? I... Should I tell Dean?I'm really not sure what I'm meant to do back here. Please help me... please."

Hours with no answer later, Sam updated his list:

Possible Cause:

Angels (Gabriel?)

"Gabriel of this time," began Sam, "or Loki, whatever you prefer, I don't know if you can listen to me, being hidden and everything, but I need some help. It concerns you and your brothers. We can stop them. We did stop them in the future. You helped us. Please come."

Saturday, September 12th 1998

Sam tried praying every few hours to both angels. Even to God once.

No one showed up.

Giving up, he tried to form a plan to kill Lilith and avoid the end of the world without sacrificing his brother. But there were so many variables he didn't remember well enough. He couldn't risk it or wing it.

The stress and worry made it hard to breath. If not that, something would trigger nightmarish memories so much that Sam half-expected to turn around and see Lucifer, or Hallucination Lucifer. It's the stress, he told himself, what made him feel like someone watched him.

In the end, Sam took out another joint from his duffel. And then another. And maybe one or two more, not that he was lucid enough to keep count.

Sunday, September 13th 1998

"Ah!" Sam woke up to a faceful of cold water. "What the-! Dad?"

John Winchester had a gun aimed firmly at him, Dean had a knife at ready beside him. Sam gulped.

"Dean?"

"Hold out your arm," ordered John in a deadly tone.

Sam did. Dean nipped his arm. When red blood came out they relaxed their postures a little, still holding their weapons.

"What are you? Where's Sam?" said John.

"I'm Sam-"

"Our Sam doesn't end calls that complying. Our Sam would never miss school." -Sam gulped, he had completely forgotten about that. The school probably called them.- "Our Sam woudln't leave the door unlocked. I'm only gonna ask one more time," threatened John, taking aim.

"Mom was killed in my nursery in our house in Lawrence in 1983, my first hunt was a werewolf that turned out to be two, when we were kids Dean and I jumped off a shed and I broke my arm so he took me to the hospital on his handlebars."

John and Dean lower their weapons. Sam lets himself breath.

"So, Sam," said John, putting his gun in his pants, "care to explain this?"

John pointed at what Dean was holding. The rest of his money, his notebook and a ziplock with the drugs he won. He was dead.

"Over a hundred dollars, some interesting lists and enough merchandise to make a drug dealer jealous, you see how this doesn't look good?" said John.

Sam didn't know how to begin to explain. There was no getting out of confessing his time travel now if he wanted to live long enough to fix the future. Even if he survived his father's anger, they were now on high alert on his ass. He wouldn't be able to pull off acting like his fifteen year old self and they wouldn't leave him alone long enough for him to make a break for it.

Still, for the life of him Sam didn't know how to begin to explain himself.

John ran out of patience. He took Sam's arm and turned him on his stomach on the bed.

Unprepared, Sam got the wind knock out of him. Dad wasn't playing around. When Sam could take a normal breath again, he heard it. His dad's buckle tilting in the air.

"Dad, wait!" said Sam, trying to get up frantically.

"No, son, you had this coming the moment you got involved with that," growled John, probably pointing at the 'evidence'. Without another word, John swung the belt.

WACK! WACK!

"Ow! Wait! I'm not-! Ow! I'M NOT YOUR SAM!" yelled Sam into the squeaking mattress, clawing at the sheets.

John turned him around and crossed his arms.

"Explain."

A part of Sam was bitter at the fact that his father was so willing to believe he was a supernatural creature. A darker part made him shiver with the suspicion that he was already trying to either save him or kill him.

"I'm from, well, my mind is from 2012. Something brought me back in time, but I'm not sure what" -he did, but they didn't need to know that- "or why, but-"

"So in the future you're a drug dealer or something?" growled Dean, "I thought we raised you better than that!"

Sam was momentarily speechless. Dean was alive. In front of him. Any plan Sam had considered for leaving them flew right out of the window.

He swallowed back his emotions and shook his head.

"No, I just needed quick money to try and find out what took me here," said Sam, "the psychic I tried was a bust, by the way. But I won it all playing poker."

John and Dean looked at each other.

"Let's say that we believe you-" started John.

"and that you're not high," interrupted Dean.

John shot him a glare. "Let's say we believe you, can you prove it?"

Sam thought about it, hoping time hadn't messed up his memories.

"The hunt you just came back from was from a ghost who's wife had murdered for his life insurance. It was a salt and burn that went sideways and, well, Dean never really told me how it happened, but a dog bit him during it."

John looked worried. Dean's eyebrows shot up to his forehead. Sam could tell they didn't believe him, not completely. He'd have to give them more solid proof.

"And..." Sam looked down, "A week or two from now we'll, or would have, gone to Lincoln, Nebraska, you leave to follow a trail and I find two...," Sam gulped some guilt down, he owed this much to his Dean, "two kitsunes. A mother and a daughter."

"We'll head out there tomorrow morning," finally said John, "until we make sure you're telling the truth about the future thing, this" he takes the notebook from Dean, "is staying with me."

Sam nods, still looking down. It would be a good time for Cas or Gabriel to show up.

"Dean, go get us some lunch" ordered John, throwing him the impala's keys. Dean looked uncertain, but a sharp look from his father had him hurrying out the door.

"Now," announced John, "I don't care if you come from the future or not, illegal bets are serious business, never mind with people involved in drugs and most probably guns! Especially being a teenager."

"I'm twenty-nine!" argued Sam.

"I don't care if your mind is twenty nine or fifty-nine! Right now you are a teenager and, if you're as old as you say you are, you should have known better than to go to such places alone, unarmed and for no good reason!" yelled John.

"I told you I needed-"

"You could have waited for us!" John talked over him, not willing to back down, "and don't think I didn't notice the burnt joints in the trash!"

Sam looked down at that. He probably shouldn't have smoked those. He was a recovering addict (sort of) after all.

"Alright, son," said John in his no-nonsense tone "messing in that kind of place by yourself and smoking that trash? You know what's coming." He held tighter his belt around his hand. "Drop 'em and bend over the bed."

Anytime now, Cas.