Dean crept out of the cabin his future self had trapped him in, with no plan and what he thought were no expectations. He just wanted to see everything. He wanted to know what was happening. Zachariah hadn't sent him five years into the apocalyptic future just to sit locked up between wooden walls. And though he wouldn't admit it, he was scared.
"Hey, Dean. You got a second?" Dean turned towards the voice, seeing Chuck's smaller form walking up to him. Chuck was alive. That was good.
Dean didn't know what to do. Pretend to be himself from the future? "No. Yes. Uh... I-I guess. Hi, Chuck." Smooth.
"Hi." Chuck glanced down at the clipboard in his hand. "So, uh, listen, we're pretty good on canned goods for now, but we're down to next to nothing on perishables and-and hygiene supplies. People are not gonna be happy about this. So, what do you think we should do?"
So he was the decisions guy now? "I-I don't know," he mumbled out, only to get a slightly confused look from a very expectant Chuck. "Maybe, uh, share? You know, like at a kibbutz."
Chucks confusion only grew. "Wait a minute. Aren't you supposed to be out on a mission right now?"
"Absolutely, and I will be. But---"
"Chuck?"
He knew that voice. He'd know that voice anywhere. His eyes widened as he watched you round the corner, eyes landing on Chuck. "Chuck!" you began, jogging over to the man, relief evident on your face. Dean noticed your smile fall when you saw him, and you slowed to a walk, your back straightening. He frowned. Did you see through him or something? Did you know he wasn't, well, him?
You cleared your throat, looking too rigid for his liking. "We're real low on pain killers and gauze," you said. Even your voice sounded different. Almost emotionless.
Chuck bit his lip, scribbling down the new information. "Thanks."
Dean was trying to formulate something to say. He just wanted to know how you were doing, to talk to this future you. 'Thank God you're alive!' didn't seem like a good way to greet you, but before he could think of anything better, you gave Chuck a small nod and left again.
You had barely acknowledged his presence.
He wanted to follow you and see what was up with that, but finding Cas seemed more immediately important. Maybe the angel could get him out of here, and that's what he needed more than anything.
But Castiel, he discovered, wasn't gonna do a damn thing. The guy had become a fuckin' stoned, orgy-having love guru. It was as disturbing as it was surprising, but in a way he was kinda happy for him. At least he loosened up a bit. When was the last time the angel he knew had any fun? It was harder to be happy about his inability to put him back where he belonged, though.
How long was he going to have to stay here? What was his future self going to tell people about him? Was there any way to fix all this? Panic was rising.
Watching himself shoot a man with a straight face didn't help. Even believing the man had gotten the virus did nothing to help the nausea he felt while looking at future him's calm expression. No one else seemed too upset, either. It was hard to swallow, this idea that everyone had learned to accept their friends being shot in front of them. It takes a lot for people to become that numb. More than he could possibly imagine.
Still, the fact that you were here hung in his mind. He'd seen you standing there when everyone discovered that there were two Deans walking around, and he knew he now had the chance to talk to you without reservations. When he was done being chewed out by himself, he went out to find you, with Cas on his heel. He still didn't know what he was going to ask you, but he was going to ask something. He was worried. He couldn't possibly imagine you in a world like this. You were warmth and light and love --- everything lacking in this camp. And even you hadn't flinched when Yager was murdered in front of you.
Cas showed him which Cabin was yours, and explained that it also served as the local hospital. You were a medic. That was fitting. He couldn't even count the number of times you'd patched him up. He was kind of proud that you'd been able to put that to use. He knocked gently.
When you opened the door, you had your mouth open as though you were going to say something, but you closed it when your eyes fell on him. He couldn't blame you; the whole clone thing would be enough to throw anyone off.
"Hey, Y/N," Cas said behind him, shifting on his feet. "Do you mind if we come in for a bit?"
You were boring holes into Dean with your gaze, and it sent a shiver down his back. Your jaw set at Cas' request, but you moved aside after a moment, allowing the two of them in and shutting the door behind them.
Dean looked around the room, taking it in. It was simpler than Cas'. Less hippie-ish. You had a lot more chests of drawers than others seemed to, but that probably had something to do with the whole 'doctor on call' thing. The only really surprising thing was Chuck, who was laying on a couch by your bed. Dean narrowed his eyes at him.
"So what is his deal?" you asked, your voice still at that scary monotone. Dean turned to you and took in your appearance. You were wearing all black, but he could see spots on your clothes that were dirtied with blood. You wore combat boots. You had more scars now, but they were mostly small. Your arms were crossed over chest. You looked almost... scary.
Cas explained everything to you --- Zachariah and 2009 and this being a warning; the whole bit. Your expression never changed while he talked, but you seemed to accept it. Then, after a few moments of silence, the corner of your mouth quirked up in a smile. You found this amusing.
Chuck, behind you, was the first one to chirp up. "That's-that's really crazy. I mean, we've seen crazy, but that's.... whoo."
"You're telling me," Dean mumbled. He nodded slowly. "So, you two, are you...?"
Your brow furrowed. "We're friends. Actually, Chuck is one of the only friends I have. He and Cas."
Dean glanced between the three of you, confused. You'd always been so lovable. You should have had this entire camp wrapped around your finger, and all you had were these two guys? "Why?"
Cas and Chuck stared down at the floor awkwardly.
"My ex tends to scare people away. Bit of a jealous streak sometimes, and no one seems to want to cross him."
The air in the room was tense. Dean could feel it. He wanted to ask more questions about it, like who the hell this ex was and why people were so scared of him, but he didn't. This must have become a bit of a sore spot for you if even Chuck and Castiel seemed to slink away from it. "What about me and you?" he asked.
"We aren't pals anymore, Dean."
His heart fell. He could never have imagined a future where you two saw each other every day and weren't friends, and suddenly he was living in it. If the world ending didn't make him want to change things, that sure did. You had been a sort of light in the dark for him. No matter how hard things got, you were always the person he ran to. Your collar had probably seen more of his tears than his own. Even when he pushed you away, you were the one who ended up comforting him about it. You were loyal, and constant, and a fucking necessity for him.
Somehow he got the feeling that he was the one who destroyed that.
"Y/N," Chuck said quietly, "he hasn't---"
"Yeah," you interrupted him. "You're right." You ran a hand through your hair before pulling a chair away from your desk and gesturing for Dean to sit in it. You seemed to relax a bit, and took a seat on the edge of your bed.
Dean watched you carefully. This was hard. He'd always believed that people didn't really change, but here you were --- all of you. He was an unfeeling dick, Cas was a hedonistic stoner, and you were cold as ice. He couldn't very well ask what had turned you into this, but god, did he want to know.
The four of you spent the next half hour discussing world events; explaining to Dean exactly how the world came to be what it was now, and how he'd stepped up to the plate to be the leader. Some of you seemed more appreciative of it than others. You told him about your jobs; Chuck was kind of a camp coordinator, Cas was a love guru and went on field trips, and you served as the medic, chaplain, and occasional euthanizer --- a soul-destroying job, but you were the only one capable, and supreme leader Dean deemed it safer than going on outings, because he was still overbearingly protective.
Dean's gut twisted every time you mentioned what he'd become. There was anger in your eyes, or hurt, or something, but whatever it was, he hated that he was the one who put it there. Clearly, he became a fucking idiot somewhere down the line. People really looked up to that guy?
He went to bed that night in his future self's cabin, praying to Zachariah to bring him back to 2009. He'd gotten the picture. He let the world end, he lost the things that kept him alive, everyone on this godforsaken planet was worse off. Just let him off the ride. Just let this end.
He woke up in the same spot, cursing out loud. The other him was gone, trying to restock supplies. He found Chuck, who gave canned raviolis to eat, and flipped through as many newspapers as he could find until the adventure crew came home. He was anxious, and if he were going to be stuck here, he either wanted to get in on the action or hole up with a friend who he wasn't dead to. Sitting around like this wasn't fucking helping.
He nearly sprinted out when he heard the rumble of trucks returning. An end to his misery. He stood on the stoop watching them, and a deep sense of dread settled in his stomach when he watched himself limp out the passenger's side of one of the cars with a deep gash running up his leg. He held his breath. He was going to watch himself be put down.
No one seemed to move for a gun, though. Instead, two of the guys helped carry him to your cabin. It was okay. He wasn't infected. 2009 Dean followed them in, knowing he was supposed to be his own shadow anyway, and goddammit if he was going to be injured, he had a right to be there. As the two men left, he watched you carefully help his future self into a laying position on your bed. God, how many people must have died in the bed you slept in every night? How were you able to handle that?
You pulled a chair and a rolling table covered in tools up beside the bed, not making eye contact with either of the Deans. Your voice was soft when you spoke. Not kind per se, but soft. "I'm going to cut the leg of your jeans off." You always did talk Dean through everything you did while you patched him up. It kept him calm enough for you to actually get the job done.
Dean watched you as you worked on him; cutting his pants, washing his leg, and pouring alcohol over it. It looked easier on you than it did in his present. You didn't flinch when your patient shouted in pain or jerked his leg away. You didn't look nervous at all.
He noticed you rubbing his calf gently while he recovered from the sting of alcohol, though. You still didn't look him in the face, and your expression never softened, but there was sympathy there. Even with all that resentment, you were trying to comfort him.
"Dammit, Y/N, c'mon! This hurts," the man yelled. His voice was too loud, too mean. It made his past self uncomfortable.
Normally, this would have received some snappy comeback. You always gave him sass. It was one of the things he was secretly fond of about you. You didn't offer one this time.
"I know, sir."
Sir? "You're calling me sir now?" 2009 Dean didn't even realized he was talking until the words were out. He was just surprised at what they'd become. His older version glared at him for only a moment before the pain distracted him.
You took a deep breath. "I am, yes." You took out a needle and wiped it in alcohol before threading it with suture.
"Why? You'd never talk to me like that."
You stuck the needle through the older man's flesh, making him hiss. "You're my leader. I treat you as such. I pay you the respect I'm supposed to."
Neither of them had a happy face on, and 2014 Dean kept sending his younger self looks of warning, trying to convince him to shut up. This wasn't his place.
"You? Really? Paying respect to someone just because they're authority?"
Your jaw clenched and you focused harder on the stitches. "Hey, Dean? In the past, have you told me you're in love with me yet?"
"Y/N," the older one spoke up. His voice was stern. He wanted you to shut up, too.
The younger one, for his part, had almost stopped breathing. You knew that? He never planned on telling you. "Uh, n-no. I haven't."
"Good. Don't."
The man on the bed heaved an angry sigh.
"Why not?"
"Because this---" you gestured between yourself and your leader momentarily--- "is what becomes of it. We only talk to each other when you're giving me orders. You do whatever the hell you want with whoever the hell you want because you're the general around here, but you treat me like a wife without even looking at me."
"Don't do this right now," the man said. It was an order, but apparently, you weren't going to pay attention. He was the one who needed you right now anyway. That gave you control.
"See, when it finally hits you that the world's ending, and you get all 'viva la vida,' you decide to fuck it all and finally be with me. And it's great for a while. We're madly in love. Me and you against the apocalypse. You even propose! Mazel tov in advance." You finished up the stitched but reminded Dean that if he even thought about moving, they'd come out, and then you turned back to the other Dean, the Dean who hadn't fucked up yet. You looked him dead in the eye, and your ex's hand gripped your shoulder, but you ignored him. Dean got the feeling you were good at that. "But then you become the leader of this little group, and you don't have the time or energy for me, which is fine. I understand, and don't push you. But there's a lot of pressure on you, and whenever you do get time alone with me, you pick fights. Again, I understand and I stick by you, because I know how much you're going through.
"And the end of the world, it brings out something in people. Hedonism. The aftermath ain't fucking coming. So you, you're stressed, right? And you need a way to get rid of it, and that with all that fighting, you've grown to resent me, and I'm not able to be your fucking respite anymore. But you know who can? Cassandra. And Melody. And Jane. Anyone else but me. And you're drinking constantly. I mean right now, you drink a lot, and I know that. But this guy? He doesn't even remember what water tastes like.
"So do me a favor, Dean. When you get back to your time, get the fuck out of my life."
You stood up and turned back to the man lying on your bed, and your voice softened. Back into medic mode. It wasn't until now that he heard the lack of emotion behind it. That was some deeply impersonal bedside manners. "Stay here. I'll be back to check on you in a few hours. I'll sleep in Chuck's cabin tonight."
"Y/N---"
The sound of the door slamming shut interrupted him, and he cursed under his breath. There was a long silence between the two versions of the same man. They were both steaming. Dean wanted to kill him. He wanted to go over there and strangle him while he was in too much pain to defend himself.
"You. Fucking. Bastard."
"Shut up."
"You son of a bitch. You stupid piece of shit!"
"Shut up!"
Dean was on his feet, stepping towards the bed slowly and angrily. His fists were clenched so hard his knuckles were white. "She was the best thing that ever happened to your sorry ass!"
Against doctor's orders, the older man began to sit up. "I know, goddammit."
"Clearly you fucking don't. Even I can see that you still treat her like crap!"
Now he was standing, too, and the two of them were screaming in each other's faces. "You don't know shit. I work my ass off every day to keep her alive! I protect her! I keep her safe from what's out there, and I scare away the scumbags that are in here! I do a hell of a lot more for her than you're doing now!"
"You really think any of that shit matters? Have you seen her? She's angry and she's numb and she's alone! She's damn near dead inside and that's your fault! You ruined her!"
Next came a swift blow to the face, and the man from 2009 was out like a light.
He avoided himself for the next couple of days. He didn't know what to say to you, so he said nothing, just watching you go about your business from afar. He found himself getting pissed every time you went into your cabin to check on the man who'd broken your heart. God, how he resented your job. He put himself to work, partially to earn his keep and partially to distract himself from... everything.
A few times, you left the cabin with your face red from obvious anger. Others, you'd come out with puffy eyes that you attempted to hide by ducking your head. Usually, you'd walk out with the same stony face you'd watched him with the first time this version of you laid eyes on him. He could only assume that your monologue had changed things between you and future him. You must have been talking if he was getting a reaction out of you.
On the last day that he was in your universe, he was told he was going on a mission with a few other people, including his future self. Many people had warned against him doing anything while his leg was still in such a fragile state, but the second you allowed him to walk on it for an extended period, he insisted on killing the devil.
Dean caught you talking to him while everyone was preparing to go. You were holding the guy's bag, and giving him a face Dean recognized instantly. He'd seen it so many times before and after hunts: you were annoyed and scared. He wouldn't have blamed you, really, if it weren't for the person you were talking to. You should have hated his guts. You should have hoped he'd die on this mission, but you didn't. You were worried about him. You didn't want him to go.
Dean watched in near horror as his hand reached up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin soothingly. You were letting him. You didn't even look like you minded it. He felt Cas sidle up beside him.
"They're working on it," he said. His eyes flickered over to the other man before looking back at you two. "It's slow-going, but he's been apologizing a lot, and she's been listening."
"Do you think she'll forgive him?"
"Maybe. It will take a while if she does, but she knows he's trying, and it looks like she's letting him." One corner of his mouth quirked up. "Only time will tell how serious he is, but I have hope."
Dean would hate to admit it, but he had hope too. He didn't want to; he wanted to want you to tell him to choke. You deserved better than him. But still, the idea of the two of you being in love again, and having a happy ending, made his heart hurt just a little less.
As he approached the trucks, he caught the tail end of your conversation.
"Stubborn ass."
The soft thud of a bag being shoved into a chest.
"I know, sweetheart."
Some things don't change.
---
It was May 2010 when you heard Dean's voice again.
He'd seen the end. He'd seen himself ruin you, and he'd seen himself die the second he had a sliver of your heart back. He followed your instructions and removed himself from your life, but he didn't have it in him to promise to do it forever - just until he knew that Lucifer was wrong, that everything he'd seen wasn't inevitable. He had to know that it all - the Croatoan outbreak, the apocalypse, your heartbreak - wasn't going to happen. He had to stop it first.
It was May 2010 when you heard Dean's voice again.
It was a voicemail, and it was brief. He didn't leave a name or number, but he didn't have to. Seven months and thirteen days, and you recognized that voice as easily as ever.
"Y/N, I love you."