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.
