“Yep,” Sam said, showing you the brown paper bag he was carrying. “We got the popcorn–,”
“The drinks,” Dean put in, raising the two six pack of beers he had in each hand. He flashed you a self-satisfied smile when you gave him a thumbs-up in approval.
Ignoring his brother’s interruption, Sam went on saying, “–the Kit Kats, the pecan pie, and that crap Dean calls food.”
“Dude, licorice’s not crap,” Dean replied, rolling his eyes. “We’ve been through this, it’s classic movie–”
A thunderous crash had you three stop dead on your tracks and looking to your right towards the source of the commotion. Sam and Dean protectively moved in front of you, blocking the view of the car that had crashed into a pair of trash bins.
You walked around the brothers–bewildered with the scene before them–to have a better look, only to be equally stunned as your eyes landed on the tracks of fire left by the crashed vehicle.
“Um, guys,” you began, “is it just me or is that…”
“A silver DeLorean with fire tracks behind it?” Dean finished for you, disbelief and confusion visible in his eyes. He turned to look at Sam, who shrugged. “What the–”
“We made it, Doc!” A male voice shouted from within the car. “The future’s safe again!”
The passenger’s door was opened and from it popped an old man’s head, his hair white and windblown. “Great Scott! It does look like it.”
Before you knew it, the old man with shaggy hair was addressing you. “Hey, you standing there. Please tell me today’s date is the twenty-first of October of two thousand fifteen.”