Never See Us Coming
Title: Never See Us Coming
Author: tifaching
Recipient:cillab42
Rating: PG
Warnings: Season 9 spoilers
Word count: 4146
Thank you to my lovely beta
ephermeralk for doing such a stellar job. Any and all remaining mistakes are my own.
Written for spn_summergen 2014. These characters belong to the CW and their creators. I'm just playing in their sandbox.
Summary: Of all the relatives Sam was afraid would track him down, this was the last one he expected.
Sam loses Mark in the produce section of the local S-Mart, toppling a watermelon display at his cousin’s feet and ducking out through the loading bay while the other man is slip sliding in juicy red pulp. Christian will be watching his car so Sam simply boosts another; through the lock, hotwired and out of the parking lot before cousin number two even realizes what’s up. Gwen’s the relative he’ll have to watch out for. She’s generally too sharp to fall for his tricks, but even she’s never been able to tail him all the way home. Sam can’t figure out why they even try any more. He always comes back to the compound eventually and if Samuel wants eyes on him twenty- four seven, the old man’s shit out of luck.
He heads northeast out of town because Gwen will be waiting in the opposite direction, just shy of the point she lost him last time. She’s good, but kind of predictable; it’s obvious none of the Campbells attended the John Winchester School of Losing a Tail. Mentally tallying the cars that lag behind, those that hang in front and those who pass, Sam figures no one’s tag teaming him and swings around, heading south on a route that will take him well west of where Gwen would be lurking. Afternoon fades to dusk and then full dark, headlights appearing and disappearing as Sam weaves his way through a maze of roads that would give the most experienced secret agent agita until only his car is left, working its way in the pitch dark along a rutted forest path. Except for his own lights, there’s nothing visible but trees, and if any vehicle managed to stay with him this far, its driver isn’t human. Because Sam is also an honors graduate of the Winchester/Singer School of Securing Your Perimeter (masterclass in angelproofing courtesy of Castiel), anything supernatural managing to arrive here with him won’t be a problem either. Not for long, anyway.
Tapping the brakes enough to slow down a fraction, Sam takes a sharp right between two oak trees and feels the familiar small bump of salt filled pipes beneath the car’s tires. He pulls to a stop in the concrete dooryard and kills the headlights as motion detecting halogen lamps click on. The cabin’s set on posts in the center of a giant devil’s trap that it took Sam weeks to get right. He’s found that not needing to sleep is amazing for getting things done. The lights illuminate his surroundings all the way to the forbidding wall of trees looming over the clearing. Sam takes a slow trip around the cabin, carefully searching for security breaches, but the salt lines are intact and the trap is secure. None of his wards have been tripped and he turns his attention to the more mundane, human focused alerts he’s got scattered around. This place is his haven, where he comes when he needs the world- Bobby and Samuel included, to just mind its own fucking business. The paint chips on the windowsills are undisturbed and the door has strands of his hair stuck in all the right places. Still, he’s not satisfied. An uneasy feeling of being watched tickles his hind-brain, a familiar smell hovers just at the edge of his senses. Easing his gun into one hand, he unlocks the door and flips the light switch as he quickly steps inside, stopping dead just beyond the threshold because of all the relatives he’d been worried about tracking him down, this one was at the very bottom of the list.
“Heya, Sammy,” Dean says, tilting back in the cabin’s one rickety chair until Sam’s sure he’s going to tip over and crack his skull, taking Sam’s only place to sit with him. “Long time, no see.”
“Dean,” Sam says, slowly, because even if this thing looks like his brother, from the tips of his carefully gelled hair to the toes of his scuffed work boots, of course it isn’t, even though he’s got no clue how someone who wasn’t taught the exact same way he was wormed his way through his so thoroughly set up defenses.
“In the flesh,” Dean responds, spreading his arms wide. He still got the chair balanced on two legs, isn’t sending it crashing back to the floor so he can take those spread arms and wrap them around Sam in a big old bear hug. That gives Sam some pause, but it isn’t like he’s rushing forward to do the whole hugging thing either, so there’s that.
“Huh.” Sam raises the gun. He's ready for anything, has his weapon loaded with silver and consecrated iron rounds. “Whatever you are, this is gonna hurt.”
Dean puts his hands up and slowly lowers the chair to all four legs before leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, the gun pointed at his chest not fazing him at all. “You’re going to shoot me?” A smile flashes across his face as he again spreads his arms. “Well, wouldn’t be the first time, right? Go ahead if it’ll get your panties out of that knot you’ve got them tied in. But I’d really appreciate it if you’d tell me why you’re so goddamned sure that I’m not who I say I am before you blow me full of holes.”
“I saw Dean last week. He looked like shit warmed over. And you….”
“Yeah, staring through the bottom of a bottle at a life you can’t wait to be done with doesn’t really produce a nice healthy glow, does it? But it’s amazing what a few years will do for a man. He might get past it. I look good, don’t I?”
Sam thinks there aren’t enough eons left in the universe to make his brother look as good as whoever this flannel and denim encased man in front of him is. He searches through his memories, no more than reels of home movies from someone else’s life now, and in none of them is Dean so totally relaxed, his smile as carefree, a manic kind of sparkle in his eyes. To get this Dean, you’d have to start over from scratch. “So,” Sam begins slowly because a shifter couldn’t get in, and nothing in this place can warp his mind, “you’re some sort of alternate dimension Dean?”
Dean bursts into laughter, shaking his head and flexing his fingers on his knees. “Nah, but I’ve met an alternate me. You wouldn’t like him, Sammy, he was no fun at all. I’m from this suck ass dimension, just came from a few years up the road, that’s all.”
“A few years…” Sam’s eyes dart around the room. “Cas brought you?”
Dean’s laughter tapers off into a smile so sharp Sam can almost feel blood oozing from the slices it leaves behind. It’s dark and vicious, and in spite of hunting and death and hell it’s no version of Dean that Sam has ever even imagined. “Cas and I aren’t really tight anymore,” Dean says, and Sam tries to navigate the venomous undercurrents in his voice. “I got someone else to give me a lift.”
“Another angel? Who? Is it still around? And how the hell did it get in past the wards?” Sam’s not afraid of angels, but staying off their radar is a totally different thing than being scared.
“No one you know. And definitely no one to worry about. Angels in the future aren’t what they used to be, that’s for sure. It dropped me off down the road a bit. And no, it’s not still around.” Dean chuckles, low and nasty. “I sent it home. To Jesus.”
Sam huffs out an amused laugh, never taking his eyes off the other man. “You’re not Dean.”
“Not any more than you’re Sam. But I used to be Dean, just like you used to be his brother.”
Sam’s mind cycles through all the possibilities in a matter of seconds. “Christo.”
Dean’s eyes remain resolutely green. “Damn, but you still got it kiddo.” Slowly, making it clear that what’s happening is his own doing and none of Sam’s, Dean’s eyes bleed over into pure black.
“Regna terrae...,” Sam spits the words like bullets from the gun that for some reason he still hasn’t fired. The black doesn’t fade and he feels that dark gaze trying to suck him in, as the scent he’d almost recognized earlier gnaws at his memory.
“Won’t work, Sam,” Dean says, and there might be a trace of tightness in his voice, a bit of stress in his posture but if the exorcism had any effect other than those, Sam can’t see what it is. “I’m not possessed.”
Sam draws Ruby’s knife and Dean just grins, rolling to his feet in one smooth motion and pulling what looks like the fucking jawbone of an ass from behind his back. Sam’s quick these days, but Dean’s got him pressed against the wall, weapon hard against Sam’s throat, and Sam barely saw him move.
“Look down,” Sam says, trying to keep his Adam’s apple as still as possible.
Dean’s gaze drops to the blade Sam’s got angled to slide under his sternum and his smile heats up. “Still got that bitch’s pig sticker, huh? Okay, then. On the count of three, Sammy,” he says. “In to the hilts.” His whisper is molten sulfur against Sam’s skin. “Let’s see who’s more dead when we’re done.”
Nothing gives Sam a bigger rush than ganking a demon and he rams the knife home, twisting it as hot blood runs over his hand and Dean lights up like a Christmas tree. Except he doesn’t, as his hand itches to move, Dean’s smile sears his eyes and the imaginary blood makes his mouth water. “He wouldn’t want this,” Sam says, but the words are by rote, toneless.
“What, us offing each other?”
“To be a demon.”
“Yeah, well, you think old Sam would throw you a party if he showed up right now?”
“I..”
“He’d be horrified by what you’re doing with his body, in his name. Trust me. Horrified. Brow furrowed, hand wringing, guilt tripping…you know the score. Hey.” Dean’s eyes are green again, earnest as his free hand comes up to cup Sam’s chin, the blade pressed against Sam’s throat not letting up a bit. “You want to go jump off the rim of the Grand Canyon together? Put both our old selves out of misery they’re not even in anymore? “
Sam can’t help the laugh that bursts from his chest, doesn’t realize what he’s done until he feels blood trickling under his collar. Dean steps back, lowering the knife, smile blazing.
“I mean, I feel great. How do you feel?”
“I’ve never felt better. I’m fine.” Something flickers in Dean’s eyes and Sam brings a finger up to rub at the paper thin slice across his throat, though he’s certain that’s not what Dean’s worried about. “But Dean…I mean…you didn’t…’put him out of his misery’ before you showed up here, did you?”
“Do you care? No, don’t bother pretending to think about that, I’ll answer it for you. You don’t. You only care if he’s useful to you. Well, I can answer that too. He isn’t. In fact, he’s the opposite of useful and you’ll stay far away from him if you know what’s good for you. But me? I’m right on your wavelength, Sammy. You and me, we can do great things together.”
Sam’s grip on the knife hasn’t loosened, mostly because he’s still not sure if he’s going to use it. He watches through narrowed eyes as Dean circles the tiny room, snapping open the guns Sam’s got laid out on a dresser to check the chambers before nodding his approval. He peers out the window then, side-eyeing the chair, he shoves Sam’s laptop out of the way and hoists himself onto the table. He’s got his own blade in a double handed death grip as he perches there, swinging his legs and staring at Sam expectantly.
“You didn’t answer the question,” Sam finally says and Dean rolls his eyes.
“He’s fine,” Dean says with a snicker as his lips twist up. “For a given value of fine. I can’t say what’s going to happen, though, because it’s going to be different. Maybe he’ll get past his shit. Maybe he’ll have a couple of rugrats with Gumby and kick it years from now in his recliner, dandling a grandkid on his knee. Maybe he’ll burn out his liver or put a bullet through his brain before he’s thirty-five. I don’t know. But he won’t die from anything I do.” He shakes his head and sighs. “Mostly because I’m only about ninety percent positive that if he dies I won’t go poof too. In fact, to keep him off certain people’s radars, you and me might have to save him from a few things.”
“There is no ‘you and me’,” Sam says, though he kind of sort of wants there to be. And then, because sometimes he remembers how he’s supposed to act. “What ‘certain people’? What things?”
Dean’s lip curls again, but this time it’s not in humor. “Some things never change,“ he mutters, shaking his head as he slides off the table. A totally expressionless gaze lands on Sam for a few moments and then Dean’s all smiles again. “Nice place you’ve got here. For a hermit. Why are you out here in this middle of nowhere craphole instead of shacking up with some chick in a nice comfy motel?”
“Motels are easy to trace.”
Dean’s gaze sharpens. “You hiding from someone there, Sam?”
Sam’s shrug is a study in nonchalance. “What people? What things?”
Dean huffs out a laugh, letting Sam avoid the question. "Well, there’s, us, for starters. And there is an us, Sam, because there’s you and there’s me. So. Us. We sure as hell have to stay off his radar. His head’s not in the game right now, but it can get back in it in a hurry. And it will if he finds out you’re alive or that I even exist.”
“So tell me why I shouldn’t team up with him instead. He’s my actual brother and he’s not a demon.”
“Yeah, that’s kind of the rub. If you were actually Sam he’d be your actual brother. But you’re not. And he’s gonna figure that out real fast if you hook up with him instead. Real fast.”
“So…what? He’ll head back to Lisa and that will be that. I mean, what can he really do?”
“What can he really do? What can he really do? Jesus Christ, Sam.” Dean’s blade slashes air as he gesticulates wildly. “He’s Dean Fucking Winchester and he always does something. Even if no one else in the world ever realizes that I’d think you would.”
Sam thinks of all the kills Dean’s made against impossible odds. He thinks of the surprise on Azazel’s face when Dean pulled the trigger and Lucifer’s annoyed realization that Sam’s brother wasn’t going to let him go without a fight. “He never gives up.”
“Yahtzee,” Dean says. “He especially never gives up on you. And he’ll see something’s wrong and he’ll be like a dog with a bone until he figures out what it is. And then he won’t stop digging until he figures out how to fix it.”
“There’s nothing wrong with me,” Sam says.
“No, there isn’t, but he wouldn’t agree. There’s part of you missing, a part you don’t need and he’s going to find it and stuff it back inside and it’ll bring hell right along with it. You’ll have Lucifer here,” Dean whacks his blade against his temple, “running an annoying monologue twenty-four seven until you’re a drooling mental case who can’t figure out what’s real and what’s not.” He pauses for a second, grimacing. “And things would only go downhill from there.”
Sam purses his lips and nods. It sounds like a scenario he’d like to have happen exactly never. But. “Hard to imagine how it could get worse.”
“Trust me.”
“Yeah,” Sam says. “About that. Last time a demon wormed its way onto my good side Dean kept reminding me that demons lie.”
“He also said they told the truth.”
“If it suited their purposes.”
“Still the truth, Sam.”
“Just because I’m not hunting with Dean doesn’t mean I have to hunt with you. I do have other options.” There’s a trickle of red seeping along Dean’s hairline and down his cheek from where the blade made contact and Sam rips his eyes from it to face Dean’s feral grin.
“You mean Grampa Campbell and his master race of hunters? That’s not going to work out either.”
“Because you say so.”
“Because he’s working for a demon.”
Sam turns this over in his mind. “And again. I should believe this because you say so? Why would he do that?”
“Because the new king of hell told him he’d give him his daughter back.”
“His daughter? Mom?”
“Mom.”
“And you don’t want this to happen?”
“Do you?”
Sam thinks about a woman he’s never really met, the mother who sold him to Azazel before he was even born. “I don’t care one way or the other.”
Dean nods. “Me either. I care about you and me, and what we can accomplish together. We’re supposed to be a team.”
“I’m a hunter, Dean.”
“I can work with that,” Dean says with a shrug.
“You’re interested in fighting evil.”
“I’m interested in fighting. Humans are fun to play with and all but they’re not much of a challenge. There’s a big bad evil on the way that’ll be something I can sink my teeth into, Sam, and that’s all I’m looking for.”
“There’s always a big bad evil on the way.” Sam leans back against the wall and folds his arms, knife tucked neatly under one armpit. “You could have gone back to when all this first started. Or before Jake killed me or you went to hell. Why now?”
Dean stares at Sam, flipping his blade in a mesmerizing circle. “I could have gone back to when Yellow Eyes targeted Mom. There sure as hell wouldn’t have been anybody who could have stopped me back then. But there were plans within plans, Sam, you know that. It wouldn’t have made a difference in the end. Except to make us civilians who couldn’t defend ourselves when the shit hit the fan. As for any time later, you think Dad wouldn’t have put me down? Or Dean? Or you? You all would have sure as hell tried, and it would have screwed up the here and now, Sam. Because it all had to happen for you to be what you are today.”
Sam thinks back to his time with his cousins. “A conscienceless, amoral, sociopath?”
“Exactly. And Samuel’s only going to put up with that for so long.”
“Huh.” Sam eyes the thin stream of blood that’s running down Dean’s neck to stain the collar of his shirt. “And what about you? Don’t things have to ‘go downhill’ from here for you to be what you are today?”
“That’s the beauty of it, Sammy. They already have. And after the shit was done hitting the fan, I snagged myself an angel for some up close and personal time and got the hell out of Dodge.”
“I’m not sure it works that way.”
“Are you sure that it doesn’t? I don’t remember you getting a degree in time travel management.”
“Theoretical physics, Dean. And no, I’m not sure. I suppose we’ll find out.”
“I suppose we will.”
“The Sam then isn’t someone you can hunt with, I’m guessing.”
“No.” The answer is terse and rich with back story. Sam wants to pick at whatever rotten core is behind it, but he can wait. This Dean’s made it pretty clear he’s not going anywhere.
“So, you’re here and I’m here. What’s the plan?”
“Well, first off, we’re going to hunt us some Djinn.”
“Djinn. Really? That’s the big bad evil that’s coming?”
Dean snorts as his fingers caress the teeth of his blade. “Well, it’s a small bad evil that’s coming for you and Dean in particular because you took out a family member a few years ago. And if we don’t head them off at the pass they’re going to put Dean squarely in Samuel’s sights. I’m guessing that you’ve kept him out of it so far?” Sam nods and Dean continues. “Well, in the soon to be alternate past, they got you and him both.”
“How’d we get out of it?”
“Samuel has a cure.”
“Yeah? Well, he’s got a library that you’ve got to see to believe. Probably got a cure for everything in there.”
“Oh, I know where there’s better research materials than any Samuel ever dreamed of.” Dean’s eyes glitter as he stares at Sam. “Not a good old boy like him from such a fine upstanding hunter family. And yeah, he’s got a few cures that may or may not turn out to be useful. Anyway, we’re going to head these Djinn off at the pass and make them a bloody and very loud message about what happens if you go after any Winchesters. A message we’ll repeat as many times as we need to until it sinks in.”
“Well, I’m all for slaughtering some Djinn.” Sam’s nostrils flare subtly and his tongue unconsciously flicks over his lips. “Then what?”
“Then you bring me into Samuel’s operation. Tell him you changed your mind; that I’ll be an asset they can use. You’ll see I’m telling the truth about him and we’ll bring the whole thing crashing down on his arrogant bald head. They never saw us coming when you were you and I was just plain old human. Now? They don’t stand a chance.”
“Place is warded to the rafters, Dean. No way you’re getting in.”
“Got through your wards, didn’t I? They’re already working with demons, Sam, their wards are not going to be functional. And they’ve been infiltrated by at least one low level hell bitch so far. No way they’re keeping me out. “
“And what, exactly, is so special about you?” Sam steps forward, unable to help himself as the scent of sulfur laced blood overwhelms him. He comes to an abrupt halt after only a few steps with the point of Dean’s blade against his chest.
“Not quite yet, Sammy.” Dean’s voice is soft and dangerous. “Maybe not ever if we don’t play well together.”
Sam nods and with more effort than he’s expended on anything in months, he steps back. “So…what is so special about you?”
Dean’s lips quirk up as he gazes at Sam from under his lashes. “You gonna tell me all your deepest darkest secrets after we’ve only just met?”
Sam shakes his head and remains silent. If this demon version of Dean doesn’t want to spill his guts then Sam sure as hell isn’t going to either. He can’t figure out why Samuel and the others get so bent out of shape over his methods, but they do and not sharing them with the class seems to work out well for everyone. “We’ll have to make some changes to this place,” he says, glancing around the cabin. “Apparently you learned some things in the future about wards that could come in handy.”
“Oh, we’re not staying here.” Dean pulls a key ring out of his pocket and twirls it around his finger.
When nothing more is forthcoming, Sam sighs. “Well, you’ve got a key. It must fit a lock somewhere, right?”
“Yup. A lock on the door of the best hiding place ever. Been abandoned for years and nothing supernatural,” Dean pauses and grins, “well, almost nothing supernatural, gets in and out without permission and it’s got freakin’ vaults full of stuff we can play with. Used to belong to a group of egg heads that tried to do with their brains what hunters did by getting their hands dirty. Then they bit off more than they could chew and choked on it. Your future self was orgasming all over the place from, you know, knowledge. You’re going to love it there too.”
Sam turns Dean’s words over and over in his head. Samuel could probably give him a million reasons why he shouldn’t go along with this plan but Sam can’t think of even one that makes sense to him in any way. “Sounds like my kind of place.”
“So, you’re okay with this?” Dean swipes a finger through the blood drying on his face. “Us working together?”
Sam’s stomach gives a little gurgle as saliva fills his mouth. “With the understanding that if any of this is bullshit I will end you.”
Dean laughs and nods in approval. “Right back at you, little brother.”
Sam sticks out his hand. “Partners,” he says firmly.
Dean’s eyes go dark, his gaze opaque and unreadable as he grips Sam’s hand tightly. “Partners."
Author: tifaching
Recipient:cillab42
Rating: PG
Warnings: Season 9 spoilers
Word count: 4146
Thank you to my lovely beta
ephermeralk for doing such a stellar job. Any and all remaining mistakes are my own.
Written for spn_summergen 2014. These characters belong to the CW and their creators. I'm just playing in their sandbox.
Summary: Of all the relatives Sam was afraid would track him down, this was the last one he expected.
Sam loses Mark in the produce section of the local S-Mart, toppling a watermelon display at his cousin’s feet and ducking out through the loading bay while the other man is slip sliding in juicy red pulp. Christian will be watching his car so Sam simply boosts another; through the lock, hotwired and out of the parking lot before cousin number two even realizes what’s up. Gwen’s the relative he’ll have to watch out for. She’s generally too sharp to fall for his tricks, but even she’s never been able to tail him all the way home. Sam can’t figure out why they even try any more. He always comes back to the compound eventually and if Samuel wants eyes on him twenty- four seven, the old man’s shit out of luck.
He heads northeast out of town because Gwen will be waiting in the opposite direction, just shy of the point she lost him last time. She’s good, but kind of predictable; it’s obvious none of the Campbells attended the John Winchester School of Losing a Tail. Mentally tallying the cars that lag behind, those that hang in front and those who pass, Sam figures no one’s tag teaming him and swings around, heading south on a route that will take him well west of where Gwen would be lurking. Afternoon fades to dusk and then full dark, headlights appearing and disappearing as Sam weaves his way through a maze of roads that would give the most experienced secret agent agita until only his car is left, working its way in the pitch dark along a rutted forest path. Except for his own lights, there’s nothing visible but trees, and if any vehicle managed to stay with him this far, its driver isn’t human. Because Sam is also an honors graduate of the Winchester/Singer School of Securing Your Perimeter (masterclass in angelproofing courtesy of Castiel), anything supernatural managing to arrive here with him won’t be a problem either. Not for long, anyway.
Tapping the brakes enough to slow down a fraction, Sam takes a sharp right between two oak trees and feels the familiar small bump of salt filled pipes beneath the car’s tires. He pulls to a stop in the concrete dooryard and kills the headlights as motion detecting halogen lamps click on. The cabin’s set on posts in the center of a giant devil’s trap that it took Sam weeks to get right. He’s found that not needing to sleep is amazing for getting things done. The lights illuminate his surroundings all the way to the forbidding wall of trees looming over the clearing. Sam takes a slow trip around the cabin, carefully searching for security breaches, but the salt lines are intact and the trap is secure. None of his wards have been tripped and he turns his attention to the more mundane, human focused alerts he’s got scattered around. This place is his haven, where he comes when he needs the world- Bobby and Samuel included, to just mind its own fucking business. The paint chips on the windowsills are undisturbed and the door has strands of his hair stuck in all the right places. Still, he’s not satisfied. An uneasy feeling of being watched tickles his hind-brain, a familiar smell hovers just at the edge of his senses. Easing his gun into one hand, he unlocks the door and flips the light switch as he quickly steps inside, stopping dead just beyond the threshold because of all the relatives he’d been worried about tracking him down, this one was at the very bottom of the list.
“Heya, Sammy,” Dean says, tilting back in the cabin’s one rickety chair until Sam’s sure he’s going to tip over and crack his skull, taking Sam’s only place to sit with him. “Long time, no see.”
“Dean,” Sam says, slowly, because even if this thing looks like his brother, from the tips of his carefully gelled hair to the toes of his scuffed work boots, of course it isn’t, even though he’s got no clue how someone who wasn’t taught the exact same way he was wormed his way through his so thoroughly set up defenses.
“In the flesh,” Dean responds, spreading his arms wide. He still got the chair balanced on two legs, isn’t sending it crashing back to the floor so he can take those spread arms and wrap them around Sam in a big old bear hug. That gives Sam some pause, but it isn’t like he’s rushing forward to do the whole hugging thing either, so there’s that.
“Huh.” Sam raises the gun. He's ready for anything, has his weapon loaded with silver and consecrated iron rounds. “Whatever you are, this is gonna hurt.”
Dean puts his hands up and slowly lowers the chair to all four legs before leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, the gun pointed at his chest not fazing him at all. “You’re going to shoot me?” A smile flashes across his face as he again spreads his arms. “Well, wouldn’t be the first time, right? Go ahead if it’ll get your panties out of that knot you’ve got them tied in. But I’d really appreciate it if you’d tell me why you’re so goddamned sure that I’m not who I say I am before you blow me full of holes.”
“I saw Dean last week. He looked like shit warmed over. And you….”
“Yeah, staring through the bottom of a bottle at a life you can’t wait to be done with doesn’t really produce a nice healthy glow, does it? But it’s amazing what a few years will do for a man. He might get past it. I look good, don’t I?”
Sam thinks there aren’t enough eons left in the universe to make his brother look as good as whoever this flannel and denim encased man in front of him is. He searches through his memories, no more than reels of home movies from someone else’s life now, and in none of them is Dean so totally relaxed, his smile as carefree, a manic kind of sparkle in his eyes. To get this Dean, you’d have to start over from scratch. “So,” Sam begins slowly because a shifter couldn’t get in, and nothing in this place can warp his mind, “you’re some sort of alternate dimension Dean?”
Dean bursts into laughter, shaking his head and flexing his fingers on his knees. “Nah, but I’ve met an alternate me. You wouldn’t like him, Sammy, he was no fun at all. I’m from this suck ass dimension, just came from a few years up the road, that’s all.”
“A few years…” Sam’s eyes dart around the room. “Cas brought you?”
Dean’s laughter tapers off into a smile so sharp Sam can almost feel blood oozing from the slices it leaves behind. It’s dark and vicious, and in spite of hunting and death and hell it’s no version of Dean that Sam has ever even imagined. “Cas and I aren’t really tight anymore,” Dean says, and Sam tries to navigate the venomous undercurrents in his voice. “I got someone else to give me a lift.”
“Another angel? Who? Is it still around? And how the hell did it get in past the wards?” Sam’s not afraid of angels, but staying off their radar is a totally different thing than being scared.
“No one you know. And definitely no one to worry about. Angels in the future aren’t what they used to be, that’s for sure. It dropped me off down the road a bit. And no, it’s not still around.” Dean chuckles, low and nasty. “I sent it home. To Jesus.”
Sam huffs out an amused laugh, never taking his eyes off the other man. “You’re not Dean.”
“Not any more than you’re Sam. But I used to be Dean, just like you used to be his brother.”
Sam’s mind cycles through all the possibilities in a matter of seconds. “Christo.”
Dean’s eyes remain resolutely green. “Damn, but you still got it kiddo.” Slowly, making it clear that what’s happening is his own doing and none of Sam’s, Dean’s eyes bleed over into pure black.
“Regna terrae...,” Sam spits the words like bullets from the gun that for some reason he still hasn’t fired. The black doesn’t fade and he feels that dark gaze trying to suck him in, as the scent he’d almost recognized earlier gnaws at his memory.
“Won’t work, Sam,” Dean says, and there might be a trace of tightness in his voice, a bit of stress in his posture but if the exorcism had any effect other than those, Sam can’t see what it is. “I’m not possessed.”
Sam draws Ruby’s knife and Dean just grins, rolling to his feet in one smooth motion and pulling what looks like the fucking jawbone of an ass from behind his back. Sam’s quick these days, but Dean’s got him pressed against the wall, weapon hard against Sam’s throat, and Sam barely saw him move.
“Look down,” Sam says, trying to keep his Adam’s apple as still as possible.
Dean’s gaze drops to the blade Sam’s got angled to slide under his sternum and his smile heats up. “Still got that bitch’s pig sticker, huh? Okay, then. On the count of three, Sammy,” he says. “In to the hilts.” His whisper is molten sulfur against Sam’s skin. “Let’s see who’s more dead when we’re done.”
Nothing gives Sam a bigger rush than ganking a demon and he rams the knife home, twisting it as hot blood runs over his hand and Dean lights up like a Christmas tree. Except he doesn’t, as his hand itches to move, Dean’s smile sears his eyes and the imaginary blood makes his mouth water. “He wouldn’t want this,” Sam says, but the words are by rote, toneless.
“What, us offing each other?”
“To be a demon.”
“Yeah, well, you think old Sam would throw you a party if he showed up right now?”
“I..”
“He’d be horrified by what you’re doing with his body, in his name. Trust me. Horrified. Brow furrowed, hand wringing, guilt tripping…you know the score. Hey.” Dean’s eyes are green again, earnest as his free hand comes up to cup Sam’s chin, the blade pressed against Sam’s throat not letting up a bit. “You want to go jump off the rim of the Grand Canyon together? Put both our old selves out of misery they’re not even in anymore? “
Sam can’t help the laugh that bursts from his chest, doesn’t realize what he’s done until he feels blood trickling under his collar. Dean steps back, lowering the knife, smile blazing.
“I mean, I feel great. How do you feel?”
“I’ve never felt better. I’m fine.” Something flickers in Dean’s eyes and Sam brings a finger up to rub at the paper thin slice across his throat, though he’s certain that’s not what Dean’s worried about. “But Dean…I mean…you didn’t…’put him out of his misery’ before you showed up here, did you?”
“Do you care? No, don’t bother pretending to think about that, I’ll answer it for you. You don’t. You only care if he’s useful to you. Well, I can answer that too. He isn’t. In fact, he’s the opposite of useful and you’ll stay far away from him if you know what’s good for you. But me? I’m right on your wavelength, Sammy. You and me, we can do great things together.”
Sam’s grip on the knife hasn’t loosened, mostly because he’s still not sure if he’s going to use it. He watches through narrowed eyes as Dean circles the tiny room, snapping open the guns Sam’s got laid out on a dresser to check the chambers before nodding his approval. He peers out the window then, side-eyeing the chair, he shoves Sam’s laptop out of the way and hoists himself onto the table. He’s got his own blade in a double handed death grip as he perches there, swinging his legs and staring at Sam expectantly.
“You didn’t answer the question,” Sam finally says and Dean rolls his eyes.
“He’s fine,” Dean says with a snicker as his lips twist up. “For a given value of fine. I can’t say what’s going to happen, though, because it’s going to be different. Maybe he’ll get past his shit. Maybe he’ll have a couple of rugrats with Gumby and kick it years from now in his recliner, dandling a grandkid on his knee. Maybe he’ll burn out his liver or put a bullet through his brain before he’s thirty-five. I don’t know. But he won’t die from anything I do.” He shakes his head and sighs. “Mostly because I’m only about ninety percent positive that if he dies I won’t go poof too. In fact, to keep him off certain people’s radars, you and me might have to save him from a few things.”
“There is no ‘you and me’,” Sam says, though he kind of sort of wants there to be. And then, because sometimes he remembers how he’s supposed to act. “What ‘certain people’? What things?”
Dean’s lip curls again, but this time it’s not in humor. “Some things never change,“ he mutters, shaking his head as he slides off the table. A totally expressionless gaze lands on Sam for a few moments and then Dean’s all smiles again. “Nice place you’ve got here. For a hermit. Why are you out here in this middle of nowhere craphole instead of shacking up with some chick in a nice comfy motel?”
“Motels are easy to trace.”
Dean’s gaze sharpens. “You hiding from someone there, Sam?”
Sam’s shrug is a study in nonchalance. “What people? What things?”
Dean huffs out a laugh, letting Sam avoid the question. "Well, there’s, us, for starters. And there is an us, Sam, because there’s you and there’s me. So. Us. We sure as hell have to stay off his radar. His head’s not in the game right now, but it can get back in it in a hurry. And it will if he finds out you’re alive or that I even exist.”
“So tell me why I shouldn’t team up with him instead. He’s my actual brother and he’s not a demon.”
“Yeah, that’s kind of the rub. If you were actually Sam he’d be your actual brother. But you’re not. And he’s gonna figure that out real fast if you hook up with him instead. Real fast.”
“So…what? He’ll head back to Lisa and that will be that. I mean, what can he really do?”
“What can he really do? What can he really do? Jesus Christ, Sam.” Dean’s blade slashes air as he gesticulates wildly. “He’s Dean Fucking Winchester and he always does something. Even if no one else in the world ever realizes that I’d think you would.”
Sam thinks of all the kills Dean’s made against impossible odds. He thinks of the surprise on Azazel’s face when Dean pulled the trigger and Lucifer’s annoyed realization that Sam’s brother wasn’t going to let him go without a fight. “He never gives up.”
“Yahtzee,” Dean says. “He especially never gives up on you. And he’ll see something’s wrong and he’ll be like a dog with a bone until he figures out what it is. And then he won’t stop digging until he figures out how to fix it.”
“There’s nothing wrong with me,” Sam says.
“No, there isn’t, but he wouldn’t agree. There’s part of you missing, a part you don’t need and he’s going to find it and stuff it back inside and it’ll bring hell right along with it. You’ll have Lucifer here,” Dean whacks his blade against his temple, “running an annoying monologue twenty-four seven until you’re a drooling mental case who can’t figure out what’s real and what’s not.” He pauses for a second, grimacing. “And things would only go downhill from there.”
Sam purses his lips and nods. It sounds like a scenario he’d like to have happen exactly never. But. “Hard to imagine how it could get worse.”
“Trust me.”
“Yeah,” Sam says. “About that. Last time a demon wormed its way onto my good side Dean kept reminding me that demons lie.”
“He also said they told the truth.”
“If it suited their purposes.”
“Still the truth, Sam.”
“Just because I’m not hunting with Dean doesn’t mean I have to hunt with you. I do have other options.” There’s a trickle of red seeping along Dean’s hairline and down his cheek from where the blade made contact and Sam rips his eyes from it to face Dean’s feral grin.
“You mean Grampa Campbell and his master race of hunters? That’s not going to work out either.”
“Because you say so.”
“Because he’s working for a demon.”
Sam turns this over in his mind. “And again. I should believe this because you say so? Why would he do that?”
“Because the new king of hell told him he’d give him his daughter back.”
“His daughter? Mom?”
“Mom.”
“And you don’t want this to happen?”
“Do you?”
Sam thinks about a woman he’s never really met, the mother who sold him to Azazel before he was even born. “I don’t care one way or the other.”
Dean nods. “Me either. I care about you and me, and what we can accomplish together. We’re supposed to be a team.”
“I’m a hunter, Dean.”
“I can work with that,” Dean says with a shrug.
“You’re interested in fighting evil.”
“I’m interested in fighting. Humans are fun to play with and all but they’re not much of a challenge. There’s a big bad evil on the way that’ll be something I can sink my teeth into, Sam, and that’s all I’m looking for.”
“There’s always a big bad evil on the way.” Sam leans back against the wall and folds his arms, knife tucked neatly under one armpit. “You could have gone back to when all this first started. Or before Jake killed me or you went to hell. Why now?”
Dean stares at Sam, flipping his blade in a mesmerizing circle. “I could have gone back to when Yellow Eyes targeted Mom. There sure as hell wouldn’t have been anybody who could have stopped me back then. But there were plans within plans, Sam, you know that. It wouldn’t have made a difference in the end. Except to make us civilians who couldn’t defend ourselves when the shit hit the fan. As for any time later, you think Dad wouldn’t have put me down? Or Dean? Or you? You all would have sure as hell tried, and it would have screwed up the here and now, Sam. Because it all had to happen for you to be what you are today.”
Sam thinks back to his time with his cousins. “A conscienceless, amoral, sociopath?”
“Exactly. And Samuel’s only going to put up with that for so long.”
“Huh.” Sam eyes the thin stream of blood that’s running down Dean’s neck to stain the collar of his shirt. “And what about you? Don’t things have to ‘go downhill’ from here for you to be what you are today?”
“That’s the beauty of it, Sammy. They already have. And after the shit was done hitting the fan, I snagged myself an angel for some up close and personal time and got the hell out of Dodge.”
“I’m not sure it works that way.”
“Are you sure that it doesn’t? I don’t remember you getting a degree in time travel management.”
“Theoretical physics, Dean. And no, I’m not sure. I suppose we’ll find out.”
“I suppose we will.”
“The Sam then isn’t someone you can hunt with, I’m guessing.”
“No.” The answer is terse and rich with back story. Sam wants to pick at whatever rotten core is behind it, but he can wait. This Dean’s made it pretty clear he’s not going anywhere.
“So, you’re here and I’m here. What’s the plan?”
“Well, first off, we’re going to hunt us some Djinn.”
“Djinn. Really? That’s the big bad evil that’s coming?”
Dean snorts as his fingers caress the teeth of his blade. “Well, it’s a small bad evil that’s coming for you and Dean in particular because you took out a family member a few years ago. And if we don’t head them off at the pass they’re going to put Dean squarely in Samuel’s sights. I’m guessing that you’ve kept him out of it so far?” Sam nods and Dean continues. “Well, in the soon to be alternate past, they got you and him both.”
“How’d we get out of it?”
“Samuel has a cure.”
“Yeah? Well, he’s got a library that you’ve got to see to believe. Probably got a cure for everything in there.”
“Oh, I know where there’s better research materials than any Samuel ever dreamed of.” Dean’s eyes glitter as he stares at Sam. “Not a good old boy like him from such a fine upstanding hunter family. And yeah, he’s got a few cures that may or may not turn out to be useful. Anyway, we’re going to head these Djinn off at the pass and make them a bloody and very loud message about what happens if you go after any Winchesters. A message we’ll repeat as many times as we need to until it sinks in.”
“Well, I’m all for slaughtering some Djinn.” Sam’s nostrils flare subtly and his tongue unconsciously flicks over his lips. “Then what?”
“Then you bring me into Samuel’s operation. Tell him you changed your mind; that I’ll be an asset they can use. You’ll see I’m telling the truth about him and we’ll bring the whole thing crashing down on his arrogant bald head. They never saw us coming when you were you and I was just plain old human. Now? They don’t stand a chance.”
“Place is warded to the rafters, Dean. No way you’re getting in.”
“Got through your wards, didn’t I? They’re already working with demons, Sam, their wards are not going to be functional. And they’ve been infiltrated by at least one low level hell bitch so far. No way they’re keeping me out. “
“And what, exactly, is so special about you?” Sam steps forward, unable to help himself as the scent of sulfur laced blood overwhelms him. He comes to an abrupt halt after only a few steps with the point of Dean’s blade against his chest.
“Not quite yet, Sammy.” Dean’s voice is soft and dangerous. “Maybe not ever if we don’t play well together.”
Sam nods and with more effort than he’s expended on anything in months, he steps back. “So…what is so special about you?”
Dean’s lips quirk up as he gazes at Sam from under his lashes. “You gonna tell me all your deepest darkest secrets after we’ve only just met?”
Sam shakes his head and remains silent. If this demon version of Dean doesn’t want to spill his guts then Sam sure as hell isn’t going to either. He can’t figure out why Samuel and the others get so bent out of shape over his methods, but they do and not sharing them with the class seems to work out well for everyone. “We’ll have to make some changes to this place,” he says, glancing around the cabin. “Apparently you learned some things in the future about wards that could come in handy.”
“Oh, we’re not staying here.” Dean pulls a key ring out of his pocket and twirls it around his finger.
When nothing more is forthcoming, Sam sighs. “Well, you’ve got a key. It must fit a lock somewhere, right?”
“Yup. A lock on the door of the best hiding place ever. Been abandoned for years and nothing supernatural,” Dean pauses and grins, “well, almost nothing supernatural, gets in and out without permission and it’s got freakin’ vaults full of stuff we can play with. Used to belong to a group of egg heads that tried to do with their brains what hunters did by getting their hands dirty. Then they bit off more than they could chew and choked on it. Your future self was orgasming all over the place from, you know, knowledge. You’re going to love it there too.”
Sam turns Dean’s words over and over in his head. Samuel could probably give him a million reasons why he shouldn’t go along with this plan but Sam can’t think of even one that makes sense to him in any way. “Sounds like my kind of place.”
“So, you’re okay with this?” Dean swipes a finger through the blood drying on his face. “Us working together?”
Sam’s stomach gives a little gurgle as saliva fills his mouth. “With the understanding that if any of this is bullshit I will end you.”
Dean laughs and nods in approval. “Right back at you, little brother.”
Sam sticks out his hand. “Partners,” he says firmly.
Dean’s eyes go dark, his gaze opaque and unreadable as he grips Sam’s hand tightly. “Partners."