"If You Only Knew" [nc17] Part 1, Sam/Dean (past Sam/Alec) Spn/Da crossover
Title: If You Only Knew (title stolen from Shinedown, who rox)
Author: queenklu
Beta by: the babelicious (;P) shri_amato who discovered the horny fairies who stole their boxers.
Pairing: Sam/Dean (mentions of past Sam/Alec)
Rating: NC17
Crossover: Supernatural/Dark Angel
Word Count: 8,500+ O.O ...and about half of that is porn. *headdesk*
Disclaimer: I keep them in a jar by the side of my bed. This, according to Dean, does not mean i own them.
Summary & A/N: Honestly, you don't need to be familiar with Dark Angel to enjoy this fic. Simply imagine What Fun occurs when Sam's ex-boyfriend (Yes, Boyfriend) turns out to look like a dead-ringer for Dean.
If You Only Knew
Dean leaned back in his chair until it hit the wall of the dingy, dimly lit bar in which he was currently having a beer with his younger brother-whose skin was doing this oddly distracting golden thing where it wasn’t hidden in shadow or by lumpy clothes-and took a moment to drag in a breath of fresh air.
Okay, if by fresh, the definition included dizzying levels of nicotine from the second hand smoke and enough alcoholic fumes to keep a man’s buzz nice and fueled without a drop touching his lips, then yeah. Fresh. Sam noticed the sigh, of course-guy was scary perceptive when he wanted to be, especially when it came Dean (which was both annoying as hell and weirdly endearing)-and twirled the neck of his beer in one huge hand.
“What?”
“Hm? Oh. Case was a bitch, is all.” Dean stretched, smirking when a pair of girls near the bar started twittering at the flash of goody trail when his shirt rode up. “Just...glad to be done with it. Move on. Let go.” He let the last word stretch on his tongue before he silenced it was a quick swig of beer.
“And back to your usual stress relievers,” he could’ve sworn he heard Sam mumble, but before he could demand a repeat, absolutely everything went wrong.
“Oh my god. Sam?”
Dean turned without thinking, both annoyed and alarmed by the familiarity of the voice shouting over the bar talk-not to mention Sam’s reaction. He had plenty of time before the turn to watch his younger brother’s eyes go wide, wide enough that Dean could read the emotions in them like flashing neon signs: Surprise. Happiness. Want. Regret. Realization. SHOCK. Horror, and Sam’s mouth moved quickly, saying, “Dean-Dean, wait-”
But it was too late. Dean had already rotated in his seat, just in time to come face to face with…well, uh, himself.
Course, “himself” was too focused on Sam to notice who he was sharing a table and a beer with. He all-but vaulted over people (and Dean) to get to the floppy-haired giant, and then-then they just...fit together, faux-Dean’s arms circling his ribcage while Sam’s rapped tight around this strange man’s shoulders like-not friends. Definitely Not Friends. And Sam’s eyelids were falling shut, closing Dean out in every way, shape, and form as a soft but genuine smile pulled at his lips.
Dean knew his jaw was somewhere skimming the skuzzy bottom of the bar room floor, but he could not for the life of him remember how to close his mouth.
“Christ, Sammy,” F.D. (Faux-Dean, because Dean had never been good at games of who-the-fuck-are-you-with-my-face) said, pulling back but not dropping his hands from where they’d settled on Sam’s hips, “Didn’t expect to see you skulking around Seattle. How long’s it been?”
’Sammy?!’ Dean demanded silently, trying to get Sam to look at him while simultaneously fighting the urge to yank the freaky double’s ass off his brother-Speaking of which, where does he think that hand’s going?? Sam pulled away before the wandering appendage managed to grab hold, but did it with such ease that it was almost a caress on its own.
And then Sam chuckled, low and throaty, but still so adorably nervous that Dean suddenly felt like his skin didn’t fit anymore. “Not long enough, smart-aleck.”
Dean could only stare at his own face lighting up in a grin as his voice-or what sounded an awful lot like his voice, but weird, like the way he almost didn’t recognize the voice mail message on his phone-said, “Yeah right, bitch. I’ve starred in at least one of those rubber ducky dreams of yours since then and you know it.”
The older Winchester’s entire torso rumbled with a growl just loud enough that his near-telepathic brother would be able to hear and comprehend that Dean wanted a fucking introduction right this fucking minute. And Dean knew by the nervous twitch of Sam’s eyebrow that it worked. Sam. Just. Ignored. Him.
In fucking fact, Sam deliberately kept his shoulder angled so this Other Dean wouldn’t think to look behind him as he quickly announced, “Last I heard you’d been shipped to Canada.”
“Yeah, all of Canada wishes.”
“Plus one,” Dean interjected, slapping on a fake grin for when F.D. turned to look. Which never happened. Sam didn’t even glance over, but it wasn’t like Dean had disappeared from the room-the tightness around Sam’s eyes said he knew exactly where Dean was, what he was thinking, feeling, and it was taking most of his concentration not to look.
“Got a job instead.”
“What, Monty Cora making a comeback?”
“Bitch, you know I’m too pretty to keep that shit up,” F.D. flattened out the logo on his bag for Sam to see, freakishly long lashes fluttering proudly against his cheek. “Bike messenger, Jam Pony.”
“Wow,” Sam chuckled, eyebrows arching, “legal, honest work. Who would’ve thought?”
“Ehh,” Faux-Dean shrugged, and honestly, if Sam was paying any kind of attention he would’ve been able to pick up on the fact that it was a total non-answer. And at that last failing, Dean lost all patience with this weird-ass conversation and all but snarled, “Sam-?"
“Yeah, hold on, cowboy.”
Dean went absolutely rigid. If it wasn’t enough putting up with the outrage of being called a fucking cowboy-without so much as a cursory glance, god dammit-the doppelganger shoved his hand out behind him in a blatantly obvious Get Lost Loser kind of way. Dean decided right then and there that no way could this possibly be a realistic clone-no way was he this fucking rude!
“Hey, Sammy,” the F.D. said, bring Dean up short with his low and apologetic tone-and the fact that his hand was now on Sam’s chest-“I just wanted to say I heard about Jess. I’m real sorry, man.”
“No, you aren’t,” Sam laughed. LAUGHED. He fucking LAUGHED. “You hated Jess.”
“Doesn’t mean I wanted her flambéed.”
Holy. Shit.
“Alright, I’ve had enough of this Twilight Zone,” Dean snarled, grabbed the F.D.’s shoulder hard enough to jerk him around, and socked him so hard in the jaw his knuckles felt like they’d snapped.
“Dean!” Sam yelped-like Dean was the one doing something wrong-as F.D. stumbled back into the crowd, gaping for more reasons than one. Guy probably hadn’t expected being punched in the face, let alone punched in the face by a near copy of himself. Sam had Dean backed against his chair before he could take another swing, one hand fisted in his jacket in case he tried to attack again while the other reached toward the faux-Dean, Sam’s broad shoulders getting in the way of the fully glory of F.D.’s reaction.
“What the hell, Sam?!” Dean spat in a seething hiss as he jerked out of his brother’s grasp, because Sam’s body language was threatening his equilibrium and his sanity. “The guy. Looks. Like. Me. Too much the fuck like me-can you say changeling? Or, hell, shape-shifter? What’s the name of the game, Sam? Its not NATURAL.”
“Dean, Dean...” Sam was still trying to block F.D.’s view-protecting him-tone soft and warning, just loud enough to be heard via their brotherly telepathy. “He’s not a changeling, and he’s not a shifter. Believe me,” and his voice lowered even further, like he was sort of amused at Dean’s reaction, “I checked.” Then louder, “He’s just a normal guy.”
Dean feinted to the side fast enough to glimpse F.D. rubbing the back of his neck with his eyes down. Guilty. As. Hell.
“Oh, yeah,” Dean snapped, ignoring that for the time being, “Totally freaking normal for a guy to look exactly like my long lost identical twin, Sam! Why the hell didn’t I think of that?”
“Join the club; we have t-shirts.” F.D.’s hand landed on Sam’s shoulder-lucky, lucky Dean got front row seats to that freakish wave of wantcan’thave flickering over Sam’s features-and moved him gently to one side, brown eyes bright and calculating.
Something in Dean’s stomach twisted, but he told himself it was because his fist hadn’t left much of a mark. “Actually,” F.D. continued with an almost cheerful but painfully familiar smirk, “if your name isn’t Ben, we’re officially a triplet.”
“Well, it’s not, dipshit, guess again. Sam…” The last word was a snarling reminder to explain, coupled with a glare that could not be misunderstood or dodged.
Sam sighed, and for the first time Dean noticed just how pale his brother was in the smoky light, how scared he was, and maybe before hadn’t been about ignoring him at all-maybe it’d been all Sam could do to keep from running.
“Alec, this is Dean.” Dean watched a flicker of comprehension across his mirror’s face, before it closed in a strange sort of frown. And all that was before Sam added, “My brother. Dean,” Sam continued quickly, and yeah, he was definitely terrified, “I’d like you to meet...my ex-boyfriend. Alec.”
They stopped. And stared. And frowned. And chorused-
“Brother?”
“BOYFRIEND?”
The bar shuddered to a stop around them as everyone who hadn't already been drawn in by the promise of a brawl had their attention snagged with a furious gay love triangle.
Dean had to leave. Had to. He didn’t want to leave Sam alone in this dive, but-fury welled up in his chest-he was sure Alec (the word tasted like a shot of holy water to a demon) would…take care of him.
He. Had. To. Leave.
“Sam.”
“Yeah?” His little brother’s voice was small and hopeful, kind of, under the painful nonchalance, and Dean ignored it so hard it felt like his ears were bleeding.
“Keys.”
“What?”
“Keys, Sam, KEYS!” And yeah, he was doing that jerky son-of-a-bitch stomp-flail but he didn’t care, Sam had the keys and he couldn’t be surrounded by the sanctuary of his Impala until Sam handed the fucking things over.
“Dean...” There were times when being able to read Sam sucked like banshee on a doomed man’s soul, and this was definitely one of those times when Dean just could not handle whatever was going to be lurking behind the obvious shock and disappointment. But Sam’s hand was on the key ring in his pocket so most of Dean’s brain was focused on that. “Wh... Where you going?”
Which sounded a hell of a lot like, Do you really think you can walk away from this and make it go away?
Dean grabbed the keys out of Sam’s pocket and headed out the door, unable to make his throat work. But his eyes couldn’t shut up, and he knew he didn’t look away fast enough for Sam to miss what was in them.
Maybe...disgust. Maybe. Maybe what the fuck, and maybe how could you do this to me? Maybe hurt.
Air. Cool, clean, cleansing air hit his face and for a split second everything was going to be okay. See, Dean was going to wake up, play something loud and obnoxious until Sam killed the radio with one passive paw, and never speak of this dream to anyone-ever-let alone think about the psychological problems dreaming about your brother dating an identical you. And then he and Sam would head out for breakfast and-
“Hey, hold up.”
Oh hell no. Dean turned on his double with a barely suppressed growl, lips curling away from his teeth. “You really don’t want to be talking to me.”
“Yeah?” Alec’s head ducked in a laugh, pseudo-bangs falling over his forehead. Stupid fucking hair. Pansy-ass hair. “You got a good reason? Sam’s busy catching up with Max, so...not like he’ll be dropping in for a couple minutes at least.”
Max. MAX. Another fucking ex? Jesus Christ, Sam! Dean fought back a surge of emotion screaming at him to go back in the bar and shout until his voice went hoarse, but Dad’s voice in his head-Something like this happens you pick up the phone and you call me-cuts that thought short. And he didn’t really know why.
Now that Dean was able to stare glare at this Alec guy face-to-face, there were subtle differences in their appearances. (Not to mention the clothes-jeez, it was mid-July, lay off the turtlenecks.) Alec looked younger, leaner. Not as weathered. Definitely missing the Winchester scars. Something in Dean’s chest clenched as a stray thought tore through his head: not only had Sam found a non-related double of his brother to boink-and his brain couldn’t even begin to wrap around how fucked up that was-but he’d traded up.
Dean shook himself off and set his shoulders back to smug, pissed off smartass. “Oh, at least two very good reasons off the top of my head.”
“Hit me.” Alec knew he was being taunted, effortlessly played the game. Earned himself a smidgeon of respect, but not enough to keep him un-clobbered.
“One, I’m packing.”
“Liar.” The word rolled off of Alec’s tongue like honey as his eyes took a casual sweep of Dean like he’d already done it. “Except for that knife at your ankle and a small handful of shotgun shells in your pocket. You and I both know that won’t do to much damage to people like us.”
“There are no people like us.” Dean hit the ‘S’ a little hard, but didn’t let it show on his face. This freaky doppelganger thought he was gay? And that, what, homosexuals were impervious to knives? “Number two, dipshit, I’ve had more experience with freaky doubles than you could possibly imagine, so I really don’t have any problem ganking one more. With or without the entire arsenal not three feet to my left.” A subtle tilt towards his baby’s trunk, and his fist clenched around the keys. Doppelganger boy didn’t need to know it was still locked.
“Really?” The kid looked entirely too intrigued for a split second. Dean was too busy flinching at how easily his head labeled him ‘kid’ to pay it enough attention. “Okay, fine. Dean? I think we got off on the wrong foot.” Alec held out his hand. “X-5.”
Dean glanced at the hand, and didn’t uncross his arms. “I-10.”
Alec’s grin faltered. “What?”
“G-3, A-9, J-2. Did I sink your battleship?”
For no reason that Dean could see, Alec was really thrown. His big brown eyes-which Dean noticed were a shade lighter than his own-blinked a couple times, then he scratched lightly at the back of his neck. “Ooookay… Could-I just-”
Dean backed up fast when Alec reached for him-more specifically the collar of his jacket. “Dude, I don’t swing that way.”
“Um, no offense but, duh.” Alec’s chin jutted out, full lips parted and lashes fanning out from his sincere but empty eyes. Damaged. What had Bella said? Takes one to know one.
Almost against his will, Dean’s fists clenched handfuls of his leather jacket, arms folded so tight across his chest it was bordering on hard to breathe, and took a step farther away. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
In the split second it took Alec to register he was serious, Dean’s gut surged with the feeling that he really didn’t want to know. He turned and headed for his Impala, keys cutting into his skin as he fumbled with the lock.
“You think if Sam could’ve had the real thing he’d’ve settled for me?”
The loud blunt words had Dean’s shoulders turning back before the rest of him even registered that he’d been spoken to. No, that’s not entirely true. Some part of him had known what Alec was going to say since the moment he’d followed him outside. But his mouth still formed the words, throat still worked even when the rest of him had shut down. “Excuse me?”
“You heard,” Alec acknowledged with a slight upturn of his nose before he let slip a soft, almost broken laugh. “And it’s not like I didn’t hear him.”
Deep. Fucking. Breaths. “Sam...said...”
“Well...” His head and shoulders bobbed. “More of a moan.” He grinned.
Dean snarled, letting anger override everything else in his system, including the strange flare of heat at the thought of Sam-NO. “You must really have a death wish.”
“Hey, man, all I’m saying is there’s only so many times a guy can stomach hearing someone else’s name called out in the heat of the moment before it starts to hurt his feelings.”
“We’re brothers,” Dean spat, but it sounded strangled and...weak? Since when was this particular argument anything but a stop-all?
“Yeah...kinky fucker, our Sammy. Alright, I shouldn’t have called him that,” Alec said, backing off fast at the look on Dean’s face and the fact that it had moved a considerable amount closer to his own with every intent of spilled intestines. He stayed silent for a moment, letting Dean breathe, before he dropped his defensive hands and added in an almost apologetic voice, “He never mentioned you were his brother, by the way.”
Dean could feel his lips twitching from the effort of fighting back a snarl, but focusing on that was easier than listening to the tiny voice whispering in ol’ Yellow Eyes’ voice, Sammy doesn’t care enough to tell people about you. You’re just that worthless.
Alec rocked back on his heels, tucking his hands in his jacket pockets with a half shrug. “I just always assumed you were an ex he was trying to forget. We’ve all been there, right? Though whatever you did to Sam, man...” He tsked, then spread a pair of hands still tucked in his jacket pockets. “Really fucked the guy over, lets be honest.”
“I never did anything to Sam!” Dean blurted, because it was true and because the hell he was going to be looked at that way-like he was the Jack the Ripper of mind-fuckers or, or the Hitler of newborn puppies or...what the fuck ever, like he’d done something to SAM!
“Then maybe it was something you didn’t do.”
“I-He-We’re brothers!”
“Heard you the first time. Whoa.” And Alec was backing off again, but not as fast. Dean suddenly got the feeling this Alec kid was almost as good at reading people as he was. “Dude, chill. Sam never said anything. In fact, the couple times he slipped and called me, uh, you, he didn’t touch me for days because he felt so-ugh, I don’t know, guilty? Does he still do the brood thing? Whatever. I knew it wasn’t really me he wanted. Tried explaining that to him, but...heh, you know Sam.”
And Dean did. Knew how Sam would balk at using someone, even someone willing. But there was a growing part of Dean that killed that thought in his tracks because really? He just wanted Alec to shut up.
“Think you still would’ve played along if you knew the real person he was fucking was his brother?” he sneered instead, mostly just to get a rise out of Alec so he could punch him, but-god, the words sounded so sick and wrong and terrifying that he couldn’t shuffle those emotions as far back in the deck as he wanted. Knew Alec saw, even saw the bastard acknowledge it with an almost imperceptible nod before he shrugged and looked out across the parking lot like they weren’t having the weirdest conversation in the known universe.
“Yeeeaah. The incest thing’s never really bothered me.” Alec grinned lopsidedly at Dean’s stricken (and disappointed? What the hell?) expression before adding, “Look, growing up? It was just me and my brothers and sisters. Our so-called parents...yeah. Not exactly there for you the way parents are supposed to be. Hard training, day and night, trying to turn you into something better. Faster. Stronger. Good little soldiers. I guess... knowing your siblings were there for you in every way possible...helped. Just helped, you know, with everything.” He almost laughed and Dean thought, yeah, broken. “Hell, sometimes it was the only thing keeping me sane. And I know it was the same for them. And I know it’s the same for Sam,” he added pointedly.
“Dean?”
Something was lurching up in his throat, but whether it was vomit or tears or his heart, it was impossibly hard to tell. And that really just pissed him off. He knew Sam was standing there, silhouetted in the doorway, waiting for him, wanting him, and he just...
“Dean, wait.” Sam’s hand closed around his wrist just as he turned the key in the Impala’s door, and he couldn’t help or hide the flinch that shocked his entire system and left his nerves raw and defenseless against the echo on his baby brother’s face. But Sam didn’t let go, and Dean knew he was waiting for him to make eye contact but he just couldn’t. Not until he heard Sam’s low but forceful whisper, voice choked with the little hitch that signaled tears (and only Dean could hear it, or knew enough to recognize it), “Just...take me home?”
Dean’s eyes slowly focused on the dark glass of the Impala’s window enough to make out his expression-open mouthed and scrambling to hold onto to anything that made sense-and Sam’s, which for all its broken pieces and lashes pushing down against the tears almost forming in his hazel-brown eyes, looked like the answer for every problem in Dean’s known universe. Sorry, Hitchhikers Guide, the answer’s not 42. It’s Sam Winchester.
His ring clacked against the door as he pulled it open and slid in, eyes fixed on the steering wheel his hands automatically wrapped around. It was both easier and harder to breathe in here, with a solid metal barrier between him and Sam. Just because his little brother was...might...didn’t mean he should... Jeez, the guy looked about as broken as the time he had to shoot Madison!
Or not. Because when Sam snapped the car door behind him-without invitation, the bitch-all of that was solidly wiped off his expression. Classic brood-face, ala Winchester. And really, what did Sam have to brood about anyway? Dean was the one having his world turned upside down.
“Dean-”
“Not here,” Dean heard himself say, steadfastly ignoring the flare of panic at how cruel that sounded. Inwardly wincing, he forced himself to add (in a barely controlled growl), “If you want to stay and catch up...” He couldn’t make himself say the words ‘with Alec’ but then again he didn’t try all that hard.
“No. Just…drive the car, okay?”
He obeyed, because it was Sam and Sam usually knew what he wanted. But he couldn’t help sharing a glance with Alec when the bastard deliberately angled himself to appear in Dean’s rearview mirror. Lighter brown eyes and a younger face. But something else so different that it was hard to wrap his head around-Alec’s entire reason for living didn’t revolve around Sam. And Dean’s existence had been tangled with Sam’s for so long he couldn’t remember a time when that hadn’t been true.
“You think I’m gonna run?” he demanded suddenly, voice a furious snarl. What he didn’t say because the words stuck in his mouth was, 'Like you?'
Onto Part Two (which is much happier with moar smut!)
Author: queenklu
Beta by: the babelicious (;P) shri_amato who discovered the horny fairies who stole their boxers.
Pairing: Sam/Dean (mentions of past Sam/Alec)
Rating: NC17
Crossover: Supernatural/Dark Angel
Word Count: 8,500+ O.O ...and about half of that is porn. *headdesk*
Disclaimer: I keep them in a jar by the side of my bed. This, according to Dean, does not mean i own them.
Summary & A/N: Honestly, you don't need to be familiar with Dark Angel to enjoy this fic. Simply imagine What Fun occurs when Sam's ex-boyfriend (Yes, Boyfriend) turns out to look like a dead-ringer for Dean.
If You Only Knew
Dean leaned back in his chair until it hit the wall of the dingy, dimly lit bar in which he was currently having a beer with his younger brother-whose skin was doing this oddly distracting golden thing where it wasn’t hidden in shadow or by lumpy clothes-and took a moment to drag in a breath of fresh air.
Okay, if by fresh, the definition included dizzying levels of nicotine from the second hand smoke and enough alcoholic fumes to keep a man’s buzz nice and fueled without a drop touching his lips, then yeah. Fresh. Sam noticed the sigh, of course-guy was scary perceptive when he wanted to be, especially when it came Dean (which was both annoying as hell and weirdly endearing)-and twirled the neck of his beer in one huge hand.
“What?”
“Hm? Oh. Case was a bitch, is all.” Dean stretched, smirking when a pair of girls near the bar started twittering at the flash of goody trail when his shirt rode up. “Just...glad to be done with it. Move on. Let go.” He let the last word stretch on his tongue before he silenced it was a quick swig of beer.
“And back to your usual stress relievers,” he could’ve sworn he heard Sam mumble, but before he could demand a repeat, absolutely everything went wrong.
“Oh my god. Sam?”
Dean turned without thinking, both annoyed and alarmed by the familiarity of the voice shouting over the bar talk-not to mention Sam’s reaction. He had plenty of time before the turn to watch his younger brother’s eyes go wide, wide enough that Dean could read the emotions in them like flashing neon signs: Surprise. Happiness. Want. Regret. Realization. SHOCK. Horror, and Sam’s mouth moved quickly, saying, “Dean-Dean, wait-”
But it was too late. Dean had already rotated in his seat, just in time to come face to face with…well, uh, himself.
Course, “himself” was too focused on Sam to notice who he was sharing a table and a beer with. He all-but vaulted over people (and Dean) to get to the floppy-haired giant, and then-then they just...fit together, faux-Dean’s arms circling his ribcage while Sam’s rapped tight around this strange man’s shoulders like-not friends. Definitely Not Friends. And Sam’s eyelids were falling shut, closing Dean out in every way, shape, and form as a soft but genuine smile pulled at his lips.
Dean knew his jaw was somewhere skimming the skuzzy bottom of the bar room floor, but he could not for the life of him remember how to close his mouth.
“Christ, Sammy,” F.D. (Faux-Dean, because Dean had never been good at games of who-the-fuck-are-you-with-my-face) said, pulling back but not dropping his hands from where they’d settled on Sam’s hips, “Didn’t expect to see you skulking around Seattle. How long’s it been?”
’Sammy?!’ Dean demanded silently, trying to get Sam to look at him while simultaneously fighting the urge to yank the freaky double’s ass off his brother-Speaking of which, where does he think that hand’s going?? Sam pulled away before the wandering appendage managed to grab hold, but did it with such ease that it was almost a caress on its own.
And then Sam chuckled, low and throaty, but still so adorably nervous that Dean suddenly felt like his skin didn’t fit anymore. “Not long enough, smart-aleck.”
Dean could only stare at his own face lighting up in a grin as his voice-or what sounded an awful lot like his voice, but weird, like the way he almost didn’t recognize the voice mail message on his phone-said, “Yeah right, bitch. I’ve starred in at least one of those rubber ducky dreams of yours since then and you know it.”
The older Winchester’s entire torso rumbled with a growl just loud enough that his near-telepathic brother would be able to hear and comprehend that Dean wanted a fucking introduction right this fucking minute. And Dean knew by the nervous twitch of Sam’s eyebrow that it worked. Sam. Just. Ignored. Him.
In fucking fact, Sam deliberately kept his shoulder angled so this Other Dean wouldn’t think to look behind him as he quickly announced, “Last I heard you’d been shipped to Canada.”
“Yeah, all of Canada wishes.”
“Plus one,” Dean interjected, slapping on a fake grin for when F.D. turned to look. Which never happened. Sam didn’t even glance over, but it wasn’t like Dean had disappeared from the room-the tightness around Sam’s eyes said he knew exactly where Dean was, what he was thinking, feeling, and it was taking most of his concentration not to look.
“Got a job instead.”
“What, Monty Cora making a comeback?”
“Bitch, you know I’m too pretty to keep that shit up,” F.D. flattened out the logo on his bag for Sam to see, freakishly long lashes fluttering proudly against his cheek. “Bike messenger, Jam Pony.”
“Wow,” Sam chuckled, eyebrows arching, “legal, honest work. Who would’ve thought?”
“Ehh,” Faux-Dean shrugged, and honestly, if Sam was paying any kind of attention he would’ve been able to pick up on the fact that it was a total non-answer. And at that last failing, Dean lost all patience with this weird-ass conversation and all but snarled, “Sam-?"
“Yeah, hold on, cowboy.”
Dean went absolutely rigid. If it wasn’t enough putting up with the outrage of being called a fucking cowboy-without so much as a cursory glance, god dammit-the doppelganger shoved his hand out behind him in a blatantly obvious Get Lost Loser kind of way. Dean decided right then and there that no way could this possibly be a realistic clone-no way was he this fucking rude!
“Hey, Sammy,” the F.D. said, bring Dean up short with his low and apologetic tone-and the fact that his hand was now on Sam’s chest-“I just wanted to say I heard about Jess. I’m real sorry, man.”
“No, you aren’t,” Sam laughed. LAUGHED. He fucking LAUGHED. “You hated Jess.”
“Doesn’t mean I wanted her flambéed.”
Holy. Shit.
“Alright, I’ve had enough of this Twilight Zone,” Dean snarled, grabbed the F.D.’s shoulder hard enough to jerk him around, and socked him so hard in the jaw his knuckles felt like they’d snapped.
“Dean!” Sam yelped-like Dean was the one doing something wrong-as F.D. stumbled back into the crowd, gaping for more reasons than one. Guy probably hadn’t expected being punched in the face, let alone punched in the face by a near copy of himself. Sam had Dean backed against his chair before he could take another swing, one hand fisted in his jacket in case he tried to attack again while the other reached toward the faux-Dean, Sam’s broad shoulders getting in the way of the fully glory of F.D.’s reaction.
“What the hell, Sam?!” Dean spat in a seething hiss as he jerked out of his brother’s grasp, because Sam’s body language was threatening his equilibrium and his sanity. “The guy. Looks. Like. Me. Too much the fuck like me-can you say changeling? Or, hell, shape-shifter? What’s the name of the game, Sam? Its not NATURAL.”
“Dean, Dean...” Sam was still trying to block F.D.’s view-protecting him-tone soft and warning, just loud enough to be heard via their brotherly telepathy. “He’s not a changeling, and he’s not a shifter. Believe me,” and his voice lowered even further, like he was sort of amused at Dean’s reaction, “I checked.” Then louder, “He’s just a normal guy.”
Dean feinted to the side fast enough to glimpse F.D. rubbing the back of his neck with his eyes down. Guilty. As. Hell.
“Oh, yeah,” Dean snapped, ignoring that for the time being, “Totally freaking normal for a guy to look exactly like my long lost identical twin, Sam! Why the hell didn’t I think of that?”
“Join the club; we have t-shirts.” F.D.’s hand landed on Sam’s shoulder-lucky, lucky Dean got front row seats to that freakish wave of wantcan’thave flickering over Sam’s features-and moved him gently to one side, brown eyes bright and calculating.
Something in Dean’s stomach twisted, but he told himself it was because his fist hadn’t left much of a mark. “Actually,” F.D. continued with an almost cheerful but painfully familiar smirk, “if your name isn’t Ben, we’re officially a triplet.”
“Well, it’s not, dipshit, guess again. Sam…” The last word was a snarling reminder to explain, coupled with a glare that could not be misunderstood or dodged.
Sam sighed, and for the first time Dean noticed just how pale his brother was in the smoky light, how scared he was, and maybe before hadn’t been about ignoring him at all-maybe it’d been all Sam could do to keep from running.
“Alec, this is Dean.” Dean watched a flicker of comprehension across his mirror’s face, before it closed in a strange sort of frown. And all that was before Sam added, “My brother. Dean,” Sam continued quickly, and yeah, he was definitely terrified, “I’d like you to meet...my ex-boyfriend. Alec.”
They stopped. And stared. And frowned. And chorused-
“Brother?”
“BOYFRIEND?”
The bar shuddered to a stop around them as everyone who hadn't already been drawn in by the promise of a brawl had their attention snagged with a furious gay love triangle.
Dean had to leave. Had to. He didn’t want to leave Sam alone in this dive, but-fury welled up in his chest-he was sure Alec (the word tasted like a shot of holy water to a demon) would…take care of him.
He. Had. To. Leave.
“Sam.”
“Yeah?” His little brother’s voice was small and hopeful, kind of, under the painful nonchalance, and Dean ignored it so hard it felt like his ears were bleeding.
“Keys.”
“What?”
“Keys, Sam, KEYS!” And yeah, he was doing that jerky son-of-a-bitch stomp-flail but he didn’t care, Sam had the keys and he couldn’t be surrounded by the sanctuary of his Impala until Sam handed the fucking things over.
“Dean...” There were times when being able to read Sam sucked like banshee on a doomed man’s soul, and this was definitely one of those times when Dean just could not handle whatever was going to be lurking behind the obvious shock and disappointment. But Sam’s hand was on the key ring in his pocket so most of Dean’s brain was focused on that. “Wh... Where you going?”
Which sounded a hell of a lot like, Do you really think you can walk away from this and make it go away?
Dean grabbed the keys out of Sam’s pocket and headed out the door, unable to make his throat work. But his eyes couldn’t shut up, and he knew he didn’t look away fast enough for Sam to miss what was in them.
Maybe...disgust. Maybe. Maybe what the fuck, and maybe how could you do this to me? Maybe hurt.
Air. Cool, clean, cleansing air hit his face and for a split second everything was going to be okay. See, Dean was going to wake up, play something loud and obnoxious until Sam killed the radio with one passive paw, and never speak of this dream to anyone-ever-let alone think about the psychological problems dreaming about your brother dating an identical you. And then he and Sam would head out for breakfast and-
“Hey, hold up.”
Oh hell no. Dean turned on his double with a barely suppressed growl, lips curling away from his teeth. “You really don’t want to be talking to me.”
“Yeah?” Alec’s head ducked in a laugh, pseudo-bangs falling over his forehead. Stupid fucking hair. Pansy-ass hair. “You got a good reason? Sam’s busy catching up with Max, so...not like he’ll be dropping in for a couple minutes at least.”
Max. MAX. Another fucking ex? Jesus Christ, Sam! Dean fought back a surge of emotion screaming at him to go back in the bar and shout until his voice went hoarse, but Dad’s voice in his head-Something like this happens you pick up the phone and you call me-cuts that thought short. And he didn’t really know why.
Now that Dean was able to stare glare at this Alec guy face-to-face, there were subtle differences in their appearances. (Not to mention the clothes-jeez, it was mid-July, lay off the turtlenecks.) Alec looked younger, leaner. Not as weathered. Definitely missing the Winchester scars. Something in Dean’s chest clenched as a stray thought tore through his head: not only had Sam found a non-related double of his brother to boink-and his brain couldn’t even begin to wrap around how fucked up that was-but he’d traded up.
Dean shook himself off and set his shoulders back to smug, pissed off smartass. “Oh, at least two very good reasons off the top of my head.”
“Hit me.” Alec knew he was being taunted, effortlessly played the game. Earned himself a smidgeon of respect, but not enough to keep him un-clobbered.
“One, I’m packing.”
“Liar.” The word rolled off of Alec’s tongue like honey as his eyes took a casual sweep of Dean like he’d already done it. “Except for that knife at your ankle and a small handful of shotgun shells in your pocket. You and I both know that won’t do to much damage to people like us.”
“There are no people like us.” Dean hit the ‘S’ a little hard, but didn’t let it show on his face. This freaky doppelganger thought he was gay? And that, what, homosexuals were impervious to knives? “Number two, dipshit, I’ve had more experience with freaky doubles than you could possibly imagine, so I really don’t have any problem ganking one more. With or without the entire arsenal not three feet to my left.” A subtle tilt towards his baby’s trunk, and his fist clenched around the keys. Doppelganger boy didn’t need to know it was still locked.
“Really?” The kid looked entirely too intrigued for a split second. Dean was too busy flinching at how easily his head labeled him ‘kid’ to pay it enough attention. “Okay, fine. Dean? I think we got off on the wrong foot.” Alec held out his hand. “X-5.”
Dean glanced at the hand, and didn’t uncross his arms. “I-10.”
Alec’s grin faltered. “What?”
“G-3, A-9, J-2. Did I sink your battleship?”
For no reason that Dean could see, Alec was really thrown. His big brown eyes-which Dean noticed were a shade lighter than his own-blinked a couple times, then he scratched lightly at the back of his neck. “Ooookay… Could-I just-”
Dean backed up fast when Alec reached for him-more specifically the collar of his jacket. “Dude, I don’t swing that way.”
“Um, no offense but, duh.” Alec’s chin jutted out, full lips parted and lashes fanning out from his sincere but empty eyes. Damaged. What had Bella said? Takes one to know one.
Almost against his will, Dean’s fists clenched handfuls of his leather jacket, arms folded so tight across his chest it was bordering on hard to breathe, and took a step farther away. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
In the split second it took Alec to register he was serious, Dean’s gut surged with the feeling that he really didn’t want to know. He turned and headed for his Impala, keys cutting into his skin as he fumbled with the lock.
“You think if Sam could’ve had the real thing he’d’ve settled for me?”
The loud blunt words had Dean’s shoulders turning back before the rest of him even registered that he’d been spoken to. No, that’s not entirely true. Some part of him had known what Alec was going to say since the moment he’d followed him outside. But his mouth still formed the words, throat still worked even when the rest of him had shut down. “Excuse me?”
“You heard,” Alec acknowledged with a slight upturn of his nose before he let slip a soft, almost broken laugh. “And it’s not like I didn’t hear him.”
Deep. Fucking. Breaths. “Sam...said...”
“Well...” His head and shoulders bobbed. “More of a moan.” He grinned.
Dean snarled, letting anger override everything else in his system, including the strange flare of heat at the thought of Sam-NO. “You must really have a death wish.”
“Hey, man, all I’m saying is there’s only so many times a guy can stomach hearing someone else’s name called out in the heat of the moment before it starts to hurt his feelings.”
“We’re brothers,” Dean spat, but it sounded strangled and...weak? Since when was this particular argument anything but a stop-all?
“Yeah...kinky fucker, our Sammy. Alright, I shouldn’t have called him that,” Alec said, backing off fast at the look on Dean’s face and the fact that it had moved a considerable amount closer to his own with every intent of spilled intestines. He stayed silent for a moment, letting Dean breathe, before he dropped his defensive hands and added in an almost apologetic voice, “He never mentioned you were his brother, by the way.”
Dean could feel his lips twitching from the effort of fighting back a snarl, but focusing on that was easier than listening to the tiny voice whispering in ol’ Yellow Eyes’ voice, Sammy doesn’t care enough to tell people about you. You’re just that worthless.
Alec rocked back on his heels, tucking his hands in his jacket pockets with a half shrug. “I just always assumed you were an ex he was trying to forget. We’ve all been there, right? Though whatever you did to Sam, man...” He tsked, then spread a pair of hands still tucked in his jacket pockets. “Really fucked the guy over, lets be honest.”
“I never did anything to Sam!” Dean blurted, because it was true and because the hell he was going to be looked at that way-like he was the Jack the Ripper of mind-fuckers or, or the Hitler of newborn puppies or...what the fuck ever, like he’d done something to SAM!
“Then maybe it was something you didn’t do.”
“I-He-We’re brothers!”
“Heard you the first time. Whoa.” And Alec was backing off again, but not as fast. Dean suddenly got the feeling this Alec kid was almost as good at reading people as he was. “Dude, chill. Sam never said anything. In fact, the couple times he slipped and called me, uh, you, he didn’t touch me for days because he felt so-ugh, I don’t know, guilty? Does he still do the brood thing? Whatever. I knew it wasn’t really me he wanted. Tried explaining that to him, but...heh, you know Sam.”
And Dean did. Knew how Sam would balk at using someone, even someone willing. But there was a growing part of Dean that killed that thought in his tracks because really? He just wanted Alec to shut up.
“Think you still would’ve played along if you knew the real person he was fucking was his brother?” he sneered instead, mostly just to get a rise out of Alec so he could punch him, but-god, the words sounded so sick and wrong and terrifying that he couldn’t shuffle those emotions as far back in the deck as he wanted. Knew Alec saw, even saw the bastard acknowledge it with an almost imperceptible nod before he shrugged and looked out across the parking lot like they weren’t having the weirdest conversation in the known universe.
“Yeeeaah. The incest thing’s never really bothered me.” Alec grinned lopsidedly at Dean’s stricken (and disappointed? What the hell?) expression before adding, “Look, growing up? It was just me and my brothers and sisters. Our so-called parents...yeah. Not exactly there for you the way parents are supposed to be. Hard training, day and night, trying to turn you into something better. Faster. Stronger. Good little soldiers. I guess... knowing your siblings were there for you in every way possible...helped. Just helped, you know, with everything.” He almost laughed and Dean thought, yeah, broken. “Hell, sometimes it was the only thing keeping me sane. And I know it was the same for them. And I know it’s the same for Sam,” he added pointedly.
“Dean?”
Something was lurching up in his throat, but whether it was vomit or tears or his heart, it was impossibly hard to tell. And that really just pissed him off. He knew Sam was standing there, silhouetted in the doorway, waiting for him, wanting him, and he just...
“Dean, wait.” Sam’s hand closed around his wrist just as he turned the key in the Impala’s door, and he couldn’t help or hide the flinch that shocked his entire system and left his nerves raw and defenseless against the echo on his baby brother’s face. But Sam didn’t let go, and Dean knew he was waiting for him to make eye contact but he just couldn’t. Not until he heard Sam’s low but forceful whisper, voice choked with the little hitch that signaled tears (and only Dean could hear it, or knew enough to recognize it), “Just...take me home?”
Dean’s eyes slowly focused on the dark glass of the Impala’s window enough to make out his expression-open mouthed and scrambling to hold onto to anything that made sense-and Sam’s, which for all its broken pieces and lashes pushing down against the tears almost forming in his hazel-brown eyes, looked like the answer for every problem in Dean’s known universe. Sorry, Hitchhikers Guide, the answer’s not 42. It’s Sam Winchester.
His ring clacked against the door as he pulled it open and slid in, eyes fixed on the steering wheel his hands automatically wrapped around. It was both easier and harder to breathe in here, with a solid metal barrier between him and Sam. Just because his little brother was...might...didn’t mean he should... Jeez, the guy looked about as broken as the time he had to shoot Madison!
Or not. Because when Sam snapped the car door behind him-without invitation, the bitch-all of that was solidly wiped off his expression. Classic brood-face, ala Winchester. And really, what did Sam have to brood about anyway? Dean was the one having his world turned upside down.
“Dean-”
“Not here,” Dean heard himself say, steadfastly ignoring the flare of panic at how cruel that sounded. Inwardly wincing, he forced himself to add (in a barely controlled growl), “If you want to stay and catch up...” He couldn’t make himself say the words ‘with Alec’ but then again he didn’t try all that hard.
“No. Just…drive the car, okay?”
He obeyed, because it was Sam and Sam usually knew what he wanted. But he couldn’t help sharing a glance with Alec when the bastard deliberately angled himself to appear in Dean’s rearview mirror. Lighter brown eyes and a younger face. But something else so different that it was hard to wrap his head around-Alec’s entire reason for living didn’t revolve around Sam. And Dean’s existence had been tangled with Sam’s for so long he couldn’t remember a time when that hadn’t been true.
“You think I’m gonna run?” he demanded suddenly, voice a furious snarl. What he didn’t say because the words stuck in his mouth was, 'Like you?'
Onto Part Two (which is much happier with moar smut!)