Dean's eyes widened in total disbelief as he stared down the barrel of a sawn off shotgun, currently pointed at him by his old friend and lately, surrogate father.
"Bobby! What the fuck are you doing?"
"I'd say that was obvious Dean, or whoever you are."
"It's me Bobby! I'm not a shape shifter!"
"Save the bullshit. Just tell me where Sam and Dean are."
"Sam is at the morgue and Dean is standing right in front of you!"
"Sam is not at the morgue. I already checked. He left 2 hours ago and isn't answering his cell. Now, one more time. Where are they?"
"Sam's missing - again? What is with him?" Dean went straight into big brother worry mode but that was quickly superseded as a thump to his shoulder knocked him backwards and down an embankment. He rolled down through weeds and small bushes before coming to a halt on his front, face down in dirt and twigs, with one leg at an odd angle. Slowly turning his head, he looked up the incline, and through rapidly blurring vision, he could just make out Bobby, staring down at him before walking away.
"Bobby!" He called feebly, as pain washed over him and, to the light rushing sound of the river flowing past him, he blacked out.
Bobby was right about one thing. Sam wasn't at the morgue. He was currently tied up in the damp basement of an abandoned water mill. Duct tape had him effectively gagged. The giant wooden water wheel still turned languidly with the force of the water flowing through it, but no flour was milled anymore and the wheel just pointlessly revolved, creaking and rotting slowly through the decades. Unbeknownst to Sam, his brother was bleeding into the ground, just a half mile away on the edge of the same river that was relentlessly turning that wheel.
"Well Sammy, this is fun isn't it?" Sam glared at the shape shifter currently occupying a body identical to that of his brother Dean. The shifter ripped off the duct tape making Sam's eyes water with the stinging sensation.
"Where's Dean?" he asked in a low growl.
"Oh, I think you'll find he's dead by now. Thanks to a little trick I played on your good friend Bobby!" The Dean facsimile smiled broadly in Dean's trademark grin. It made Sam sick to his stomach.
"What's Bobby got to do with anything?"
"By now he has killed what he thinks is a shape shifter of your brother – isn't that just too sweet? He's gonna be seriously pissed when he finds out he killed Dean!"
Dean came to, groaning in pain from the gunshot wound in his shoulder and again, as he tried to roll onto his back. His lower left leg was broken and his stomach roiled as he felt the bones move. The pain was indescribable and he suddenly heaved up the contents of his stomach. After what seemed an eternity of retching, nothing was coming up anymore and he was left trembling uncontrollably and with a mouth full of the taste of bile.
As his awareness expanded from the agony his body was in, to his immediate surroundings, he realised he was lying at a river edge. He dragged himself closer, almost screaming at the pain the motion was causing his shoulder and leg. Eventually he was close enough to the water to reach out and cup some to his mouth. It could be polluted or full of god knows what, but he could care less at that point. He swilled it around and spat it out. Then reached for some more before blackness engulfed him again.
The shifter tested the ropes holding Sam.
"What do you want with me?" Sam was determined not to believe anything that this creature had to say, but if keeping it occupied gained Dean some time to find him, then that's what he intended to do.
"You Sammy? You're just bait."
Bobby left the shape shifter lying by the edge of the river. He'd come back and dispose of the remains after he found Sam and Dean. Priorities after all. He decided to go to the boys' motel room to see if there were any clues as to where they might be. The fact that a shape shifter had taken on Dean's appearance again was particularly galling. Surely that boy had gone through enough without this thing coming along and repeating history? God he hated shifters! The last time he had come up against them was when two of them had set up home together, having killed the original innocent couple. They had actually taken on their lives and had managed to fool even their closest friends and family. He hadn't been able to save the couple, but he'd certainly dealt with the shifters. That had been a few years ago now, but how many others were living among humans, unnoticed – killers without mercy? It sent shivers down his spine
Arriving at the motel Bobby slipped quietly into their room – locks were no barrier to him and he smiled as he recalled teaching Sam the techniques as a young teenager. The boy had taken to it like a natural! Dean of course, had learned the skill from his father and was an adept lock-picker, but Sam? Sam had it down to an art. He couldn't have been more proud of those boys than if they had been his own. And sometimes he wished they were.
Shaking off the useless sentimentality, he concentrated on what he had come for. Looking around the room he found Sam's laptop. That would be passworded so probably wouldn't be much use. Then he spotted Dean's cell. That was odd. Why would Dean have left it there? Picking it up he saw there was a voicemail and an unread text. The voicemail was Sam telling Dean he was heading to a disused mill. Giving directions, he'd told his brother to meet him there. Perfect! He knew where to head now.
He wasn't overly surprised to find himself on the very same road where he had discovered the shape shifter Dean and the Impala. Passing the spot, he fervently hoped that he wouldn't find both boys dead at the mill. The fact that the shifter had the Impala wasn't a brilliant sign – no way would Dean surrender that car willingly to anyone, let alone a shifter. He drove on, unable to conceive of anything other than a simple untying of two embarrassed Winchesters.
Dean stirred on the ground, rolling over and slipping with a quiet splash, into the river. The cold water shocked him awake and he flailed frantically for a brief moment before lapsing back into unconsciousness as the river carried him downstream – towards the thrashing paddles of a large waterwheel.
"He's here!" The shifter looked almost gleeful as he spotted Bobby pulling up outside the mill. He placed fresh duct tape over Sam's mouth as he waited in the shadows for Bobby to enter. Sam struggled uselessly against the ropes.
"Unngggghhhh!!" was all he could utter as Bobby cautiously opened the rickety door. Sam was in the middle of the room, tied against a thick wooden beam and he spotted him straight away. He didn't go towards him though. Instead, he searched the room with a flashlight in one hand, and shotgun in the other. And there he was. Dean.
"Hey Dean."
"Hey Bobby."
"You gonna tell me what's goin on here kiddo?"
"Sure thing Bobby. I've been looking for you for a long time."
"Yeah, I guessed you had something on your mind."
"I do. And now you will too. You know that shape shifter you killed earlier?"
"Yeah."
Sam made a desperate noise behind the tape. Eyes wide and starting to brim, he gazed at Bobby.
"That was Dean."
"No it wasn't."
"Oh yeah Bobby, it was. You killed the guy you think of as your own son. How does it feel?"
"Hm, now let me think. Not much different from killing your sorry ass right now."
Bobby shot Dean for the second time that day. Only this time he was definitely sure it was a shape shifter. Quickly running to the corpse to make sure the job was done, he turned to Sam and tried to take the tape off of his mouth as gently as he could.
Sam was openly sobbing. "Is he.. is he dead?"
Shrugging towards the shifter, Bobby nodded.
"Yep."
"No! Not him.. that.. Dean!"
"Nah. He'll be okay."
"B but you shot him?"
Bobby had the decency to look embarrassed. Pulling off his scruffy cap, he ran a hand through what little hair was still on his scalp before replacing the cap.
"Uh, yeah. Little misunderstanding. He's kinda pissed though. Kinda broke his leg too."
By now Bobby had untied Sam.
"Well where is he Bobby?"
"He's in my truck."
Sam raced outside, ignoring the numbness in his arms and legs. He could see the wet spiky hair of his brother, plastered against the passenger window. Crawling into the truck from the driver side, he touched his brother's arm. Dean was soaking wet and shivering.
"Hey Sammy. You okay?" he rasped through chattering teeth.
"I'm fine Dean. How're you doing?"
"S super. J just s su…" Dean passed out.
Bobby came up to the truck and waited, somewhat sheepishly, for Sam to get back out.
"What the hell happened Bobby? Why'd you shoot Dean?"
"Look Sam, I thought… hell I was convinced he was a shape shifter."
Sam recalled the fake Dean saying he had played some sort of trick. Clearly he had a beef with Bobby.
"Turns out he was the son of a pair of shifters I killed 14 years ago. Guess he was out for revenge."
"Well why did he just stand in front of you and wait to get killed just now? That was pretty dumb wasn't it?"
"Christ I don't know Sam. He was 14 and who ever said shifters were all smart?"
"And who knew they could reproduce?"
"Yeah, that's scary."
"Bobby, that's nothing compared to what Dean's gonna be like when he comes to."
"Yeah, well. I've been thinking about that Sam. It's only fair you guys come stay with me while he heals up. Ya know, if you want to… ."
"We want to! Let's go!
Bobby couldn't help but smile as he got in the truck. Carefully tucking a blanket around Dean, and his own jacket under his head, he pulled away. With Sam in the back, they headed towards the motel (via the Impala) to pick up the boys' things. Bobby wasn't entirely unhappy at the prospect of a few weeks' company.