Title: Blood Brothers
Author: Falcon-Rider
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: R
Characters: Dean, Sam, Dean, Sam, OFC
Words: 1,024
Genre: Horror, Gen (no pairings)
Warning: Character Death
Disclaimer: Not mine, I'm just playing
Beta: None
Summary: They're hunting a witch when the world tilts on its axis and Dean comes face to face with an enemy that is familiar in more ways than one.
Prompt by: roque_clasique—Dean, Sam—the boys come face-to-face with copies of themselves insisting they are the real Sam and Dean—the lines of reality are blurred -- who is who? Who is "real"?
Written for the LJ multifandom Horror Comment meme Sharp_Teeth
*****
Sundown came too quickly, coloring the horizon in a range of pastel colors that were quickly greying with the oncoming darkness. Once the sun had fallen behind the horizon, they were up, slinking through the darkness. It was supposed to be an easy case, relatively anyway. They were dealing with a witch, just one who had been methodically collecting materials for some sort of ritual.
These weren't your run of the mill ingredients, ninety percent of them were body parts. That was what had tipped them off, the odd murders in the area. It didn't take them long to figure out who the witch was, catching her was the only problem. The only good thing about the ritual she was performing was that it required certain specific geographical and astronomical details to be in the correct order.
Sam had figured it out easily, leading them to this forest on this night. The witch would be there, she had to be. It was too perfect.
Reaching the edge of the clearing, Dean slid to his knees, leaning around the tree he glanced over at his brother. The younger man was leaning against an opposite tree, using his better vantage point to peer out into the darkness.
After a second, Sam lifted up a hand, quirking it in the quick, coded movements they had developed together—a mix of military signs their Dad taught them and ones they created themselves.
Nodding, Dean lifted his own hand, acknowledging what Sam had said before darting forward.
She was already there, her blond hair shining in the light of the full moon where she stood at the center of an altar, designs etched into the ground around her and lined with pebbles, herbs, and flickering candles.
There was no acknowledgement of their presence, her voice lilting higher as they got closer, reciting phrases in a language that Dean didn't recognize. He could sense Sam tense up, bringing his gun to bear. Without even glancing at the younger man he knew, without a doubt, that Sam did recognize the ritual.
He raised his own gun, sighting the perfect shot to take her down. Glancing to the side he raised an eyebrow.
Sam's jaw was clenched, the muscles twitching beneath his skin. He shook his head almost imperceptibly, warning against interrupting the spell.
Swallowing hard, Dean turned his attention back to the woman, just in time to see the candles flare unnaturally, the white light carpeting the area and temporarily blinding him.
*****
When the light finally died down, letting his senses clear, he became aware of the changes. His eyes were still adjusting, but he could sense them. Sam was still to his side, but there was someone else, someone behind him and slightly to the side. There was someone else near Sam as well.
Not waiting for his eyesight to return, Dean took action, slamming his elbow back and up, somehow managing to capture the stranger in the face. Twisting he moved, letting his foot find the man's chest, knocking him back, causing him to stumble and fall. He was on top of him in a second, gun pressed against his chest, a knife pressing into the skin of his neck.
"Sammy!" Dean called out the warning as he moved and, by the time he had his target on the ground, he could hear the scuffle taking place between his brother and the other stranger.
His eyesight cleared seconds later, his eyes readjusting to the night. Dean froze then, eyes widening and nostrils flaring a bit, "What the—Sam?!" Hazarding a look over his shoulder, he caught sight of his brother and… his brother facing off. By then his brother's eyes had adjusted as well.
Both men turned to look at him, a bit of confusion in their gaze.
"What kind of joke is this?" The man, his own look alike, asked gruffly from beneath him.
Dean's hand tensed, curling his lip he glared down at him, the knife pressed imperceptibly closer, nicking the skin. Nostrils flaring, Dean raised his eyes to the two Sam's, watching them.
"Wait, wait," The one farther from him started. "We should figure this out, the spell the witch was doing-"
"Involved time and space," The other finished, eyes darting between Dean and his clone. "Maybe some sort of dimensional travel of some sort. We shouldn't do anything rash."
Surveying the two men, Dean raised an eyebrow before barking out a laugh, "You're kidding."
One of the Sam's shrugged slightly, one hand raising in a small movement, while the other shrugged.
Dean smiled, lips pulling away from his teeth, he slanted his gaze to the man beneath him. Green eyes watched him warily, face pale in the dark. "It's hard to believe witches."
"Not a witch," His double ground out, voice rough and barely there. The man was trying not to move too much lest the knife press deeper into his skin.
"I beg to differ," Dean leaned in; face inches from his doubles, their warm breath intermingling. Dipping his head to the side, he teased his tongue out to taste the thin line of red that had welled up. "You're human," He murmured, watching as his doubles eyes widened. "All humans are witches. Simple point of fact."
It was odd, watching as the life fled from his own eyes and the trail of thick red liquid slid down the pale neck, staining skin and clothes. Behind him he heard a scream and the sound of a gun going off. He wasn't worried, he could sense his brother was fine and hear the imperceptible sound of him feeding. Leaning in, he latched himself to his doubles neck, teeth elongating to slide into that skin and tear it, releasing more of the heavenly liquid.
He'd never tasted his own blood before, not without it being tainted by the blood of others—witch or animal. It was heavenly. He leaned back before the heart of his double could slow completely; slipping away to where his brother was tasting his own prey.
A low growl slipping from his throat, he squatted down next to the pair. "Trade?"
*****
Fin