AN: I have had this written for a long time, which is obvious for any Justified watchers this was written in the midst of season 2 and Raylan's "I'll leave the Marshal service front lines" speech to Winona. I've written a good chunk of it and then got lazy like I normally do. So I thought I would give myself a kick in the ass and try to get it finished.

The story is set up because I love the two law men that Timothy Olyphant plays and they are both involved in this, so its like Marty meeting his dad in a way for Raylan its a mirror as to how he would have been if her were the law man in Deadwood. I like their differences and similarities so that plays a big part as well. Also since it is a dream, people who Raylan knows turn up in it in what I would think would be their past selves were they in Deadwood.

In true Deadwood style Al swears like you have no idea what; which is fun to write, but if you don't like excessive swearing I would advise you not read this.

Enjoy xxx

It wasn't often that Raylan would admit that he was glad to be back in his tiny motel room, but this instance was one of them. It had been a long hard day at the office; Tim was for some unknown reason AWOL, Rachel was blaming Raylan for it and Art just wanted Raylan dead. All in all it was a standard day at the Lexington office. The reason Art wanted Raylan dead this time had something to do with the fact that Raylan wanted to go back to Glynco and the fact that Art was going to let him go over his dead body, but it also had to do with the fact that Raylan had once again had another go around with Boyd Crowder criminal mastermind extraordinaire.

He had maintained that it was not his fault this time and that the fault was all Boyd's. Which led to their latest foray into the world of fist fighting in the dirt of Harlan County, but Art would hear nothing of it and had spent a considerable amount of time before his shift ended lecturing him on the fact. The only thing that Raylan wanted to do when he got through the door of what was still his home too many months after his arrival in Kentucky was to fall on to his bed and sink into the oblivion of sleep.

He opened the door of his motel room and sighed, this is not where he had seen himself being after so long in Kentucky, but on the same note he had to admit that he had never seen himself being in Kentucky for so long. Rachel had nailed it though these were his people for better or worse and they needed him. He placed his bag of groceries on the little table next to his bed, grabbed his new bottle of Jim Beam, unscrewed the cap and drank it straight down feeling the satisfying burn settle in his stomach.

"God damn it Boyd stop being an ass." Raylan muttered to himself as he sat on his bed. "You got Ava shot, you got Helen shot and you even got Johnny shot." He said on a bitter sob, "How many people have to be shot or killed before you are satisfied?" He asked his wall grateful that Winona had decided to stay at her and Gary's house for once. He smiled smugly, he was glad that Gary had vanished and left the house to Winona because as much as he loved her; he had got used to the separation so having her around all the time especially when he'd had a bad day grated on his nerves.

He lay back on his pillow, his hold on the bottle a little more loose than before as his eyes shut out his room that contained all his mortal worries.

He awoke and rubbed his jaw feeling the distinct length of two days stubble on his chin. He also felt like he had the mother of all hangovers; which couldn't be right as he hadn't drank that much the night before. That was unless Boyd was right and he was turning in to a pussy where liquor was concerned. He sat up and instantly knew something was wrong the bed was hard and dusty. Not to say that the bed he usually slept on was soft, but it was a hell of a lot softer than this and then there was the dust and the hot sunlight.

There was he would willingly admit something desperately wrong with this picture. Raylan opened his eyes and groaned at the sight before him. There was one thing he was sure of. Where ever he was this was not Kentucky! The line we aren't in Kansas any more played strong and loud in his head, like some sort of school band.

"I've seen this movie." He said to himself as he stood brushing the dust off his jeans. "It doesn't end well for anyone involved." He finished turning around to look over the crest of the hill he found himself on. "This is a dream it must be." He muttered pinching his arm and wincing at the pain radiating from the area of muscle he grabbed. "Or not," he spied his hat on the floor and picked it off the light brown dirt and dusted it before putting it squarely on his head and instantly feeling more at home. "Well there's no better time than the present to visit the natives." Raylan muttered as he made his way down the hill through the hotchpotch graveyard to the bustling thoroughfare at the foot of the scraggy hills.

Welcome to Deadwood a sign at the side of the dirt track proclaimed in jaunty paint that had only began to peel from weathering Prospecting since 1876 the rest of the sign said and Raylan barked a laugh.

"You have got to be kidding me." He found himself saying as a horse hurtled past him and down the main street. He looked down at his feet and understood what the sucking sensation had been. The mud was thick, wet and cloying sucking his boots in to the brown uncompromising mess beneath his feet which was in total comparison to the cracked, hard and dry ground he had woken up on. "I could use a drink." He said softly and spied a sign that spoke to him on all levels of consciousness, but he didn't know why. The Gem Saloon the sheet said hanging limply over an overhanging balcony, "Deceptive name." Raylan muttered walking up the steps and in to the saloon as the sun hit its zenith.

Al knew the sound of those footsteps without even having to turn around there was only one man in camp that walked that way: soft, graceful purpose and deadly accuracy all in the genteel sounding footfalls that clicked against the wooden floor of his saloon.

"Whiskey?" he asked without turning around.

"Yes." Was the soft and pointed reply in the cadence Al knew so well, it was early in the day for Seth Bullock to be darkening the doorway of The Gem, but if the stuck up cocksucker was willing to be a little more human and not such a fucking prick then Al was happy. He turned and placed the shot glass on the bar and it was instantly picked up and tossed back by the man that was stood at the bar... who Al now realised was not Seth Bullock.

"Who the fuck are you?" Al asked his dark eyes instantly darker as he took in the man before him, who was Seth Bullock, but at the same time not. He had the same brown eyes that were shrewd, but brimming with compassion. He had the same height although the frame was slightly wider due to what Al could only say was more muscle, due probably to better nutrition. He had the same face, but there was no beard or scars and the hair at his temples was greying. He looked like he could be the cock suckers kin, but even Al knew that Bullock had no such thing, not anymore. "You aren't the cock sucker Bullock." Al spat taking the glass back after the interloper had set it back on the bar. The interlopers mouth quirked up at the corner in a way that was so familiar that it scared Al.

"I never claimed that I was." The interloper replied with what Al now noticed to be a deep southern drawl.

Raylan patted himself down and thankfully found that he was armed and that he had his marshal star on his belt. It may have been a dream but these items would come in handy (he hoped) if they were needed.

"Well aren't you a pretty motherfucker with a sharp mouth." Al stated crossing his arms, "As to not put to finer a point on it. Who the fuck are you?" Al asked again while nodding at Johnny to go get the sheriff. Johnny for the first time in his life did not question the action and went to get Bullock without as much as a passing glance at Dan or Trixie. Finally the boy catches on Al thought with a tight smirk.

"Well it's always polite to introduce yourself first, before demanding someone's name." The interloper replied with the finesse of a Southern gentleman.

"Fuck politeness." Al said, "What about this camp gave you the impression that we put any fucking stock in being po-fucking-lite?" Al asked and the interloper's eyes took on a bemused edge that Al had only seen once on Bullock's face and he didn't like it then; he sure as hell didn't like it now on the interloper.

"Well it sure doesn't come from your manners I must say." The interloper said leaning on the bar ever so softly.

"Seth!" A voice rang out from the door and the interloper watched as Al shook his head at the man that had obviously just walked in, "I have no idea what you are doing here so early in the day or to what in heaven's name you are wearing, but we have to open the store."

"I do believe." Al said with an air of faux grace that can only be pulled off by limey cock suckers; even if they come from the slums of Manchester, "This is not the man you are referring to." The interloper turned from the bar to look at the man that just come in and watched as he doubled back as if sucker punched in the stomach. The man who had been speaking had an air of authority about him and held himself well even if it did appear that he continually looked down his nose at people, he seemed likeable enough. "I do believe you have stunned the fucking Jew prick into silence. Which I have to say is a miraculous fucking thing indeed." The man from the doorway came forward and put out his hand to the interloper, stupid fuck Al thought, doing that was a sure fire way to get killed.

"Welcome to Deadwood, I'm Sol Star I run the hardware store with a man who is the double of you." The interloper put out his hand too and took the Jew's shaking it firmly,

"Thank you." The interloper replied, "I'm Deputy US Marshal Raylan Givens; I'm happy to make your acquaintance Mister Star." Raylan said with a genuine smile so like Seth's when he chose to show it to people.

"I can only gather what Mister Swearengen must have said to you, he's a rough and ready sort, but he gets the job done."

"That's fucking enough from you." Al said as he came around the front of the bar his arms still crossed over his stomach. "Since the fucking Jew has shown me up I suppose I should play up to the cock sucking niceties that we were all brought up on." Al grumbled putting out a wary hand to Raylan. "I'm Alfred Swearengen and I am the proprietor and purveyor of all you see here." He said motioning around with his free hand, "All the best liquor and pussy a man could ever want." He finished his grandiose introduction with a veiled raise of his eyes as if evaluating the man in front of him. Raylan glanced down at himself and not only did he feel out of place, but also out of time. Where Sol and Al wore slacks and suspenders, Raylan had tight and fitted jeans with a thick leather belt. His hat was similar but undeniably more modern and the less said about their shirts the better Raylan thought. "Well at least I had one thing right." Al mused as he leant back against the bar next to a large man with long hair and angry eyes. "I had clocked you were a fucking cock sucking law man and I was fair and right on that."

"Does that somehow offend?" Raylan asked in the hushed tones that Bullock used when he was being reasonable for once. It put Al's back up at the same time as making Sol smile; it would be nice to have Seth act like that a little more often.

"It only offends the fucking ulcer in my stomach that appears when I have cunts like you sniffing around in my business." Raylan raised his hands in surrender and took his hat off his head laying it on the bar.

"I'm not here on marshal business." Raylan replied and that he had to admit to himself was the truth. He wasn't there in a marshal capacity, but even if this was a dream it was real enough to make him answer with the truth. As he could imagine that being on the wrong side of Al would be the last thing he would ever be on the wrong side of.

"Step away from the bar!" A voice that was close to his own in resonance and pitch if not in accent called out to him from the door, "Take off all of your weapons and lay them on the floor next to Sol." Raylan stepped back from the bar and turned to the newcomer and froze. He was looking at himself, if he was five years younger perhaps, with a moustache and long side burns.

"Well well well it seems that Bullock the sheriff has arrived. Pussy is free for the next ten minutes so all you sat around on your lazy cock sucking asses better get them off the fucking chairs and get your pricks in to my girls!" Al shouted above the noise that had instantly erupted when the patrons had realised what was unfolding before them. That being said like the hungry gutless men that they were, the patrons didn't need telling twice when they were given an offer like that. Within seconds the saloon was empty except for Johnny, Dan, Trixie, Sol, Raylan and the newly arrived Seth Bullock who's gun was wavering in his hand as if he had seen a ghost.

"If you would be so kind," Seth began as he walked across the worn pine, "How is it that you came to be here?" he asked politely still wary of the newcomer.

"By here I suppose you mean Deadwood?" Raylan asked not to annoy the sheriff although his question clearly had because he was grinding his teeth in a way he also did when unnerved and annoyed.

"That is what I'm asking." Seth said softly, but in a way that came off as a threat as he took off his hat and laid it on the bar next to Raylan's and what do you know they were the same size. I have seen this movie before Raylan thought and I am going to die! He decided it were better not to tell the truth this time. It seemed he was a heathen enough as it is.

"I don't rightly know how I came to be here Mister...?"

"Bullock." Al interjected.

"Bullock." Raylan said with a soft smile that was between amused and confused. "I woke up on the ridge near the cemetery not much more than twenty minutes ago, but as to how I got there; I do not remember or know." Seth paced the saloon in a way he knew annoyed Al, but he couldn't help it; something was not right about this new man and it wasn't just that looked exactly like him. Well Seth had to admit he was cleaner than him and not as battered by the years in Deadwood as he was, but to all intents and purposes he looked exactly like him.

"I've heard of this phenomenon before." Raylan found himself saying to stop Seth from pacing in the way he did when things didn't go his way. "It would seem that we have each met our doppelgänger."

"What in the fuck does that mean?" Al asked clearly unhappy at being left out of the situation.

"We have met our double." Seth said halting his pacing looking past Raylan at Al. "So are you about to do evil in camp?" Seth asked Raylan pointedly, his sharp eyes watching for the slightest hint of mal intent.

"Oh no," Raylan replied his honesty ringing true in his words. "I've not come here to do harm,"

"So what have you come here to do?" Seth asked his twitchy trigger finger loosening off his gun slowly as he put in back in his holster that was slung low across his hip. Raylan rubbed at the stubble on his jaw trying to think up a plausible response when Sol said,

"What should it matter Seth, he didn't come here to do harm to the camp and for all we know he's just passing through, but you have a whole Sheriff's office full of outlaws and I think that if the Marshal wouldn't mind that he could be of some help to you." Seth glared at Sol from under hooded lids and then looked at Raylan with the smallest quirk of his lips that was almost entirely disguised by his moustache.

"If it wouldn't be too much of an indisposition to you Mister..."

"Givens," Al interjected again his eyes alight with fury at being ignored for so long.

"Givens," Seth finished, "Would you accompany me to the sheriff's office in Utter freight to complete some of the paperwork of an unruly set of cowboys that arrived in town last night." Raylan felt his brow pucker at the prospect of paperwork; it had never been something he was good at or enjoyed, but when he looked in to the mirror image of his own eyes he knew this was a test and he had to admit that if he was in Seth Bullock's position he would do the very same thing.

He raised his hands palms outwards in surrender the way he had not more than a week before to Boyd after he had confronted him and managed to get on the madman's bad side by accidentally insulting Ava. It was his compromising raise of hands to tell everyone that he was willing to be reasonable. Seth in response wrapped his arms around himself holding his large hands to his elbows as if trying to keep himself together; like at any point he might fall apart.

"I would be happy to." Raylan replied in his soft southern drawl making Trixie swoon slightly on the spot. Sol noticed this and gave her a meaningful look. Trixie gave Raylan the once over and shrugged her shoulders flipping Sol off as if to say there is no harm in looking; you fucking Jew before she walked out of The Gem to go to the bank for its opening.

Al stepped out from behind Raylan as Seth put his hand to the newly arrived doppelgänger.

"What did you want Bullock?" Al asked an air of suspicion in his voice as he watched identical mirror images of hands reach out to each other shaking them in a firm grip that Al knew could break knuckles when Seth wanted it. By the look of the muscle twitching at Seth's jaw Al knew that the doppelgänger's handshake must be pretty similar and it made Al smirk thinking some of your own medicine Bullock as he looked down at his missing finger forlornly. "What would make you darken my doorway?" Al pushed and Raylan didn't know if the saloon owner was being serious or playing with the sheriff whom seemed to the marshal to be the antagonistic friend.

"Well you did send Johnny to find me, but even if you hadn't I was looking for you, so you would know about the gang that came to raise hell in the thoroughfare." Seth replied with the curtest of nods as he picked up his hat to run his hand over the rim, "I just wanted to make sure you knew about it." He looked at Al this eyebrow arching making the scar that ran its length more prominent. Al nodded and loosened his arms taking a shot of whiskey as Seth turned to Sol, "What are you doing here? The Mayor shouldn't be seen in a place like this." From his tone Raylan knew he was playing with his friend who immediately began to shuffle his feet awkwardly.

"I came in to tell you we needed to open the shop, but I mistook Mr Givens for you Seth."

"So you weren't looking for Trixie then?" Seth asked chiding his friend gently who just looked at him as wide eyed as a deer in headlights.

"Like he needs to come here to find me!" Trixie said with her hands on her hips and her tone sharp from the board walk outside the door. Seth should have known she wouldn't actually leave. "Anyway I was only here to talk to Jewel." She finished looking pointedly at Al who just placed a toothpick in between his lips and shrugged as if the conversation now bored him.

Raylan picked up his hat and as Al watched he and Bullock unconsciously put their hats on in unison in the exact fashion, it was as if Al were looking at a mirror image of Bullock in cattle wrangler clothes. He blinked a few times to try and clear the image, but it only got worse as the pair walked out of the bar talking to each other step for step with their gaits the identical match of the other. Al wasn't the only one to notice because he saw that the Jew was shaking his head as if to clear the image he perceived.

"Well gentleman and Trixie." Al said turning, "That was an odd fucking morning indeed." He took another shot of whiskey and then cursed, "Fucking A I forgot to ask Bullock about the cock sucking hoople heads that he has locked up, I only hope to fucking Christ that he did not take this bunch up to the jail by their fucking ears."