TWO
"What are you doing? How are we going to just drive in there?" Sam hissed.
"Relax, Sammy. I know exactly how to get us in," Dean grinned. "Remember back in LA? I was one helluva PA."
Sam huffed worriedly, sitting back in the seat as the Impala came to a rest by the gatehouse. Dean rolled his window down as the guard walked around, peering in.
"Hi there," he began with a large friendly smile.
"Oh, hey boys," the man grinned. "Took her out for a spin, did you?"
"Er - yeah yeah, that's exactly what we did," Dean nodded with smooth confidence. "Can we get back in?"
"Of course. 'Be my pleasure," the man nodded, tipping two fingers to his forehead as he stepped back and pressed the gate button.
Dean shot Sam a confused glance before they drove in beyond the gate. They followed the wide driveway for a minute or so, slowly dodging and rounding various racks and haphazardly abandoned vehicles and props. He pulled her over next to what appeared to be a large dumpster full of polystyrene, sliding her into Park.
"Well, this is as far as the old girl goes," he said, reaching into the back seat for the Colt handgun from his duffle. "I don't want to get any more attention than we need to here."
"Good idea," Sam said, frowning in agitation as he reached over for his duffle.
They climbed out of the car, stowing guns securely and pulling shirts straight, locking her up and looking around casually.
"Where do we go from here?" Dean asked. He noticed a sizeable road sign leaning against the end of the dumpster and tilted his head to read it. "'Leaving Salvation - the heartland of America'," he read slowly, frowning. "Sure I seen that before somewhere." He flicked his gaze up, thinking furiously as he muttered the name to himself over and over.
Sam was turning round in a slow circle, appraising everything. "I guess we just do what did we did last time, in LA. Get ourselves jobs," he offered. Dean was distracted long enough for the road sign to be lost in the flotsam and jetsam of peripheral junk and he turned to look at his younger brother.
"You reckon this thing is living on a film lot cos it's kinda like making stuff too?" he asked innocently. Sam shrugged at him.
"Could be. Maybe he just likes to make stuff, whether it's new worlds or just props."
"Speaking of which," Dean said, putting his hands in his pockets and looking around, "we should start on the props department."
"Why?" Sam asked, even as they turned and began to walk deeper inside the goings-on.
"Cos if I'd been a key for like thousands of years, and then somehow found maself able to work on a place like this, I think I'd like to be in a room full of inanimate objects, y'know?" he shrugged.
"And you call me a freak," Sam breathed.
"Whut?"
"I said that's pretty weak," he said more loudly, catching his brother up. "But it's a start."
"And even if we don't find him there, we can-- Dude! Look!" he gasped. He stopped dead suddenly, his eyes bulging.
"What?" Sam asked quickly, alert.
Dean was pointing. "It's Bruce Campbell!"
"Bruce who?" Sam asked, lost.
"Bruce Campbell!" Dean cried eagerly, still pointing. The man at whom his finger was jabbing stopped suddenly, hearing his name. He smiled, turned, and walked over the twenty feet confidently. "He's coming over," Dean panicked. "He's coming over!"
"Hey there, boys," Bruce said warmly, putting his hand out. "You already done up? I won't keep you from your job," he winked with amusement, shaking Dean's hand with a reassuringly firm grip. "Just heading on over to speak to the boss - might see you on the lot next season after all," he added.
"Ah - yeah - ok - that'd be - ah - great," Dean managed in a small voice.
Sam turned his polite smile on his awestruck brother, highly amused to see his face had gone a slight shade of red and the tips of his ears were positively burning with either adrenaline or embarrassment at his prompt and complete lack of marbles.
Bruce appeared to notice neither the ears nor the bunny-in-the-headlights look he was causing on Dean's face. He simply nodded with a broad smile, letting their hands drop and walking away.
"Ok, that was really weird," Sam stated as they watched him disappear into the crowd of people.
"That was Bruce Campbell," Dean whimpered, apparently unable to find all of his voice.
"He thought we were working here."
"That was Bruce Cam--"
"Dude!" Sam said sharply, turning and slapping at his brother's arm. "Listen to me, this is important!" he ordered.
"That was Bruce--. Whut?"
"Before you wet yourself over meeting some B movie actor, can we--"
"He ain't some B movie actor, numb-nut, he's Ashley J. Williams!" he snapped, and Sam just let his eyebrows raise.
"Ok, Dean?" he asked slowly, with a deliberateness that made his older brother fume at him. "We're not at Disney, ok? This is not a fun trip to meet your heroes, ok? This is forty-eight hours from Hell and damnation, and the one thing that can stop it is the Kripke, ok? Got it?" he said clearly.
"Alright man, I got it," Dean said grumpily. He put his hands back in his pockets and began to walk along. Sam watched him and felt a tiny bubble of anguish burst on the surface of his sense of urgency.
It's not fair, he thought harshly, and not for the first time. He's got two days left, unless we can stop this. He should have time for all this sight-seeing. Let's face it, a film lot is just about the only thing he really gets excited about these days.
He sighed, stuffed his hands into his own pockets, then followed. They stared around them at all the people hard at work, carrying props, moving banners, arguing, joking, talking.
"There's something relaxing about a movie set," Dean admitted, and Sam let himself release a little tension from his shoulders.
"Yeah. Mainly cos it's not us having to-. Look," he said, stopping and pulling at his brother's arm.
"Whut?"
"Over there," Sam said, confused. "How did the car get there?"
They stared at a sleek black Impala, parked outside a large hangar in front of them. Dean turned and looked back down the drive, then back again.
"It must be another one," Sam shrugged.
"No… it's her," Dean said firmly. "Look at the scratch on the rear near-side wing. And who else has big-ass spotlights attached to the front windscreen frame?" He paused and then Sam heard his sharp intake of breath. "And check out the plates!"
"Ah…"
"No-one else has Kansas plates on the front, man! Cos you don't need 'em! And they're her plates!"
"Point taken," Sam said. They stared.
"There's something really screwy going on here, dude," Dean breathed, walking over to the car cautiously.
Sam kept up, watching the people around them surreptitiously. Dean stopped by the car door, taking his car key and sliding it in. It turned easily and he opened the door, ducking in and looking over the dash.
"Why is no-one worried it looks like we're breaking into someone's car?" Sam asked out loud.
"Ok, this is a whole new level of weirdness," Dean admitted, his hands on the driver's seat and his head poking round the wide length of dials.
"What is it?" Sam demanded.
"This ain't her. For one, this car's done about half the number of miles that she has. But it has a nick in the trim of the dash, just where hers is. But…" He paused as he leaned over to open the glovebox. "Huh. Someone's emptied it out, like it's been valeted. It's got the same circular burn mark in the carpet of the passenger footwell, though."
He backed out of the car, closing and locking it automatically. He paused and looked at his hand, realising what he'd just done.
"It's not her. It just looks like her - like someone's made it up to look like her. But my key fits," he said, holding his hands out in confusion.
"Well maybe… maybe it's just a collector's model, y'know? Maybe they're using it in the film they're making here and they just happen to have a black one too," Sam shrugged uneasily.
The two boys looked at each other.
"Nah," they breathed dismissively.
"Tell you whut though--"
"Dean!" Sam hissed suddenly, gripping his brother's arm with abrupt panic. "Look!"
Dean looked from his captured arm to follow his younger brother's gaze.
What he saw was a young man, overly tall with dark brown bangs over both eyes, striding purposefully toward the same hangar by which they were stood. He looked more closely. He felt his jaw come loose as both he and Sam stared openly, watching him arrive at the side of the hanger right in front of them and open the side door.
"Dude… it's you," Dean blinked. He looked back at Sam, then over at the exact replica disappearing through a side door. "Well… he looks just like you. Even had your girlie flowery shirt on."
Sam let go of his arm. "How does this car look like yours? How does that guy look exactly like me?" he demanded, worried.
"Let's ask him," Dean nodded with keen decisiveness, turning to go. Sam grabbed his arm again.
"Wait," he barked. "We can't afford to get distracted here. Two days left, remember?"
"Sam! What if he's the Kripke? What if he just happens to look like you but he's actually this thing? What if that's his disguise? There can't be two of you!"
Sam let go of his arm slowly, his eyes wide.
"Then he must have seen me before," he concluded.
"We really need to ask that guy a few questions," Dean nodded, turning away and heading for the same hangar door.
"Dean! Wait!" Sam called hoarsely, trying not to attract the attention of the busy people around them. Dean stopped and turned, lifting his hands in query.
Sam caught him up. "If we go in there now, everyone's going to see two of me at once," he said. "Don't you think that's going to be hard to explain?"
"If he's hiding out here, he's the one who's going to have explain," Dean pointed out. "If we get in there and tell everyone you two are long-lost twins, how's he going to disagree? If he wants to keep his cover, I mean?"
"Good point," Sam nodded. "Let's go then. But please, let's make sure no-one sees us?"
"Of course," Dean smiled with confidence smooth enough to rival Sunpat's finest peanut butter. "We'll be like leaves on the wind, whispers on the air, ninjas in the kitchen," he soothed, spreading his hands. "The only people who are going to know we're even on the lot are you, me, and the Kripke."
"What the hell are you two doing here?" came a voice. They looked round to see a short woman wearing a headset staring at them. "If Eric finds out you're late for make-up again, he's really going to kick my ass into next week." She paused as they simply stood, trying to think of something to say. "Well come on you two, shake a leg! We're not paid by the hour! Or do you want season four cancelled?"
The Winchesters just stood, speechless, and she sighed.
"Men," she grunted, taking Dean's wrist and pulling. Sam followed quickly, hands in his pockets against the damp cool air.
The woman pulled them on to a large trailer, pushing Dean up the steps in front of her. He poked his head in the door, the woman's head following as she squeezed up behind him.
Inside stood a short haired girl, hands on hips. "Oh, there you are. Hey Margie, thanks for finding him for me," said smiled.
Dean was bundled into the trailer, the woman - Margie, apparently - and Sam following hastily.
"Jared, back again? I've just done you," the woman said, flapping a hand at Sam as she grinned. "But you get over here and sit, Jensen. Looks like you need a bit of a shave."
Dean turned and looked at Sam fearfully.
"Dude, they think we're actors!" he hissed.
Author's Note:
I DO NOT DO SEASON FOUR SPOILERS! I made all this up!
Next chapter coming soon...