TWO
I Am, Are You?
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"Whoa whoa whoa," short-haired Dean said quickly, dropping his jeans to the bed and spreading his hands out in front of him. "Easy there, pal, no-one's lookin' to get shot here."
Shaggy-haired Dean stared, the needle on his personal Holy Crap-ometer apparently havering around 'ten'. "He even sounds like me," he hissed at his similarly spooked younger brother.
"How about you just lower those guns a little, huh?" shaggy-haired Sam said calmly. "We're not armed. You two are. And ours aren't even loaded with silver anyway."
"Silver! We're not shapeshifters!" shaggy-haired Dean cried angrily.
"Alright, alright, you're not shapeshifters," shaggy-haired Sam allowed. "Who are you then?"
"Who the hell are you two?" he shot back. "Explain the fucked-up mirror images!"
The two unarmed men looked at each other meaningfully.
"He's got a potty-mouth on him," short-haired Dean observed quietly.
"Dean," his accomplice tutted.
"Dean? Your name's Dean?" shaggy-haired Dean demanded.
"Ye-ah," he allowed slowly, looking back at him. "And you are?"
"Dean!"
"Riiiiight," short-haired Dean nodded with a slowness born of unease. He turned to look back at his own brother. "Any other way our day could get worse?"
"Wait wait wait," short-haired Sam stated suddenly. The room looked at him. He shut the door behind him before waving his Taurus at the strange pair, gesturing them to the furthest bed. They complied, sitting down and sharing a warning glance between them that chilled his soul. "Right. Names."
"He's Sam. I'm Dean," short-haired Dean replied curtly.
"Surname?" short-haired Sam barked.
"Winchester." He paused, watching this news sink in. "You?"
"Sam and Dean. Winchester," armed Sam nodded. He stole a glance at his brother, who was watching them with his bearded chin hanging slightly open. He looked back at the two men. "Age?"
"Thirty," Dean admitted.
"Him?" short-haired Sam urged, nodding at his long-haired replica.
"Dude, you never ask a lady her age," short-haired Dean tutted.
His Sam let the back of his hand fly out and slap into his brother's arm. "Twenty-six," he replied.
Short-haired Sam nodded slowly. "Us too. What car you got?" he asked his look-alike sharply.
"Me? I don't have a--" he began.
"The car's mine," short-haired Dean butted in. "'67 Chevy Impala. She's in the parking lot. And if you've so much as scratched her, I don't care who you are, I'll ram that gun of yours so far up your ass you'll be chewing with the trigger," he growled.
"Dean," his brother hissed.
He looked at his shaggy haired brother, then back at the neat and tidy replica. "So what now? You gonna shoot us?"
"N-no," short-haired Sam allowed, letting his gun drop slowly.
"Sam!" shaggy-haired Dean chided. "We don't know what these two are! They could be--"
"Be what?" his Sam demanded, turning to look at him. "I don't know about you, man, but I am not shooting what could be my own double."
"Fine," shaggy Dean grumped, clearly unhappy. He pushed the safety back on his Colt, letting it dangle by his side. "But I say we test everyone here for the obvious."
"Like what?" shaggy Sam asked warily.
"Salt. Silver. Holy water. The usual," shaggy Dean stated, eyeing him suspiciously.
Short-haired Dean nodded. "That would answer a few questions."
"Everyone willing to do this?" shaggy-haired Sam asked, looking at his double, and then the bearded version of his brother. There were shrugs and nods all round. "Well then…" He went to his duffle, fishing around until he found a can of salt and a small flask. "Who's first?"
"Can I see that?" short-haired Sam said slowly.
Shaggy Sam put his hands out, handing the salt to his replica. He, in turn, studied it before handing the salt can to his long-haired Dean.
"Check it," he instructed. He looked back at shaggy Sam, putting his hand out for the water flask. But everyone was watching shaggy Dean. He simply unscrewed the salt can, shaking it about before tipping a little into the palm of his hand. He studied it, sniffed it, then shrugged and dipped his tongue in it.
"Salt," he confirmed. He handed the can back to his younger brother. "Well I guess that's me tested for salt allergies," shaggy Dean commented. "Pass me the water there, Chewie."
Shaggy haired Sam blinked at him, then handed him the flask. Shaggy Dean took it and didn't even hesitate. He flipped it open and tipped it up, drinking a few sips.
"Tastes like it's been in there too long," he observed, sniffing and putting the lid back on. He looked up at everyone staring at him. "What?"
"Give me that," short-haired Sam tutted, swigging some himself before giving it back to shaggy Sam. He unscrewed the salt can and poured a little into his palm. "There, see?" he pointed out. "We're not demons, ghosts or slugs. Your turn."
Shaggy Sam took the water and salt, repeating his replica's actions to show his salted palm to the others. He sipped the water before handing everything to short-haired Dean. He unfolded unimpressed arms and repeated the procedure.
"So then," short-haired Dean announced, throwing the flask and the salt back at his brother's duffle, "none of us is a demon or an assed-out impersonator spirit. Perfect. Silver?"
Short-haired Sam reached into his pocket and produced a small knife with inscriptions on the blade.
"What's that?" short-haired Dean asked suspiciously.
"Silver. Charmed silver," short-haired Sam replied. He flipped the blade into his hand and proferred the handle to his double. "See for yourself."
"Right," shaggy Sam muttered. He took the knife and cut at his thumb just enough for red blood to seep out. "See?" He handed the knife to his brother, who also nicked a thumb before handing the blade to his own replica.
Shaggy Dean and short-haired Sam repeated the blood-letting, looking up to find short-haired Dean offering his own knife at his replica.
"What?" shaggy Dean asked.
"How do I know your knife is really silver?" short-haired Dean pointed out. "We used yours, now you can use ours."
Shaggy Dean looked to Sam. Short-haired Sam nodded and Dean turned back to the blade, taking it and cutting his thumb. He gave the knife to short-haired Sam, who cut his own thumb before handing it back.
"Right then," shaggy Sam observed. "We're all real. Now what?"
Shaggy Dean gestured to his double with his bearded chin. "You, Dean-alike," he said gruffly. "Where's your dad?"
"He died," short-haired Dean allowed. "A few years back."
"Heart attack?"
"No! Demon!" Dean protested.
Shaggy Dean put a hand up in surrender. "Alright, don't get your panties twisted," he protested, in a voice scarily like the one his double had just used.
His double ran a hand through his short hair and blew out a sigh. "Look - where did you two spring from? How long you been around?"
"Thirty years," shaggy-haired Dean said tightly. "Can we skip to the bit where you tell us how you got here and look exactly like us?"
"Don't know if you've noticed," shaggy-haired Sam said suddenly, "but we don't look exactly like you."
Silence winged its way into the room, perching rather precariously over the proceedings and watching with an uncomfortable eye.
"Let's start with the basics," shaggy Sam offered unexpectedly, sending the silence to the floor in a thousand tiny pieces. "How did you get here?"
"In Sam's car," shaggy-haired Dean admitted.
"Sam's car?" short-haired Dean prompted. "Where's yours?"
"I ain't got a car," shaggy Dean spluttered. "Don't need one. Dad gave him his Impala."
"Your dad did what!" short-haired Dean protested. "Why the hell didn't he give it to you!"
"That is a long, sad story," shaggy Dean sighed regretfully.
The four of them eyed each other, raging discomfort filling the room until short-haired Dean threw his hands up in despair.
"Right. This is all too nuts - no-one's gonna say it, so I am," he growled. "We're doubles. Mirror images. Not just us, but our lives - mostly."
"Something's really…" shaggy haired Sam began slowly.
"Weird?" his brother finished for him.
"Freaky," the replica Sams admitted together.
"It's giving me the creeps," both Deans muttered. They stopped short and looked at each other, their faces mirrors of alarm.
"So now what?" short-haired Sam asked quietly. It was silent in the room for a long moment.
"Now… We work out how there are two of each of us - and why." Shaggy Sam sat slowly. "I'm guessing you two are hunters?"
They shared a knowing glance. "Yeah," short-haired Sam nodded. "We saw reports of what we thought was demons getting ganked and came to investigate."
"Yeah - job's nearly finished, fellas," short-haired Dean nodded. "Sorry - you're a day too late."
"You're Agents Young and Scott?" shaggy-haired Dean guessed.
"Yup," Dean confirmed. "How'd you know about that?"
"We were at the crime scene just now," short-haired Sam replied. "We were trying to get a jump on the investigation."
"Well it's all taken care of, thanks for your interest," he said firmly. "So let me get this straight - your - er - Sam's got the Impala, your dad's also dead, I'm guessing from a heart attack, and you go round the country killing demons and trying to stop the apocalypse."
"The what?" shaggy Dean asked innocently.
Short-haired Dean sighed, nodding to himself. "Figures." He looked up at the copy of himself. "So… you had any… ah… near-death experiences?" he asked carefully.
"Only like a tonne, man," he heaved. "Every damn day. You?"
"You could say that, yeah," he admitted uneasily. "Nothing too… close for comfort?"
"Not really - oh, hang on," shaggy Dean said quickly, snapping his fingers. "There was that time in Florida. Got my ass thrown from a third-storey window."
"What was it? Demon? Vampire?"
"The waitress' mom," shaggy-haired Dean shrugged. The pair of opposite Winchesters sagged slightly in disapproval. "We don't come up against many demons these days. Guess there aren't many left."
"Aren't many left?" short-haired Dean demanded. "How'd you work that out?"
"We had this big thing a while back - a door to Hell almost got opened. We stopped it," short-haired Sam allowed.
"You stopped it?" short-haired Dean demanded, surprised, but his shaggy-haired brother put his hand up to butt in.
"And then?" he asked with trepidation. "You stopped it, and then?"
"Look, you might find this crazy, but…" short-haired Sam paused, staring at his double. "Actually, you might not…"
"You died," short-haired Dean put in. "Didn't you?"
"Yeah, I did," short-haired Sam admitted. "And then my idiot brother sold his soul to bring me back. Don't go there."
But short-haired Dean snorted with amusement, running hands over his face. Eventually he looked up at his bearded counterpart. "And you got given a year?"
"No, actually… Ten," he shrugged.
"Ten? You got ten?" short-haired Dean spluttered.
"Yeah. Just like everyone else. But Sam here… took him over a year, but he got me off. We found the demon--"
"Some chick called Lilith?" short-haired Dean interrupted.
"Yeah - how'd you know?"
"Lucky guess," Dean ground out.
"So yeah, we found her, we ganked her, job done," bearded Dean shrugged. "You?"
"Ah… We kinda went another route," short-haired Dean managed lightly, not looking at his brother.
"But you did the same thing? You sold your soul for your Sam?" short-haired Sam asked quietly.
"Yeah, I did," short-haired Dean nodded, looking at the carpet. There was an uncomfortable silence.
"And then?" short-haired Sam dared.
"Well, put it this way, my deal was a little… less fair than the one your brother got," he allowed.
"Why?" shaggy Dean asked quietly.
The two Deans looked at each other for a long moment.
"Demons, man," short-haired Dean allowed eventually. "They get all riled up when you've been hunting them down for the last few years. They take it personally."
"So… You two mainly hunt demons?" short-haired Sam put in.
"It's all we fight these days," short-haired Dean sighed. "Them and angels."
"Angels? Psshhhtt," his long-haired copy hissed dismissively, "Everyone knows there's no such thing as angels."
"Riiiiiight," short-haired Dean nodded sarcastically.
"Look, this is all very educational, but it doesn't explain why there are two pairs of us - if that's what we really are," short-haired Sam interrupted.
"And why our lives have gone so differently," shaggy-haired Sam muttered.
His short-haired elder brother looked at him knowingly. "Alright, what is it?" he sighed.
"What's what?" shaggy Sam protested.
The armed Winchesters stood in silence, watching uneasily.
"You got that 'I know what it is, but he ain't going to like it' look on your face," short-haired Dean allowed quietly. His younger brother looked at him steadily, then up at the two copies watching them.
"Maybe," he allowed.
"Well then spit it out," he snapped irritably. "I don't know about you, but I ain't getting any younger."
"Dean--"
"Sammy, what is it?" he demanded.
The copies blinked in apparent surprise, then shared a small glance. They looked back at shaggy Sam with interest.
"Well… One of us two pairs is a copy, right?" he offered.
"I doubt we could all have grown up so exactly the same," his short-haired replica put in helpfully.
"So… at some point, something happened to one pair to create a second one." He sniffed and looked at his older brother. "I think, the more we find out about each other, the more chance we have of finding out how."
"Trickster," short-hair Dean said immediately. "Siren. Shapeshifter. Hell, could even be a demon game," he hazarded.
"Then we have to start eliminating possibilities," shaggy Sam shrugged. He looked up at the two Winchesters still on their feet. "You need to tell us about yourselves."
"Now wait a minute," shaggy Dean interrupted, and they looked up at him. "Why do you think we're the ones who shouldn't be here? How do you know it ain't you two?"
Shaggy Sam opened his mouth, but it was neat Sam who put his hand up. "Dean. Let me handle this," he said firmly.
The motel room owning Winchesters recognised it for what it was: an order. Short-haired Dean looked up at his shaggy counterpart, watching the familiar need to protest die and leave his bearded face. Instead he shrugged.
"Whatever," he shrugged, and the mixture of tacit obedience and slight air of resignation surprised his audience of one. Short-haired Dean filed it away for future reference.
"What's the earliest thing you remember?" shaggy Sam asked.
"What's the earliest thing you remember?" shaggy Dean shot back, but when shaggy Sam looked at him, he realised the two Deans were watching each other.
"Me?" short-haired Dean prompted. The double Deans eyed one another with vague distrust. Short-haired Dean looked at shaggy Sam slowly, then back at the neat copy of his taller brother, thinking. Eventually he ran a tongue over a dry lip and straightened himself a little. "Running away from a burning house, carrying you. I mean him," he amended, gesturing to his own shaggy brother with his head. "I was… four, nearly five."
"You too?" shaggy Dean asked.
Short-haired Dean opened his mouth.
The motel door splintered inward. All four Winchesters leapt further into the room, reaching for weapons without even thinking.
A tall young man entered the room, jeans and Bad Company t-shirt clean and intact, despite his apparent destruction of the door. He stood just inside the room, smirking at the four men. He raised his hands to his hips, appraising them all and the four weapons pointed at him.
"Sam Winchester," he said, fixing his gaze on the shorter haired version. "And… Sam Winchester!" he grinned, turning slightly to look at the shaggy double.
"Who are you?" short-haired Sam managed first.
"Let's just say," he said with a satisfied smile, "I've come to clean house."
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