In the end, they settled for cuffing the two of them together, both left wrists bound in the specially forged iron, the rights tied in what would have a much more prosaic length of rope, had it not been purified and blessed by priests from Koya-San for use in temple ceremonies. (Nicholas was remarkably cagey about how he'd obtained it.) Neither material appeared to harm the pair more than the rough manhandling necessary to see them appropriately fettered did. Nor did either one stir when thoroughly doused with holy water, and while both looked pale and ill, it was anyone's guess whether that was the effect of the containment circle or the sedative drugs.
Bickering, the hunters stripped them both down to boxers, checking for concealed weaponry and charms, noting one Sam's anti-possession tattoo with professional admiration, and the other Sam's leather and silver wrist-bracer with consternation: None of the esoteric symbols pressed into the metal and leather piece were marks the Hunters recognized, and obviously silver wouldn't work on at least one half of the pair.
In a way, this was their downfall; each of them had an opinion as to the Sams' disposal, and each voiced it vociferously. Busily debating the pros and cons of simple exorcism and beheading versus witch-dunking and burning alive, the Hunters committed a rookie sin.
They left the skylight unguarded.
It wasn't quite the batman-esque entrance Dean would have liked, but the heavy transport pallet he lobbed through the glass more than served it's purpose as a distraction. The salt and silver buckshot he and Bobby were still armed with (courtesy of the werecat hunt Sam had been so rudely pulled from) was more than adequate to the task of rendering most of the rest of the hunters unconscious.
Seeing the bruise darkening the disturbingly slack face of his kid brother and the blood still oozing sluggishly from his cut feet, Dean had great difficulty not reaching for the silver-loaded handgun. True, the chambered rounds were intended for less human targets, but they'd kill a man just as efficiently as lead. Bobby's backhanded pistol whip across the skull of the last of them was short and vicious, and made it pretty obvious he'd spotted the damage sported by the youngest of their party as well.
"There's two of them," Dean noted, in an unconscious echo of the Hunters he'd so summarily dispatched. Barely pausing, he stepped over one to kneel by the other; despite the similarities of face and build, he had no trouble picking his kid brother from between the two. "Sam. Hey, Sammy," he gently cajoled, cradling the other man's head in his hands. "Time to wake up." When he was rewarded with a soft groan, he raised his eyes to Bobby. The other hunter was busily inspecting the apparently still-comatose facsimile of his brother.
A non-verbal agreement conveyed by a single glance saw Bobby rapidly recite an exorcism, his Latin clipped with tension. The total lack of black smoke saw both relax, though bobby opened his hip flask and watered the pair just to be sure.
When an oak and elm talisman proved similarly harmless, Dean started attacking the lock on the manacles with gusto and a paperclip.
Shrugging, Bobby turned his knife to the rope, though he cut only their Sam free.
"What do you think it is?" Dean asked casually, his attention largely focussed on a pat down of his brother. Finding only minor injuries, he relaxed enough to pay attention to Bobby's response.
"No problem with silver, so it's not a shifter. Oak, elm and cold hard iron rule out a Fae glamour, and the shinto rope would have forced even up to a kyuubi-level kitsune back into its fur."
"Manitou?" "Unlikely. They tend to go more for the inanimate object look."
"Do you think . . . Do you think perhaps it's a construct put together by old Yellow Eyes? Some remnant from his grand plan?" The tension thrumming through Dean's shoulders gave lie to the casual tone of his voice.
"Doubt it. If it was, the holy water would have done a fair job of hissing and smoking."
"Yeah. Yeah, you're right." Dean brightened obviously relieved, "Clone, perhaps?"
"Clone? How?"
"Like the Superman comics."
Bobby rolled his eyes at that, though Dean continued unperturbed. "Still, I bet we can exterminate it if we have to."
"Yeah? How?"
"With overkill: whatever we do to it, we do it a lot."
"As if that ever works." "Hey! A guy can dream!"
"Well, not for long he can't. I for one plan for us to be long gone by the time these idjits wake up." Refastening the iron manacle onto the other wrist of the second Sam, Bobby paused to rummage in his satchel. Hesitating, and then shrugging, Dean tied the rope back around the figure's arms for good measure. Doubly-bound, the man still didn't stir.
"When Sam wakes up he can tell us a little more about what sort of creature we're dealing with." Bobby commented, and Dean nodded.
"Can you carry it?"
For an answer, Bobby pulled out a thin drape emblazoned with a portable containment circle large enough to fully wrap up the lanky deadweight of the unconscious body. Better safe than sorry, despite his words to the older Winchester boy. Grimacing behind him, Dean carefully lifted his brother over his shoulder. He'd have preferred to jostle the younger man less, but practice and experience allowed him to continue to handle his shotgun this way, and being armed was always preferable.
"Let's get outta here. This critter has a date with a certain panic room."
Moments later, Sam gently deposited on the backseat of the impala and his presumed doppelganger less-gently deposited in the heavily warded trunk, the old black chevy purred out onto the street.
They left behind a trail of very angry hunters and a dead werecat. They took with them a mystery wrapped in an enigma; a puzzle both Bobby and Dean were determined to solve.
Neither had any idea just how complicated that would prove to be.
SPN SPN SPN SPN
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