Dean caught the m&m's in midair. He kept glaring at Sam, but he did rip open the bag a pour a few into his mouth, and if Sam chose to take that as an acceptance of his unspoken apology, then so be it. He was pissed, but he didn't really want to start a fight in the freaky-ass universe. And anyway, Sam always did weird, indecipherable shit like this when he had stuff on his mind. Yelling at him wouldn't make him stop doing it, it would only make him feel worse when he did.
Dean figured Sam felt bad enough these days.
Sam was trailing behind him, hands stuffed in his pockets, feet scuffing against the road as it changed from pavement to dirt. Dean could feel him at his shoulder, see him from the corner of his eye. It reminded him of when they were kids, and he swallowed the thought before it could cut too deeply.
"Don't fucking wander off like that," he muttered as they turned the corner to Bobby's.
"Sorry. I told . . . y'know, the other one, to tell you where I went."
"He did. Fucking creepy bastard," Dean added, which didn't even halfway cover his feelings on the subject. "Sheriff Mills tell you anything interesting?"
Sam shrugged in Dean's peripheral vision.
"He's just . . . me. There but for the grace of God, I guess."
There was something strange and cracked in Sam's voice, and Dean nearly turned to see what the hell was going on in the kid's head, but Sam's sudden, steel grip on his arm stopped him.
"Wait. Look."
Dean looked. They had reached the foot of Bobby's porch, and Sam was staring at the packed earth in front of it. Footprints. There were too many footprints. Sam's huge print, and Dean's, and Bobby's worn bootprint – and three more sets. Unfamiliar.
Shit.
He exchanged a look with Sam. Silently, he made his way up the stairs and across the porch, avoiding the boards which Bobby intentionally left creaky. He could feel Sam behind him, a mirror to his own movements. The door was ajar, and they slipped inside without a noise.
Inside, there were signs of a struggle, and as they edged towards the sitting room, someone was laughing. It was a terrible, mirthless sound, and Dean froze in his tracks. It was his own voice.
"What's so goddamn funny, pretty boy?" an unfamiliar voice inquired. "You looking forward to getting strung up next to your demon spawn baby brother?"
"I just think it's hilarious that you think that's gonna happen," Other Dean replied, as Dean hazarded another step forward to peer around the corner. Other Dean was tied to a chair, held at gunpoint by a hunter Dean didn't recognize. There were two others, as well, one keeping Bobby in a similar situation and the other keeping his gun trained on the stairs as he hurriedly added another Devil's Trap to the myriad that were already chalked onto the floors and ceilings.
Idiots, Dean thought, his eyes finding the elaborate Devil's Trap above the doorway that had trapped Meg in their universe. If Other Sam could get around that, did they really think their makeshift bullshit would stop him?
"They're going to die," said Sam from behind him, so lowly that he barely heard. He glanced back to see that he had lowered his gun, his haunted gaze drifting to the ceiling. Above them, a floorboard creaked.
Everyone froze for an instant, and then the three captors jolted into action.
"Showtime, boys," the apparent leader said, leaping back from the stairs and readying his shotgun. Other Dean let out another barking, humorless laugh.
"Ever been torn apart by a Hellhound, boys? It's no fun, let me tell you."
"Shut up," the leader said, but one of his henchmen, the one with a bad haircut, looked uneasy.
"Ever thought about it, Curly?" Other Dean addressed him, still grinning widely. "What'll happen to you if all your amateur-night occultism lets you down? Ever wondered what the King of Hell looks like when he's pissed off?"
Another floorboard creaked, this time at the top of the stairs.
"Might as well come out, Sammy," the leader called, cocking his revolver.
Dean's breath caught. It was the Colt.
"Nothing personal, you understand," the leader continued, taking aim at the doorway. "It's gotta be done."
"Nothing personal," Other Sam agreed mildly, and stepped into view.
To his credit, the leader didn't hesitate. His finger tightened on the trigger one, two, three times in quick succession, the cracks of the gunshots nearly drowned out by the blood rushing in Dean's ears as he stood frozen and watched the bullets which could kill anything hurtle towards the man who was almost his brother –
And they stopped.
The bullets hung in the air while Other Sam examined them, twisting them this way and that with a twitch of his fingers.
"Huh," he said. "You know, that might have worked."
Bad Haircut was the first to move, bolting for the door. Other Sam whistled sharply and he went down under two hundred pounds of invisible canine, his whimpers of fear mingling with the hellhound's heavy breathing, inches from Dean and Sam's vantage point. A wave of Other Sam's hand and Other Dean and Bobby were free. Other Dean disarmed the stunned leader of the troop effortlessly, and the last hunter dropped his weapons and fell to his knees.
"I'm sorry," he said, eyes on the ground, and Dean's stomach twisted. "I'm sorry. Please."
Other Sam stepped forward, and crouched down in front of him.
"I'm sorry, too."
The snap of the hunter's neck echoed across the room.
Dean's stomach heaved. Behind him, he could hear Sam murmuring softly to himself. Our Father, who art in heaven. Hallowed be thy name . . .
"C'mon," Dean said quietly, turning away as Other Sam rounded on the leader. "Sam. C'mon." He grabbed his brother's arm and hauled him towards the front door, stubbornly ignoring the sounds that followed them. He dragged them both outside, closing the door behind them.
Sam sank onto the front step, head in his hands. Dean dropped down beside him and shoved his arm.
"Sammy. Hey. You alright? Not scratching, right?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."
"Sure. And you look it, too." Dean sighed, staring out across the junkyard. It looked the same as ever; cars and dirt and even the old chains that used to hold the dogs. He wondered what happened to them in this Universe. He wondered what happened to everyone. "Look, that's not you in there. Not you, not me, hell, not even Bobby."
"Isn't it?" Sam asked, looking up, and he had those depths in his eyes, the ones that meant he was thinking thoughts Dean couldn't even begin to fathom. And Dean felt, once again, helpless.
"No," he said firmly. "They're just . . . some guys, alright? Just some guys who look kinda like us."
"That's wrong."
They both jumped at the sudden voice.
"Dammit, Cas!"
Cas – Other Cas – continued as if he hadn't spoken.
"They are you. They have the same souls."
"My brother isn't the goddamn King of Hell," Dean snapped, rising to his feet.
"No," Other Cas agreed. "But he might have been. And you would have loved him anyway."
A muffled scream came from inside, followed by a laugh. Dean's laugh.
"Why are you here, Cas?" Sam asked tiredly.
"I have discovered the point at which your timelines diverged. I believe, given this information, I can send you back to your own timeline."
"Fine," said Dean angrily. "Fine. I'm done with this fucking Universe. Do it."
"Wait," said Sam, rising as well. "Where did they diverge, Cas?"
"There was a demon," said Other Cas. "In this timeline, it was killed by a hunter several years ago, shortly before Dean was cast into Perdition. In yours, by chance, it escaped."
There was a beat of silence.
"Bullshit," Dean said. "Some random demon dies, and Sam becomes King of Hell? That's it? Bullshit."
"Not 'some random demon,'" Other Cas corrected, turning a cold look on him. "I believe you knew it as Ruby."
Sam went pale.
"No," he said. "No, she – no!"
"Sammy –" Dean tried, reaching for him, but Sam shook him off.
"Send us back," Sam demanded. He was trembling. "Cas. Send us back to our own timeline, right now."
Cas nodded, and reached towards them. Dean felt a cool fingertip on his temple, and then –
"The hell? Where the hell did you two come from?"
"Bobby!"
And it was Bobby, real Bobby, scowling at them over the railing of the porch.
"Bobby," Dean repeated, relieved. "Hang on, I'll explain in a sec – Sam, you okay?"
And Sam looked at him with eyes like the sea and said,
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."
And Dean said,
"Okay. Okay, good."
And he knew that Sam knew that he knew it was a lie; and he knew they both knew he wouldn't do a damn thing about it. Dean looked at his brother's hunched shoulders and shaking hands and thought,
I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. This isn't working; you deserve better.
And he didn't say anything at all.
Notes: Thanks for reading, and let me know what you think! If you want to know more about how Other Sam and Dean and Cas came to be, check out my Boy King series. Thanks again.