•~MARIE~•
It wasn't until I burst back into the ruined house after getting Garth to a safe distance did I realize how completely screwed we were. My heart jumped in my throat as I witnessed the shifter that impersonated Dean choking the life out of Sam. Even as
I watched in frozen horror, Sam's hand that was trying to push away against Shifter-Dean's face shook violently and collapsed down by his side.
"Sam!" I started running towards the gun that was laying several feet behind the shifter. The skills I learned during my hunting stint in Florida shone through when I dived for the gun and twisted on my heel so that I was facing towards the back of the
shifter. Blazing fire exploded out of the barrel of the gun as I unloaded three consecutive bullet rounds into the monster's back, slightly pained that it looked so much like Dean. But I saw what tipped Sam off in the first place when the shifter
turned around; there was no bruise on Shifter-Dean's nose from the hard whack of the broom stick Garth delivered in his moment of self-defense. This solved mystery wasn't the main occupier in my mind though; the bigger problem at large was that the
shifter wasn't laying in his own puddle of blood. The bullets I emptied into the back of the monster were silver; fatal to any shapeshifter.
"H-how-" I began as I backed up, keeping my gun raised nonetheless. The shifter smirked and advanced towards me at a leisurely pace.
"Let's not talk about me. I'm here to talk about you, or at least, what Dean thinks of you."
"Me?"
"Oh yeah," the shifter said knowingly. "Let's start with the fact that ah, Dean here," the shapeshifter tapped his chest, "thinks of you as just another brat he has to look out for."
I glanced over at Sam while the shifter talked. He was deathly pale, and I couldn't tell if he was breathing. Already, bruises could be seen forming around his neck.
Please God, don't let Sam be dead. I pleaded internally.
As much as I wanted to run to his side, I knew the only thing I was capable of doing at the moment was keeping the shifter distracted long enough for me to come up with a plan of attack.
"Yeah right," I took a defensive stance, "Dean knows I can take care of myself, just as much as he knows that of Sam. He feels compelled to be the protective one; that's just who he is."
The shifter chuckled, "You're right, obligation is a big part of it. But not obligation to you or your brother,"
Shifter-Dean taunted. A smug smile spread across his face that seemed familiar, but just off enough to give me slight goose bumps. His next words were spoken as if he had been waiting all night to say them.
"Did I -he- ever tell you what he would do if he had the choice to go back in time to the deal with Death and bring back either Adam or Sam? He wouldn't even consider it; it would be Sam every time. Just like that. So you see: Dean has absolutely no obligations
except to his beloved 'Beautiful Mind' brother. He couldn't care less about you or Adam."
I scoffed in disbelief. This shifter was clueless. Maybe if Dean, Sam, and I didn't have that little heart-to-heart about their guilt over Adam's fate in the motel room, I might have been more susceptible to the accusations that were spilling out of his
mouth. But I knew now where my half-brothers and I stood, and it wasn't underneath the feet of this manipulative monster. I was about to respond with the fact that I knew Dean would choose Sam every time, but my train of thought was broken by movement
by the door.
It was Dean.
He looked like crap. The bruise that he acquired earlier on his nose was joined by a myriad of others, suggesting he had put up quite the struggle when the shifter jumped him. He was bare foot and his usual military jacket and flannel were missing, leaving
him in muddy t-shirt and jeans. I swept my eyes back over to the shifter and sure enough, Dean's stolen attire fit snugly onto the shoulders and feet of his imposter.
Immediately after Dean had full view into the living room of the house, I saw him scrutinize the situation. His gaze first roamed over the shifter backing me into the corner and I saw a spark of panic erupt in his eyes. He started in our direction, but
stopped cold. The previous panic on his face was nothing compared to the cold, unrestricted rage that now flooded his features when he observed Sam spread out on the hard wood floor, still as any dead body.
Dean started walking with murder in his steps and death in his eyes toward the shifter. The monster barely had time to turn around toward the sound of the approaching footsteps before there was a silver knife protruding through his chest, courtesy of
Dean Winchester.
"You hurt my brother? I'll kill you!" he snarled, and pushed against the knife until it sunk deeper into the shifter's heart. Once it reached its destination, Dean gave it a violent twist; a sure fire way to kill any shapeshifter. Except this wasn't an
ordinary shifter.
The monster groaned and stumbled back, but soon enveloped into a menacing laughter that sent chills into my bones. He plucked the silver knife from his chest with ease and tossed it on the floor as if it were nothing but a piece of trash. He fixed Dean
and I with a horrible grin that was unsettling enough to me; I could only imagine how Dean felt, having his own expressions contorted and thrown back at him. But Dean seemed not so much focused on his doppelgänger's face. Rather, he was fixated on
the gaping hole in the jacket that should have been spurting with blood.
The shifter caught Dean's eye and laughed once again. Then he said, "We've been through this. Ask Marie, she can vouch for me. I say we just jump right into the good part. As in, the scene where I kill your little friend Garth."
The shifter turned and looked specifically at me, "Where did you take him by the way? Surely you picked a good, safe spot to hide the little runt. Wouldn't want him getting involved now would we? It was fun beating him up, let me tell you. He could barely
put up a fight, unlike Dean here-"
The shifter was cut off by a punch to the face. Dean was breathing hard; I could tell his anger was barely contained and neither was mine. If Dean had not thrown that punch, surely I would have.
The shifter lurched back with the force of the blow, but he barely seemed dazed. He straightened up and once again smirked arrogantly.
"You call that a punch? No wonder I got the jump on you. How pathetic-"
The shifter was interrupted by another blow to the face by Dean. He grunted in pain but Dean didn't stop there. He gripped his doppelgänger by the front of his stolen jacket and pushed him against the wall. Again and again Dean hit him, all while holding
him in place with one out stretched arm. Each punch was accented by an angry exclamation.
Punch-"That was for mugging me," punch-"That was for stealing Baby, and this-," Dean pulled his bloodied fist back as far as it would go, "is for attacking my family." He let loose a punch that made the shifter's head snap
to the side at a precarious angle.
I figured that if I were faced with an enemy that looked just like me, I'd feel at least some reluctance in beating her face in. But Dean has either had a past experience with this kind of situation or he somehow found this therapeutic. Given the ferocity
of his punches, I'd say both.
"Dean!" I yelled once it was clear that he wouldn't give up on his assailments any time soon. He had to know that what he was doing wasn't in any way actually hurting the shifter; that could be seen in the smile the shifter let loose after every punch
to the face. But Dean kept at it anyway, seemingly satisfied with every bone crack that could be heard.
I stepped closer, not really sure what I intended to do. The look on Dean's face actually instilled a sense of fear in my system. His expression was excruciatingly calm, but I could tell the placid mask was only just covering the rage and turmoil that
was permeating his system. I could only imagine what he must have been feeling in that moment. More than likely satisfaction at pummeling the monster that might've done worse than just hurt his brother, and frustrated rage that it had done it with
Dean's own hands.
Despite my best verbal efforts of protest, Dean barely gave me a glance before rearing his arm back again so that he could let fly another punch. Before he could follow through with his intentions, the shapeshifter lifted up his head and grinned through
his bloody teeth.
"I bet you're having fun aren't you, Dean? I bet this is just damn cathartic for you isn't it; finally throwing your fists at who you know really deserves it."
"Shut up!" Dean bellowed, rage making his face flush red.
"You couldn't save him," Shifter-Dean continued in a haunting voice. He glanced over at Sam who was still laying on the ground and deathly pale, "You couldn't save either of them."
Dean finally followed through with his punch and the shifter's head again snapped to the side. He spit blood out of his mouth to the ground and grinned back at him. The look that covered his stolen features convinced me that he was only just getting started.
"Let's see how hard you can punch when I'm not wearing your face."
The shifter closed his eyes in concentration, and Dean and I stared at him with disbelieving eyes as he began to transform. The transformation couldn't have lasted more than five seconds but it seemed to be happening in slow motion. He grew in height,
his green eyes took on a more browner hue, and his hair grew and became darker. His face was metamorphosed into more sharper features until we were staring into the familiar gaze of Sam Winchester.
Dean immediately dropped his hands down by his sides and stepped back, giving the monster a wide berth. Dean's mask of confusion matched my own; I specifically remember hunting a shapeshifter in Florida, and the only way we were ever able to figure out
who it was that was doing the killing was the shifter's inability to transform on the spot without completely shedding its skin. This shifter on the other hand, was able to transform in a matter of seconds without the need to completely undo itself
and start from scratch.
"How- what are you?" Dean stammered, temporarily letting his guard down. He glanced back over at Sam, pain lancing across his features. I knew it took everything in him not to go running to his brother's side that very instant.
"More than you ever saw coming," Shifter-Sam replied as he gave a cruel smile. He stepped from the wall and straightened up, fully taking advantage of his newly acquired height. It made me realize just how tall Sam really was, and how intimidating he
could be if he so desired. The Sam that I knew slouched almost subconsciously, possibly in an attempt to make himself seem smaller and put others at ease. I've only seen glimpses of the Sam that wanted to intimidate people, and observing the shifter
in front of me, it was someone I would not want to cross.
What was now Shifter-Sam continued to move away from the wall, his gait full of confidence. Dean and I unconsciously backed up, now realizing how outmatched we actually were.
"Answer his question or-" I began, just trying to think of something to say to extend the moment before the shifter decided to kill us.
"Or what, Marie? What could you possibly do to me?" He glared at me as if I were nothing but a pathetic insect he wished to step on with his boot.
Dean took a protective step in front of me, "Look, I'm not gonna ask again. What are you?"
"The oldest there ever was," the shifter said proudly. "Of my kind anyway."
I noticed a glimpse of realization flash across Dean's eyes.
"You're the Alpha? How is that even possible? Crowley killed you," he protested.
I glanced between Dean and the shifter in confusion. Alpha?
"What can I say? Crowley should have made sure I was dead," the shifter said nonchalantly.
"No, no. I know Crowley; when he wants someone dead, he'll make sure it happens."
The shifter was silent for a moment, as if he were contemplating his next words carefully. Then he raised both his hands in mock surrender, "You got me. The original Alpha was beheaded by that murdering demon Crowley," he said almost spitefully.
"Well Murder is basically Crowley's middle name. And he is the King of Hell," Dean remarked sardonically. "Murder is kinda in the job description."
My mouth dropped slightly ajar but I closed it quickly before either of them noticed.
Is he serious? I thought, do Dean and Sam know the King of Hell? Personally!? Who are these guys I'm related to?
Then I remembered. I guess it kind of made sense. With one brother being Michael's vessel and the other Lucifer's and the whole world basically resting on their shoulders, you'd expect them to get some VIP action with the dark and scary bits of the supernatural
world. But still, the King of Hell? I would be lying if I said it didn't make me question their moralities just a little bit.
Shifter-Sam smiled almost genuinely, "Yes, I suppose so. And who am I to judge, really? Anyway, somebody had to take Dad's place as the one on top, so why not his most favored son?"
Dean scoffed, "You gotta be kidding me."
"Afraid not. Now, how 'bout we get on with things. We've been talking way too much."
The shifter moved so fast that neither of us had time to react. He pushed Dean out of the way and made his way toward me. I managed to block one of his punches but the second one seemed to come out of nowhere and hit me across the cheekbone. I stumbled
back; stars springing up in front of my eyes like miniature fireworks.
Once my vision cleared, what I saw made my stomach drop like it weighted a hundred pounds. Shifter-Sam was advancing toward Dean with a silver knife firmly held in his hand. Dean was slowly backing up and I could see on his face that he was searching
for some strategy to get out of his dire situation. With a final look in my direction, he tried to communicate something to me with his eyes, but I couldn't tell what it was. Finally, he mouthed the word "knife" and glanced at the duffle bag that
sat across the room. Despite my confusion, I did what I was silently told and made my way over to the bag just as the shifter landed a gut wrenching punch to Dean's face. He stumbled back against the wall as Sam's doppelgänger raised the knife.
"How does it feel, Dean, to know you're about to be killed by your brother?" The shifter taunted. I couldn't see his face but I imagined Sam's features twisted into an expression of pure malice, and the result was a shiver up my spine.
"Sam was none to happy about it," the shapeshifter continued, "He even thought it was the real you choking him to death in his last few moments."
"Screw you." I heard Dean say, and then grunt as another punch landed.
I finally reached the duffle bag and zipped it open. There were several objects in there but my eyes were immediately drawn toward a knife of about medium size that had a very triangular blade. It wasn't made out of silver, I could tell; it seemed to
be composed of some other type of metal I had never seen before. I gently picked up the odd knife and tried to control my elevated heartbeat. I could not let my fear of knives stop what I needed to do. Pushing down memories of Florida and him,
I gripped the weapon and stood up just as the shifter pinned Dean against the wall with his knife to his throat.
I rushed toward the shifter's back, my heart in my throat. I wasn't going to make it; the shifter was going to kill Dean and I would be left with the death of yet another family member. One I hadn't even gotten to know very well yet. Not to mention how
destroyed Sam would be, if even he was still alive. Sam and Dean were as close as Adam and I ever were; probably even more so due to the fact of experiencing together some extreme lows so spectacular that it's a miracle they were even able to
wade through to the other side in one piece. This thought spurred me on until I was right behind the monster.
Before I could even raise my arm in order to stab through the shifter's heart, he stumbled back as if he were hit in the head with something very heavy. I stepped back to avoid getting trampled and glanced towards Dean. He was just as confused as I was.
I could tell he hasn't raised a hand toward the shifter that would result in the pain that lanced across the creature's face in that moment.
The shifter lurched away from us, and his look of pain faded into one of confusion...and fear.
"W-what's happening?" He almost whimpered. It hurt to watch, considering he looked exactly like Sam. He suddenly jerked his head to the side and fixed his eyes on the wall next to him, as if something caught his attention, "Who are y-you?" He whispered,
and yet another chill went up my spine.
What is happening? I wondered internally, just as Shifter-Sam had done out loud. I dragged my eyes away from the distressed shifter and towards Dean. I expected to see some of the confusion from my face and the shifter's reflected onto his, but
what I saw was a look of anger and knowing.
Dean stepped forward, "Do you know who you're seeing right now? Who my brother is tortured by everyday? It's the devil, and right about now I'm betting you're seeing a whole lot of him."
I realized then what was happening. Whatever crap Sam has going on in his head that he had neglected to tell me about had been transferred onto the shifter. And by the look of it, the craziness that Sam was dealing with was astronomical, to the point
where it was painful to watch; even though I knew it wasn't really Sam I was watching have his break down.
Shifter-Sam shook his head like a dog, as if trying to through off the obvious hallucinations that were bombarding him.
"How is he able to live like this?"
"He's a Winchester. That question doesn't need answering," Dean said spitefully, and in a way that caused me to believe his statement ran a lot deeper than he was letting on.
Dean nodded over to me and held out his hand. I had forgotten that I still held the peculiar knife within my grip. Slowly, I raised it toward him and he took it from me and began toward Sam's impersonator. I could see his knuckles were white on the hand
he held the knife with and his gait was almost reluctant as he approached the shifter. Though the shifter looked exactly like Sam, I knew Dean was the best candidate to take him down. I doubted Dean would be able to stand by while I did the deed,
and he deserved to avenge his brother; who was hopefully only unconscious lying on the floor.
The shifter barely put up a fight as Dean stepped up to him, too imprisoned within the throes of his second-hand hallucinations.
Dean kept his head down and averted from the gaze of Shifter-Sam as he plunged the knife into the creature's heart, more than likely reluctant to see the pain that swept onto the features that looked so much like Sam's.
The shifter fell with a thump; the knife still impaled through his heart. Before I could ask any questions that had to do with why that particular knife worked when putting the shifter down, Dean was already making his way over to Sam.
With one last look at the dead shifter, I made my way over towards where Sam lay and Dean leaned over him. Sam looked awful. His face was deathly pale and dark circles surrounded his eyes. Dark and partially dried blood coated his features from where
the shifter gave him a beating, making him even more pale by contrast. The bruises on his neck were twice as prominent now, standing out starkly with his almost white skin.
With my heart racing in anxiety, I glanced at Dean. He was almost as pallid as his brother, and I could see the worry and fear radiating off of him as he felt for Sam's pulse. I held my breath in anticipation. I didn't know what to do or what would happen
if Sam wasn't alive. I only knew it would be awful and utter hell for Dean.
Slowly, some of the color returned to Dean's features as relief found its way onto his face.
"There's a pulse, thank God," Dean muttered, more to himself than to me.
He ran a hand over his face and I saw the tension drain from his body as he gently started to shake Sam on his shoulder.
When there was no response, he finally looked up at me and I wasn't all that surprised to see his eyes were red rimmed and teary.
"I would ask what happened to him but I think I already know," he said, gesturing towards the bruises on Sam's neck.
I nodded and sat on the other side of Sam. I rested the back of my hand against his forehead; he was cold.
Once I removed my hand I said guiltily, "I'm sorry Dean; there was nothing I could do. By the time I made it back in the house after getting Garth out, the shifter had already attacked and..."
"You don't need to apologize, Marie. It wasn't your fault."
I was about to respond, but Sam shifted between us.
"Sammy?" Dean muttered, shaking his brother's shoulder more vigorously. Sam's eyebrows knitted together, as if he was finding it very difficult to dig himself out of the depths of unconsciousness.
"Come on man, we need you here in the real world," Dean said poignantly.
Sam groaned once before coming to complete awareness and bolting straight up into a sitting position. His eyes were flitting around in terror, unable to focus on anything except the non-existent scenes that were without a doubt playing before his eyes.
He looked tense and ready to spring so Dean and I each grabbed a hold of his shoulders to keep him in place.
"Sam. Talk to me; what are you seeing?" Dean demanded.
Sam glanced toward his brother and was about to respond, but grimaced and but his head in his hands. His eyes closed.
"I can't- Dean, i-it's too horrible. We just have to get out of here. He's coming," Sam said, his voice ragged and barely audible.
"Who is, Sam?" I asked as calmly as I could.
He looked me straight in the eye and said the name I had already known. The person who seemed to be the source of all our problems: Adam.
A/N: Yay! Another chapter down:) things are heating up pretty quick, and we still got a lot more to go; so hold on tight!
Thanks again for the support and reviews!:D