By the time the Impala pulled up in front of Stanford, Sam's yawning had become consistent. Dean practically shoved him up the stairs to the guest room, pointing at Sam's bed. "Sleep," Dean commanded, making clear there was no room for argument.
"What are you going to do?" Sam mumbled, already drifting off to sleep.
"Go downstairs to get something to eat," Dean said with a grin, patting his stomach. "I'm starving." About to head downstairs, Dean suddenly turned around, rummaging in his pocket and extracting two red rubber bands. He slipped one over his ankle and one over Sam's. "Now we can tell who's who here, alright Sammy?"
"It's Sam," Sam spoke almost incoherently, his eyes unable to stay open long enough to fight with Dean.
Offering up a smirk and pulling the blanket over Sam, Dean headed downstairs to the kitchen and began rummaging through the cabinets. He grabbed a box of Poptarts and settled down at the table, sighing as he broke a piece of pastry off and stuffed it in his mouth.
"What are we going to do?" he asked himself.
"Apparently eat all my food," Grace said from behind him.
"Sorry," Dean said sheepishly, moving the box away from him as Grace sat next to him. "I just haven't eaten anything in a while."
"No, it's fine," Grace said coyly, placing her hand on Dean's arm, sliding up to his shoulder. "You can have whatever you want here." For a moment Dean smiled flirtatiously back at her, but then something flashed in his eyes and he stood up from the table.
"Sam said you're with Alex." Dean stared at her, trying to read what exactly was going on.
"Alex doesn't matter," Grace said, slinking towards Dean. "Just stay here with me." She moved until she was blocking the exit from the kitchen.
"Sure Grace, of course," Dean said, leaning in towards her. Then suddenly he shoved her, moving into the empty space he had created and sprinting up the stairs at breakneck speed. "Sam! Sam!"
Skidding into the guest room, Dean's horrified eyes fell on the empty bed, the knocked over nightstand, the broken lamp. A yell came from the attic and Dean took off running again, taking the stairs two at a time. The attic door was locked, but adrenaline enabled Dean to kick it open, and he burst through the door with his gun drawn.
The sight that met his eyes stopped his heart. Three stools were rigged up, a familiar pair of sneakers balanced on each. Three bodies perched precariously on the stools, each one looking exactly like Sam. Three nooses encircled the necks of his little brother, his Sammy, ready to snap down and sap the life out of him. Each Sam looked exactly the same, each stool ready to be kicked out at a moment's notice and break necks.
"How does it feel, Dean?" came his own voice from the dark corner of the room. A shapeshifter slid forward, his shape that of Dean, his voice cold and triumphant. "How does it feel to know your brother's going to die?"
"If you hurt him, I swear I'll kill you!" Dean snarled, moving forward. The shapeshifter casually raised a hand, and unseen hands nudged the stools forward a little, causing each body to sway slightly. "Ok, ok, no need to go there." Dean's voice was desperate, shaky, his hand trembling where he clutched the gun.
"Which one's your Sammy, huh, Dean?" the shapeshifter taunted, moving closer to Dean. "Oh, Sammy, where are you?"
"Don't you call him that!" Dean scanned the three unconscious forms, pleading with Sam through that connection they shared to give him a sign, any sign. The jeans all three were wearing covered up any hope Dean had of seeing the red rubber band.
"Oh that's right Dean, that's your pet name for your precious Sammy. Do you even care what I called my baby brother?" The shapeshifter's voice had rose in pitch and volume, and as Dean saw his eyes fill up he suddenly understood the whole horrible situation they were in.
"That shapeshifter I killed…the one who take my shape…he was your brother."
"Very good, Dean," the shapeshifter said mockingly. "He was my little brother and you killed him!" For a moment Dean saw the shapeshifter's composure slip, his eyes water, but just as quickly the mask was back up.
"He was going to kill my little brother!" Dean responded, his voice growing shakier as he realized just how bad the situation was.
"And how did that feel Dean?" The shapeshifter took another step forward, entering the quickly fading light. "I know how it felt. Coming in to see your baby brother's eyes rolled back in his head, hand hanging limply at his side, blood smeared all over his broken features-"
"Shut up!" Dean gripped his hands tighter around the gun, trying to steady himself.
"Felt like everything was out of your control, like you couldn't breathe-"
"I said, shut up!" Dean raised the gun higher, sighting between the shapeshifter's eyes. "So what, you just decided you'd kill off a bunch of your own shapeshifters trying to get to me?"
The shapeshifter gestured at the three Sams precariously balanced on their stools. "They…may not have known what they were getting into…but their sacrifice is for a worthy cause. Now, Dean, we've chit chatted long enough. Time to take your brother's life into your hands. You couldn't protect him in the bank though, could you? You couldn't stop me from knocking him out, either. Can you save him now?"
Dean stared helplessly at the three forms, each looking exactly like his brother. The shapeshifter gave him a mocking glare, cackling in derision. "Don't you even know your own brother, Dean? The great superhero big brother himself? Well let's speed up the process then."
With a sudden sweeping gesture, the three stools were kicked out from under the three bodies, the nooses tightening around their necks.