There were no jobs, there were no leads. At least not near enough to drive, even by Dean's warped standards. Sam considered this a very effective slump, it vaguely reminded him of his first summer break at Stanford, held up in his dorm room alone with no family to visit and no friends to hang out with, before he'd met Jessica to open the world up for him.

He blinked stinging eyes, tucking those thoughts into the back of his mind; squinting down at the harsh blue monitor light from his laptop. He'd checked all the usual threads, even his trashy web forum searching had gone stale, they truly were in a dry spell and the air was uncomfortably thin.

Dean didn't mind as much as Sam thought he would, his brother snoozed soundly across the room, for once under the covers without boots and jeans. Chest twinging unpleasantly in jealousy, at how easy his brother could acclimate to any situation. But then again, never living anywhere for more than a year probably scrambled his brain a bit. Dean, albeit fondly, was a roach. Unsquashable, resilient, and obnoxious.

His soft snores filled the room, oblivious of Sam's turmoil filled thoughts.

Wiping his eyes, flicking away the crud at the end of his finger tips, and biting back a growing headache his gaze fell to the clock at the bottom of his monitor that read 4:25. He had probably about four hours of sleep before Dean would be up and rearing to blow the dust bowl they'd slumped in, having sucked all the local bars and available women and pool hustlers dry.

He shut his laptop and the darkness wrapped around him like a cool blanket, easing away the pain in his dry eyes. One plus of growing up in the dark was not being afraid of it, and pretty damn near comfortable in it at that. A score for his shitty childhood.

Pushing off from the small motel table that wobbled when he stood, rolling kinks out of his shoulders and neck, his knees protesting and his backside buzzing to life after having gone numb an hour ago. He slumped over to the to bed on the far side of room, shucking off his flannel feeling something like he was losing a layer of skin.

His boots landed with a soft thud somewhere near the foot of the bed, the spring mattress loudly protesting his weight as he spilled over the comforter. But not loud enough to trigger Dean, who only had ears for nails on window seals, and the metallic clicks of shifting metal, be it a gun or a jimmied lock. Or at the very least the notifications on his phone.

Sucking in a shallow breath, relaxing taught muscles and unclenching his jaw and fists from the days wear. His eyes seemed glued at the rims, like he'd never open them again. He slept on his stomach now, for reasons he'd not like to look too deeply at, with one hand stretched out to Dean and the other seizing the blade under his pillow. Mental tally done, he could sleep.

There was a thud against the door. Sam didn't move. Dean grunted from his bed.

One breath, two, then three quick heavy knocks.

The room spun as he tilted upright, dagger in hand. Dean huffs behind him and the familiar shuffling of bed covers being thrown off are the only noise before metal clicks, a gun is loaded.

His brother takes the lead, he has the gun. He pads barefoot to the door and peers through the peephole. Light from the moon outside seeping through the curtain illuminates his dark hair flattened on one side, bright eyes wide awake. Hands steady.

Sam is steady, albeit slightly tilted. He hasn't slept in thirty six hours. Looks like it'll be seventy two at this rate.

"Shit?" Dean curses softly under his breath, before lowering his gun and tossing open the door before Sam can even speak, and then Dad is there. Right outside the door.

He's the same mess of denim and flannel Sam remembers, he'd look like anyone else's father with droopy eyes and extra weight stuffed into his jeans, if Sam hadn't seen the man disembowel ghouls and werewolves, and desecrate graves on the nightly throughout his childhood. He steps inside and brushes past the both of them, his heavy duffle slipping from his shoulder to the motel table with a thump. Like so many times before his homecoming is the same as always.

"Dad?" Dean is stuck in single syllables and Sam is no better, months and months of endless searching, always one step behind, for it all to come down to... to this?

"Where the hell have you been?" He's speaking, the words slip before he can catch them. Four years. Four years and John Winchester still looks the exact same as the way he did the night he told Sam to never come back. Sam hopes he's changed.

"Hello to you too Sam," his tone is flat and tired, but his eyes are slightly shiny, for a moment Sam hopes he's rattled the man. Hopes he's remembering the sound of the door slamming as Sam stepped out of his and his brothers lives. But then he looks at Dean and Sam sees the way he sighs in relief. Good ole Dean, their buffer, their glue. "Hey Dean."

He pulls his brother into a hug, Dean is grinning. The silver ring around Deans finger touches the back of their fathers neck and Sam is only sure that he isn't a shapeshifter. Because this doesn't feel real.

His fathers eyes meet his, he pulls away from Dean and then his arms are wrapped around him and wow, four years since he's seen his father. Even longer since he's been touched by the man, and it feels foreign. But nevertheless the less he melts into it. The man still feels sturdy like he had. His jacket is damp and cold from the unfortunate weather outside. It smells like iron and sweat.

Then his father pulls away, and Sam blinks away the wet in his eyes he hadn't even felt gather.

"It's good to see you boys, together, I swear. And we'll catch up, I promise but let's just get this over with, I'm not here because of the Thing that killed your mother. Not directly."

That's a first, and as quick as the awe at seeing his father had come, it was replaced with familiar bitterness roiling in his gut. His mouth tastes like led.

"Not just Mom, Jess too, or did you delete the message before you even listened too it?" His father would never, he listens to everything and picks it apart and takes what he needs and discards the rest. Or that's what it seemed to him at seventeen. But suddenly Sam wants to hurt him.

He's an adult now and he knows he's acting like a child picking a fight, but he's sure that even if he's grown as a person his father hasn't. He didn't for seventeen years so why would he start in the last four. Then it's the fact that Sam finally feels the rage his father felt all those years ago. Maybe that's softening him a bit, but old habits and old pain don't fade with just understanding, it still stings. And Sam wants his father to feel the sting.

Deans eyes meet his and his brother is pleading. Only just awake and reeling from shock and already pleading for their father like always. And like always Sam can read his brother like an open book, and for once the guilt is outweighing the anger. He bites away anything else before it can slip past his lips.

"I know about Jess, Sam. I got your messages, all of them. You boys sure have had a rough go of it the last few weeks, huh?"

Understatement of the year. Deans lifeless body in a puddle of electricity, then hooked to wires and struggling to even breath, his mothers spirit silhouetted in flames being the only time he seen her outside a photograph, his own brain ripping itself apart to move a dresser to save his brother from a guy just like him!

"Yeah it's been rough."

Dean speaks, words rough with sleep. "So what's up, what's this little reunion about? Something tells me you weren't looking to show up at all yet huh?" Is that contempt Sam hears in Dean's voice?

For a moment John's face twists in pain, regret. Then it's smoothed over by that perfect blankness his father is so good at casting.

"You remember Wyoming, 1998."

"That poltergeist in Gillette right, your buddy needed help. Some problem with his wife's spirt not approving of his career choices or something right?"

Sam remembers that hunt, vaguely. He remembers his fathers friend, a man he'd known in the marines. He was cold and harsh, blonde hair. Eyes like ice. Sam remembers looking into that mans eyes and thinking they made his fathers look warm.

Dad nods a little, more to himself if anything, eyes cast down to the floor flickering around working out his words before he says them.

"Dean, you caught a piece of shrapnel in the gut, it was nasty. He called a friend to fix you up under the radar."

"Sorta, I was probably all drugged up 'though right?"

"Yeah," John nods, sorta quiet like, shame coating his voice. "You were high as a kite, I was riding on the feelings of a hunt gone bad and still somehow solved, that and seeing Deck again."

Deck. Sounded familiar.

"Dad what's the deal, that was years ago?" A bit of impatience seeps into Deans voice.

Johns jaw clenches, his teeth grating back and forth, eyes narrowing off to the side.

"You were bleeding all over the place Dean, 'Deck, Lydecker ... he took your DNA."

"Huh?"

"Donald Lydecker, I guess after he flunked out of the marines, he jumped around a bit. Back in '98 the case we worked was clearing the poltergeist out of a construction cite that was turned into some sort of government lab, I guess he-"

"Okay, wait hold up. I just woke up."

Dean slumps back down on Sam's bed, looking as if the adrenaline has started to crash and the sleep deprivation is slowly catching back up with him.

"This isn't a joke Dean!" Cue the Winchester temper.

"Well it sure 'friggin sounds like one!"

"Look here-!"

"Can you shut up, both of you and get back on track!"

He and Dad fight. Dad and Dean don't fight, not about cases, hunts, Dean treats Dad like a General and he's the soldier. This isn't going the way he remembers and he doesn't like this wayward conversation. His blood had begun to bus's quietly underneath his skin.

The both of them dart their eyes to him, almost having forgotten he was there. He supposes they must have created a new sort of team in his absence, he'd have to work his way back into the loop now. Their dynamics certainly having changed.

He nerve in Dad's temple tics when he clenches his teeth, "He cloned you Dean, Lydecker stole your DNA and cloned you. Twice."

The room goes quiet, and Sam can feel the unshakable faith his brother holds for their father crumbling from the sheer disbelief roiling off his body in waves.

"He what?"

"It's my fault, I shoulda watched you better but he took a sample of your blood and a year later after the facility was finished he cloned you. Twice. Mixed it up with a shitwack of animal cells or something, whatever they are they 'ain't human."

"So you're telling me," Sam starts, feeling neglected, "Out there, right now, are two jacked up science clones of my brother... doing what?"

"Training for God knows what. Here," He unzips the previously forgotten duffel bag and pulls out an abundance of files, some marked with big red 'authorized personal only' labels.

"Where did you get these?"

"Guy on the inside, good old Caleb was working a job nearby and needed a breather, took what he thought was a job as a janitor for a VA hospital, sure as hell got turned on it's head fast. He figured something was up with all the wavers he had to sign, got bad vibes and almost copped out but decided to stick around just to see, good thing he did."

"You're telling me Caleb saw a clone of Dean all of what, six years old, and recognized him?"

"Six?"

"Yeah Dean, unless they're on growth hormones like chickens or something?" Sam mumbled as he flipped through the files. Doing the mental math in his head.

The pages fell open on their own, like they'd been flipped to that page a thousand times and creased into the forefront. Probably their fathers doing.

It looked like an inmates record, I.D. and birthdate, eye color with heights. Then a picture of a little boy with a sheared head, barely a hint of blonde, big green eyes and a face splattered with freckles. Dean, taken right out of Sam's earliest memories. The child on the paper was stony, eyes staring up at the camera with quiet curiosity, hidden well. It was unnerving Sam could read such a quiet expression, from a stranger on a piece of paper.

The next was the same. In all ways, another boy identical to the other, in an unnatural way not even twins could achieve. But his eyes were different, this ones eyes were filled with indifference, he's mouth pursed in a way so familiar to Dean's, I'm done with this shit face.

Sam's stomach churned, he felt sick. The feeling grew the more he read. Training, medical exams, experiments, punishments. At some point his hands had begun to shake.

"Sammy you look like you're gonna hurl man?"

Dean was staring at him from across the table. His big brother. Someone had taken a piece of his big brother and made these things? Persons? Kids? Shit.

They had no names, only numbers. Long cereal numbers seared into their skin in the form of barcodes. Like produce. They were objects to be sold, to be owned.They each had a shortened tag.

X5 493 and X5 494

"What are we gonna do?"

Dad grunted, he'd retrieved a beer from the fridge. "Shits not natural, but it's not supernatural, it's science. I'd say out of our zone, if not for the fact they've stolen my sons DNA. That doesn't fly. We're taking back what's ours, we'll figure out what to do with them afterwards. They sound an awful lot like monsters to me."

Dad was right he guessed. The file listed the children's abilities, super strength and super speed, accelerated healing, advanced eye sight and hearing and cognitive function. They definitely weren't human, so they'd be monsters. There was no in between, for as long as he'd lived.

But looking into their eyes, and then looking into his brothers. Monster was the furthest thing from his mind.


I don't own Supernatural or Dark Angel. Obviously.

Does anyone even remember me on this site, it's been years man, I'm nineteen now and still just as mentally unstable as I was when I was twelve. Hence the return to these two shows that ran my entire childhood. That I recently binged. This is cliche but it makes me happy so suck it lol self care babe. I'll take all the serotonin my depraved brain can absorb. Also I'm mostly on Ao3 now, so if you see this reposted don't worry about it. Also if you've read any of my old stuff that I didn't finished I'm gonna revamp em over there, and maybe I'll post them here too. But I'm just trying to get my old writing spirt back, ya dig. It kinda died for a few years.

If I don't post this now I just won't period. If you make it this far please leave a comment of some sort, it's much appreciated. Have a good one.