ONCE A DEAN, ALWAYS A DEAN

By Spense

The episode 'Destiny's Child' fascinated me. I just couldn't leave it alone.

SNSNSNSN

Dean sighed and shut his eyes, trying to block out his brother. Samuel was spending time berating the hotel staff. Here they were on the beach in Rio De Janeiro, in a world that wasn't on the brink of being destroyed, and all his little brother could do was complain. Granted, that was pretty much Samuel's default setting, but with all the stress lately, and missing Dad, he was worse than usual. But no matter how much he leaned into the chaise lounge chair, tried to tune out his whining brother, and soaked up the sun, he just couldn't get relaxed enough to doze off.

"No!" Sam's strident tone sounded like a siren in his ear. His brother really was stressed out. "Fix the angle of that umbrella!"

"Yes, sir," the harried staff member mumbled as he hurried to fix the large sun umbrella for the sixth time in the last hour.

"It's still not right," Sam complained. "Finally! Right there. Now don't forget the Mimosa. And make it with decent Champagne this time," he finished with a grumble. "And bring my brother one as well," he added, almost as an afterthought, to the staff member's retreating back.

Dean sighed again, and shifted, trying to get comfortable. It really was a lovely hotel, and the beach was just like their Rio. Now if they could just find their Dad . . . And that led him to wonder what this world's John Winchester had been like, given there counterparts strong reactions to he and Samuel toasting their dad, and the formation of HunterCorp.

"Dean?" Samuel's voice ripped into his consciousness again, obviously having picked up his restlessness, as usual. He could be as perceptive as all get out, when he chose. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," Dean sighed. He was sighing a lot right now.

"I know this place is a rat trap compared to what we're used to, but it was the best I could find on our limited funds," Sam said, the whine beginning to appear again.

Dean snapped his eyes open. "Limited funds?!" He sputtered. "With what I managed to get across the void? Just one of those stones . . ."

He broke off when Sam 'sushed' him, looking around furtively. "Not so loud!"

Dean sat up and looked around. Not a soul was within 50 feet of them. "Really, Samuel?" He said with a commendable lack of snark compared to what he was feeling. "We're just fine for funds for the next 50 years, so give me a break," He muttered.

"Yes, if we want to slum it," Sam argued.

Dean just heaved a sigh again, and leaned back on his lounge, trying to tune his little brother out. Sam had always been kind of a pain. He loved the good life, and groused when they got down and dirty hunting. But he hadn't remembered the really grimy work when Dad was getting HunterCorp set up. He'd been left back with the nanny. In some ways, Dean was glad of it. But in others, well, Samuel could be a real priss. Unlike the other Sam he'd met. That Sam struck him as tough as nails.

He heard Sam muttering, then settling down once the Mimosa's arrived. Dean ignored his. Honestly he'd rather have a beer. He was really getting to like that stuff. He grinned to himself. Now that would really turn his Sammy inside out in horror.

Pretty soon, Samuel was quiet, and when he cracked an eye, he could see his brother had fallen asleep, comfortable in the shade. The staff of the hotel was probably just as grateful as he was. Only problem, was now Dean couldn't sleep.

Stifling another sigh, fearing he might wake up his peevish brother, he gave up trying to sleep, and reached for one of the books he'd picked up in a local used bookstore. Sam had just sniffed, and grabbed his ipad. He tended to think books were for Luddites. Dean didn't care. He liked the feel of them. And the book store had not only had his favorite horror authors, but a couple he'd never heard of. Like this Carver Edlund. Apparently this was the first book of a series, about brothers who hunted monsters. How perfect was that? And it would get his mind off wondering what had happened to Dad in the void.

He wasn't far into the book before his mind was moving in circles. The story was way too familiar, but it also . . . wasn't. It seemed to be about . . . Well, them! Dean and Sam, the father, John. Mom, Mary, burning on the ceiling. This was weird in the way that the whole last week had been beyond weird. But Dean couldn't stop reading. It was 'their' story! But things diverged after Mary died. Sam at Stanford? That wasn't right. Samuel had gone to Yale. He'd been a humanities major, and took enough business to make Dad happy, but really had preferred Philosophy, which he could justify to Dad in the sense that it was research. And Dean himself had gone to the University of Texas, majoring in Business. But Sam having a girlfriend killed by the same thing freaky thing? Was that demon HERE as well?!

Dean had finished the book within a few hours, and grabbed his laptop (vaguely missing the porn files on the other Dean's computer), and downloading the second book, Wendigo. He could read pretty fast, and he was flying through these. At some point, Sam woke up, asked him something, but Dean brushed him off. He was just aware of Samuel stalking off, muttering, as he continued to read.

He read the entire afternoon, finally moving inside when it started to get dark. He ignored Sam when he went for dinner, came back, and finally went to bed. He was still reading, deep into the night, having finally realized that these were stories of this world's Sam and Dean. There were parallels, for sure. But the differences were glaring. But he couldn't stop.

In the morning, Samuel was offended at his lack of interest in anything but reading. He finally shoved the first book into his hands. "Read it," he said shortly. When his brother object, beginning whining objections, he gave him 'the look' that always shut him down.

Grumbling under his breath, Samuel sat back down and began to read. Pretty soon the grumbling stopped. Finally, a hesitant, "Is this . .."

"Yes," Dean replied firmly.

"Oh. My. Gosh." Sam said faintly.

"Keep reading,". Dean replied succinctly. "There are hundreds of them. Lots of the actual unpublished manuscripts are online."

"But, who? . . . And, why . . .?"

And there was the whine again. Dean gave him 'the look' once again, and Sammy backed down to concentrate on the books.

They were outside on the balcony of the hotel now, sitting high on the 47th floor, reading voraciously, ordering room service for when they were hungry, moving inside when it got dark, falling asleep when they couldn't stay awake, but otherwise just diligently plowing through the books.

The silence went on, interspersed with short comments like, once, "Demon Blood?! Is that why I had visions in my 20s?" Samuel asked in disbelief. He looked up at his brother with a horrified look

Dean cut him off. "Yeah. And Dad knew."

Samuel waved the book at him, his face white. "So HunterCorp was set up . . . "

Dean was determined not to let him finish a sentence. "Yep, apparently not only because of Mom, but to kill the demon responsible for your visions. And since Dad killed him within a year of Mom's death, it never manifested itself in you except for those few visions. But this Sam, and Dean, had to live it out."

And later, in awe, "And this Dean made a deal to go Hell in return for his brother's life."

Dean flushed slightly. Deep down, he wasn't sure he would have done what this world's Dean had done. Sammy had been a royal pain in the ass at that age, questioning everything he and Dad did. They'd both been thrilled to ship him off to college. Dad more so, since Dean had been at college for the years Sam was an older teenager and hadn't had to deal with him. Spoiled rotten, Dean had thought more than once.

That made Dean think again about the story 'Dream a Little Dream of Me'. Apparently this world's Dean's greatest wish had been to be a family with his mom again. He got that. He felt the same way, secretly, of course. But interestingly enough, when the Djin granted that wish, the close relationship that this world's Dean had with his brother had changed significantly. And not only his brother, but this world's Dean was a real prick in that scenario. Deep down, Dean himself silently admitted that it was quite possible that he could have been the same. And the Sam of this story wasn't a whole lot different than his Samuel, hard as it was to admit.

Other stories made him laugh out loud. Samuel as well. They just ignored each other and continued on, moving from the balcony, to the table, to the beds, as the daylight moved and shifted. So many stories. Some similar, others very different, or hadn't happened at all. Such as Pastor Jim Murphy was an officer in HunterCorp, providing the religious view on many of their cases. Dean met a Bobby Singer once, but he and John had an almighty fight, and never spoke to each other again. John had mentioned that Bobby had been killed on a hunt not much later, and his extensive library had been donated to HunterCorp by Pastor Jim, as he was the man's only heir.

Samuel had always been a slower reader, and was far behind him in the chronology of stories. Dean knew at once where he was when in a whole different tone of voice, his brother choked out a horrified, 'Demon Blood?" Once again.

"I would NEVER . . ." And spluttered to a stop, clearly at a loss for words.

That was a first, Dean thought, Sammy was never at a loss to explain exactly how he felt. His brother's face was a fascinating mix of horror, bewilderment, outright astonishment, and, Dean thought, maybe a small bit of envy at the amount of power this world's Sam had wielded when hooked on Demon Blood

"No," Dean said thoughtfully, "You wouldn't." No, his Sam would not have scarified himself to seek revenge on his brother's imprisonment in Hell.

"Of course not!" Samuel exclaimed in response. "I wouldn't become addicted to anything! We were taught better than that." Still muttering indignantly under his breath, he went back to reading.

Dean looked at him for a moment, and turned back to his book, although he didn't see a word. He was seeing a pattern in the history of this world's Sam and Dean. There was a loyalty, and yes, he'd admit it (only to himself) a deep love, between these two brothers. They would, and had, died for each other. They were strong. Stronger both physically, mentally, and emotionally than he and his own brother were. That strength had been battle tested and hardened through a forge that he wasn't sure he could tolerate.

He'd already read about the trials preceding the closing of the Gates to Hell. The scarifies each made for the other were enormous. This Dean and Sam consorted with angels on a first name basis. They knew Lucifer and the knights of Hell. The more that he considered it, he thought that his own father, now missing in the void, had know of momentous happenings like these, but kept his sons out of it. He and Samuel had been hunters, yes, and good ones. They were great partners, and practically knew what each other was thinking. They had the best kill ratio of any team in HunterCorp. But they went on the carefully curated hunts determined by their father. Vampires, werewolves, ghouls, vengeful spirits, and the like. All of the most difficult and puzzling hunts that their company worked. But the world shaking events had passed them by, or had been shielded from them by their father.

Dean lay back, staring at the ceiling, thinking about this world's Winchester brothers. He didn't think that he and this world's Dean were all that dissimilar. But his Samuel, and this world's Sam were miles apart. He pictured this world's Sam standing next to his brother, tough as nails, looking like he could bench press a car. He looked like he'd move the world to save his brother. What must it be like to have that kind of camaraderie?

His reverie was broken by Samuel snarling under his breath, and getting up. "I'm going out for some air," he said. "I've had all I can take of this world's idiotic Sam," he finished with a growl, and was out the door before Dean could reply.

Dean lay back on his bed and looked at the ceiling. Saving people, hunting things, the family business. Both here and in his own world. But so different, oh so different. His own word's came back to him. 'They have it made. Their own place . . . drink beer, hunt monsters, and watch porn.' And they had each other.

SNSNSNSNSN

The alarm in the bunker sounded, and Sam and Dean looked up at each other over the library table where they had been researching.

"Doorbell," Dean said airily. "I'll get it. We expecting anybody?"

Sam thought a moment, then shook his head.

When Dean opened the door, to say he was surprised to see his doppelgänger staring back at him was an understatement. Sam must have heard something because he appeared, standing solidly at his shoulder, ready to back him up in any way.

Alt-Dean looked passed Dean and gave a small smile at Sam, combined with a complex expression that Dean couldn't read, then looked back at this world's Dean.

"May I come in?" Alt-Dean asked quietly.

After a moments hesitation, Dean swung aside, and allowed his double entry. Sam stood back, looking confused, as he looked out into the dark night, then back at alt-Dean.

A sad smile crossed alt-Dean's face. "It's only me. Sammy stayed in Rio." He looked down for a moment, then back up, looking them both squarely in the eye. "We've read the Carver Edlund books," he stated matter of factory, as this world's Dean shut and barred the door.

"Son of a bitch," Dean growled, while Sam muttered something about burning the books.

That brought a real smile to alt-Dean's face. "I can imagine. But, I, well, I'd like to help. I see that I have a lot to learn."

Sam looked puzzled, but for Dean, the penny dropped. "Ahh," he said in comprehension. Now the look that alt-Dean had given his brother made more sense. He nodded at his counterpart, as they wordlessly exchanged tiny smiles of understanding.

But he raised an eye brow at alt-Dean. Mine.

Alt-Dean looked back sadly, and nodded. Understood.

"Come on down," Dean said, starting down the stairs. "We're researching a possible sighting of demons in South Carolina. We'll get you a room, and," with a sideways look, "some real clothes, and you can help us out."

Alt-Dean relaxed, and followed him down the stairs and through the map room, feeling Sam's presence, solid at his back. He looked around the room with its aged equipment, and for the first time in years, felt at home. Life was simple, just hunting monsters and saving people. With strong, wise, companions. Who could ask for more?

*finis*