In the basement of Rufus' cabin, Bobby filled a syringe slowly, keeping his eyes on his work. Chrys, on the other hand, was watching the leviathan they had chained to a chair.

"Okay, Chet," Bobby said as he finished. "Let's see how you like a little fruit of the poison tree."

The leviathan pretended to consider. "Isn't that just a legal expression?"

"You're gonna wish it was." Without further ado, Bobby leaned down and jabbed the syringe into Chet's thigh.

The thing didn't even have the decency to wince. He just smacked his lips and tilted his head. "Hmm. Okay, similar finish to holy water, not as bitter as rock salt."

"You're hilarious," Chrys deadpanned as Bobby went back to his work table and the Winchesters came down the stairs.

"I know." Chet smiled over at Dean and Sam. "And how are my two favorite meat-sicles?"

Dean scowled. "Is he still sucking air?"

"Not for lack of trying," Chrys sneered at the creature before turning to look at the array of tools on the table in front of Bobby.

The older hunter was shrugging. "Greatest hits don't do the trick. I'm down to B-sides and deep cuts."

"Well, you better figure out something quick. That whammy that witch dude put on him is only gonna last for a few days. He gets his spinach back, Chrys is gonna end up having to drop a car on him just to stop him."

The leviathan chuckled. "Actually, Edgar walked away from that car. He's fine."

Chrys felt her mouth drop open. "What?"

"Oh, you didn't know? Yeah, he's just fine. A little pissed at you, but other than that? A-okay."

Dean was frowning again. "Why don't you shut your fucking mouth?" The leviathan rolled his eyes.

Sam came to stand behind Chrys, warmth radiating at her back, hooking his chin over her shoulder to look at what was on the table. "Bobby, you've been using all this stuff and he still won't talk?" The older hunter nodded.

Chrys turned to watch Dean pull up a chair and straddle it next to Chet. The leviathan grinned. "The huddle over, coach?"

"How'd you find us?"

A shrug. "It was easy. I used a pattern-recognition software and a basic heuristic algorithm to track your known aliases."

Bobby groaned. "Great, just what we need. A Mensa monster."

Sam had turned to stand next to her, his hand still warm and comforting on her back. "Let's start with the start. Where'd you get our aliases?"

"From your trench-coated friend, obviously. When we were all nestled in at Camp Cass, we kinda got the full download." He shrugged again, radiating smugness. "That's just how we do."

"So why are you talking to us, Chet?" Bobby asked. "You're not dumb. Why you spilling state secrets?"

Chet laughed. "'Cause I'm not scared of you! You can't stop me, you can't stop any of us! We can't be killed, you stupid little chew toys. You are aware that I'm the least of your concerns, right?" When he was met with silence, his eyebrows rose. "Oh. You haven't watched the news today, have you?"


Sam watched in shock as what appeared to be exact replicas of, Dean, Chrys, and himself shot up a bank. The scene paused just right, so the three of them were all looking at the camera. There were four dead bodies in the shot with them. Dean was winking, Sam was rolling his eyes, and Chrys was blowing a kiss to the camera.

"What the fuck?" he breathed.

"Busy morning, you three?" Bobby asked dryly.

"Those sons of bitches xeroxed us!" Dean growled.

"How?" Chrys asked.

Bobby shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe one of them touched you at the hospital."

From the basement, Chet shouted, "It was the hair! Not too hard to lift some DNA out of a motel shower drain, guys!"

Dean blinked. "You can copy people like that?" When Bobby shrugged, the eldest Winchester groaned. "Well, that's just awesome. What's their plan, exactly?"

"Squeeze us," Sam answered. "Turn us into the most wanted people in America."

"Well, that settles it," Dean growled. "We find these ass monkeys and we kill them ourselves."

"Wait a sec," Bobby snapped. "Every form of law enforcement has seen your ugly mugs this morning."

"Exactly! So what's the point in trying to hide?"

Chrys was rolling her eyes. "Or let's just run into their waiting arms. That's a shit plan, Dean. We have no idea how to kill them! Or even slow them down."

Dean turned to her. "They're wearing our faces, Chrys. Your face! This is personal."

When her big blue eyes turned onto Sam pleadingly, he had to steel himself against them. "I'm… With Dean on this one." Those same lovely eyes narrowed dangerously, and he fought the urge to move away from her.

"Well," Bobby said slowly. "If you're gonna be stupid, you may as well be smart about it. You need to see a fella named Frank Devereaux."

Sam frowned. "Who?"

The older hunter was scribbling on a piece of paper. "He's a jackass and a lunatic, but he owes me one from back in Port Huron." He handed the paper to Dean. "In the meantime, I'll keep working on Chatty Cathy down here, see if I can figure out what makes him die."


Several hours and one panic situation (when they'd been spotted and identified at a gas station before they bailed) later, they pulled up to what looked like a completely abandoned home. There were no lights on, the grass was overgrown, and the whole place looked like it was one strong breeze away from collapsing.

"Are you… Sure this is the right place?" Chrys asked skeptically.

Sam nodded. "Yeah." He stepped forward and knocked on the door. "Frank, you in there? Frank?"

Dean tried the knob and the door opened easily. They all looked at one another warily before making their way into the house. "Frank?" Sam tried again.

The house was dark, eerie, and seemed to be completely empty. Chrys pulled her pistol from her waistband and held it down next to her thigh, but it didn't make her feel much better.

They entered what appeared to be a study when a lamp flicked on, flooding the room with light.

"Well, well. Spider caught some flies."

Chrys frowned and blinked as her eyes adjusted. A short, scruffy man sat in an armchair in the corner of the room, pointing a shotgun at them. He was wearing a… Sweater vest? Chrys had not once in her life been intimidated by someone wearing a sweater vest, and she didn't damn well intend to start now.

That was a big gun, though.

The man she assumed was Frank smirked. "Well, I'll be damned. The Winchesters and lady. You're on CNN right now."

Sam's hands were held up. "No, no, that's not us."

"I know. Can't be. Unless you have a teleporter." His beady eyes got beadier as he squinted suspiciously at them. "Do you? Have a teleporter?"

Dean shook his head, Sam answered, "No sir, we don't," and Chrys rolled her eyes.

Frank seemed to take this information in stride. "Well, my condolences on the doppelgangers. Now, who sent you? NSA? The Feeb? March of Dimes?"

March of Dimes?

"Uh," Dean said after a beat, "Bobby Singer sent us."

Frank growled, surged to his feet, and shucked the shotgun.

Dean winced. "Or not. Who?"

"He said you could help," Sam said quickly, his hands held up placatingly. "He said you owed him."

"From Port Huron," Chrys supplied.

Frank sighed and the gun sagged. "Guy saves your life one time and what, you owe him the rest of yours?"

Chrys nodded. "That's usually how it works, yeah."


"Now," Frank said as he fed their IDs and paperwork into a shredder, "I know that Bobby's into that magic hooey, but the truth is the government has been cloning people for years. Guess it was just your turn in the barrel."

"Well, actually-" Sam began.

Dean cut him off. "Forget it, he's rolling."

"Yours have been busy beavers," Frank continued, not heeding the interruptions. "You're number two on the most wanted list. Quickest climb up the charts since Donna Summer."

"So what should we do?" Chrys asked.

"Cuba's nice this time of year."

Dean shook his head. "No, we're not hiding."

Frank met Chrys' eyes. "Is he always this stupid?"

"Well…"

Dean elbowed her in the side. "Look, we gotta stick around and kick a couple asses. So we just need you to get us further off the grid, but keep us on the board."

Frank sighed like he'd expected that. "Well, first thing we gotta do is wipe all your old aliases." He pointed at Dean. "No more rock shoutouts. It's Tom and John Smith from now on." Chry snickered, but Frank continued. "And no plastic. Cash only. And change your phones on a very frequent non-schedule schedule, you understand? Oh, and try to stay out of view of the two hundred million cameras that the government has access to, 'kay?"

"Two hundred million?" Dean said faintly as they caught the phones Frank tossed to them.

"Big brother," the man commiserated, "He has many eyeballs, my friend. You see a place that even looks like it can afford security…"

Chrys realized he was digging through one of their bags. She frowned. "Hey, what-"

Frank pulled out Sam's laptop and gestured with it. "This yours?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah."

Frank promptly turned and smashed the computer against the desk. Several times. Probably passed into overkill in Chrys' opinion.

"What… Hey… What was that?!" Sam squawked.

The man ignored all three hunters to pull another laptop off of a shelf and hand it to Sam, who blinked. "Uh... Thank you? I guess?"

"You're welcome. You owe me five grand. Cash."

"What?" Sam and Dean asked in unison. Chrys rolled her eyes.

"Unless you wanna go comparison shop at the mall, sweet cheeks," Frank sneered. "Say 'hi' to the cops for me." He grabbed Dean by the jacket and guided him forcefully to stand in front of a wall where a blue sheet was draped to lay flat. "Let's Blue Steel you up some new ID, Mr. Smith."


Several hours later, they had discovered that their leviathan doubles were methodically hitting towns where the Winchesters had saved someone. They were on the way to St. Louis to cut them off when Bobby called.

"Chopping their heads off won't kill them," he said over speakerphone, "but it'll slow them down pretty good. Until they fuse back up, anyhow."

"Well, that's something, I guess," Sam said slowly. "I mean, assuming we can even get close to them."

"Believe me, I don't want you walking right up to them, either. I'm still looking for something you can shoot at them."

"Good times," Dean grumped. "Thanks, Bobby."

Over the phone, a muffled woman's voice could be heard. "Hey, you take mayo, right, Bobby?"

Dean grinned. "You got a chick over there, Bobby?"

"What?" For the first time that she'd ever heard, the older hunter sounded unsure to Chrys' ears.

She laughed. "Are you even working, Richard Gere?

"Aw, both of you shut up, idjits."

Chrys laughed out loud, and the Winchesters shared a smile.

"Where are you kids off to next?" Bobby asked, clearly trying to change the subject.

Chrys decided to let him. "St. Louis."

There was a beat of silence, then, "It's too late. They hit St. Louis already. Pumpkin and Honneybunny'd a diner there."

Dean stared at the phone, risking all of their lives, crestfallen. "Connor's Diner?"

Bobby sounded surprised. "Yeah, how'd you know?"

"Lucky guess," Dean moped. "All right, so much for that."

"Where next?" Chrys asked.

"Uh… Ankeny, Iowa."


They were walking down the street in Ankeny when they saw the leviathans. Sam was telling her about the case they worked there so many years ago.

"The Hook Man? Like, boyfriend hanging upside down, scraping the roof of the car Hook Man?"

He nodded. "The very same one."

Dean smirked. "Ask him about the preacher's daughter, C."

She grinned and raised her eyebrows at Sam, absolutely delighted when his cheeks darkened in a blush. "Tell me about the preacher's daughter, Sammy."

He opened his mouth, but before he could speak Dean grabbed his arm, stopping all of them. "Shit! Look!" He dragged both of them around the corner, shoved them behind a building, and peeked around it. "There they are."

Chrys met Sam's eyes, then they crowded around Dean to look in the same direction. There, parked across the street from the building they were hiding behind, was a black Impala almost identical to Dean's. Inside were their three doppelgangers.

"Oh, no," Sam said, dread in his voice. "This is all sorts of wrong."

Chrys tilted her head. "Does my hair always look like that?"

Dean was focused on the car. "Those are nice wheels. Tell you what, when this is over, I'm stealing those rims."

Chrys wrinkled her nose as she pulled her cell phone out and hit Bobby's speed dial number. "When this is over, I'm getting a haircut."

The older hunter answered on the first ring. "Yeah?"

"Bobby, we've got eyes on them."

"What?"

Chrys was watching the leviathan version of herself cuddle up to the leviathan version of Sam. We do not look like that. "It's like looking in a funhouse mirror," she growled.

Dean shrugged. "Dunno, they nailed you and Sammy."

"Yeah, I know the feeling," Bobby said on the phone.

"Fuck you, Winchester," she hissed before speaking into the phone again. "Tell me you've got something? Because if not, we're gonna have to get in close."

The leviathans moved and the three of them followed, inching along as the monsters walked down the street.

"Look, just hang back for now," Bobby insisted.

"I dunno, we've got to-"

Before she could get further, a police car with a wailing siren screeched to a halt in front of her. The officers jumped out, pointing guns at the three of them. "Freeze! Hands in the air!'

"Shit," Chrys snapped as she held her hands up, phone still clutched in her right one. She heard Bobby calling for them over the line.

"Drop the phone!" the officer snapped. She obeyed, then stepped on the cell phone, effectively shattering it and ending the call.

She smiled. "Whoops."

"Cuff them!" the cop snarled, holstering his gun to yank her around.

"Hey!" Sam was glaring daggers at the officer manhandling her.

"This is a big misunderstanding," Dean said as he was being handcuffed. "Big, big mistake. The guys you want are-"

"Shut up!" the cop growled. "We know exactly who we want."

Come on, Bobby, she prayed as she was dragged toward the police car, find something for us.


**Feedback gives me the warm fuzzies and keeps me going.
**Also, I'm officially abolishing any sort of posting schedule. It just stresses me out, and I do much better (and tend to write more frequently) if I don't have one. Sorry, guys.