A/N

It's been some time since the last part came out, but I finally put down on paper what was in my head when I first envisioned this story! Thank you to Heroofthe13thDay, AlphaWolfOfRed67, sabidoche, Christine, 3rd Bookworm and Icy Icee for the support in the first crazy chapter!

Dean let his fingers thread through into the collar of Sam's jacket. It was a familiar, instinctive motion.

He hadn't quite come to terms with the sight of the other hunter, but those hazel eyes left no room for doubt in his mind.

This man might be older than Dean, and a hell of a lot taller, but he was Sam.

As little sense as it made.

In the weird understanding foisted upon Dean by the dream, he also understood there was another him, one forced by circumstances to leave Sam to his fate.

Thinking he was dead.

If it was the last thing Dean did, he was going to make sure the other-him got his Sam back.

Whether they were older than him or not, whether they were giants or not, they were still Sam and Dean and they belonged by each other's side.

Just like Dean and his Sam, waiting for him back at Bobby's. Sleeping peacefully on their shelf while Jacob slumbered on, oblivious to the fact that the cursed brothers had chosen his room to sleep in.

His grip tightened on Sam's collar as the huge hunter stumbled again. A huge rush of air passed Sam's lips as he breathed heavily. The bullet wound, even stitched up by Dean's precise motions, was taking a lot out of him.

Dean put his hand against Sam's neck, offering what support he could. There was no way for him to toss an arm over his neck and support the hunter like he should. Like he'd do for his own Sam.

Sam had to do this on his own.

Most of the hunter's movements were easy to predict. Sidling up to the window. Lifting one massive hand up to peer out of the curtains.

Dean couldn't stop himself from tensing up on Sam's shoulder at that. The sight of that hand served to remind him that he was with a hunter, and one that he didn't know past the last few minutes. For years Walt had cautioned both cursed brothers about hunters. They were too small to properly defend themselves, and because they were different than humans, were classified as "supernatural," and therefore dangerous.

This Sam was something else altogether, and Dean shivered at the impression his own doppelganger had given him, those hardened green eyes shouting danger. They were older, grimmer than he thought possible. A mirror reflection of himself and Sam as a pair of hardened, full-sized hunters. The first glance from Sam left no doubt in Dean's mind. They would kill him if he turned out to be dangerous.

Despite all that, he couldn't just leave Sam on the ground bleeding out.

No matter what, that was his little brother.

For the moment, Dean peered outside with the hunter. His sharp green eyes could see through the thick darkness that blanketed the world outside with better clarity than any human alive. Growing up in the dark walls of the Trails West motel had provided a boon all its own.

"Two of them," Dean said in a low mumble. He was crouched down directly beneath Sam's ear. There was no way a hunter on high alert would miss his small voice from so close. "One man, one woman."

Sam nodded, the visible edge of his lips a thin line. A droplet of sweat the size of Dean's hand fell from his chin. Dean almost had to step back to be able to see Sam's eyes.

Those hazel eyes were harsh and intent compared to the Sam that Dean remembered. If a gaze like that landed on Dean and hedidn't know the person looking at him, it would set off every instinct he had. Sam would be gone before there was even a chance for them to spot him.

In fact, that was exactly what happened the first time this new Sam saw Dean, before he insisted on stitching up the larger hunter.

In the brief moments before Sam was able to fully awaken, Dean had tried coaxing him out of his delirium with soothing words. When that failed, he'd tried a combination of brotherly teasing and snark, declaring himself triumphant when Sam had hauled himself up with a gasp of breath.

Then those eyes landed on Dean and his first instinct was to get away from the hunter looking at him.

Luckily for them both, Sam hadn't tried to snatch at Dean or attack him. Just talked, and then let Dean stitch him up, the tiny older brother… or at least, he was going to keep saying he was the older brother, no matter how old this Sam might be in reality… up to his elbows in blood and gore to sew up that gaping hole. A hit like that would kill Dean and leave nothing behind.

Dean didn't know for sure what the older hunter thought about all that was going on, but he had a feeling that Sam was past the point of questioning it. He had spent the entire time since the victims and the other-Dean left the cabin on the brink between life and death.

Sam took a shuddering breath, and pushed himself away from the window as the dark figures approached the house. Dean had to remove his hand from Sam's neck, clutching tight to the hunter's collar as the older man stumbled to the basement stairs.

His life was strange.

This was nothing like what Dean had ever expected hunting to be like. He'd always imagined taking his gun and his knife and taking down the bad guy himself. Now, he was clearly too small for that. Either werewolf could take him down with a single hand if they noticed him.

But they couldn't take his Sam down that easily, and that gave Dean a weapon against them. He just needed to point Sam in the right direction.

After the harrowing trip down the stairs, where Dean was sharply reminded of exactly why he hated heights, they found themselves in a basement with a thick covering of dust and plenty of cover.

With Dean's help, Sam found a place to hunker down. The hunter blended into the background, fading away better than Dean would ever expect someone the size of a Sasquatch to be able to do. There was no way their Jacob could do the same with as much grace. The kid was closer to a freight train, his footsteps alone making more noise than this new Sam did while he held a hand to his stomach, breathing heavily.

The two brothers sat down there for an indeterminate amount of time, both staring up at the ceiling over their heads with wide eyes and waiting to see if they werewolves figured out they weren't alone in the house. Dean was reminded of all the times under the floorboards with his own Sam, watching and waiting for the humans above to finish what they were doing and leave, that way it was safe for the brothers to leave.

Now, he had a human with him, but still they weren't safe. A werewolf found his way to the basement, the stairs squealing under a booted foot. Dean smiled grimly. For all his size, Sam was better at concealment than a werewolf. They'd never see him coming.

The hunter held out his knife as the monster sniffed around the basement. It was close; a swipe from the werewolf tossed Dean from Sam's shoulder when the hunter lunged forward. Dean caught a hand on the back of Sam's jacket, clinging desperately to the coarse fabric.

The body slumped to the ground with a heavy thud, and Sam glanced desperately around. "Dean?!" he called out, his voice hushed.

The amount of fear in that voice caught Dean off guard. Despite everything else, he'd feared that even after his help Sam would decide he was too much of a threat. A tiny, non-human version of his older brother that clearly didn't belong. Yet from the sound of things, Sam worried for Dean the same as Dean worried for Sam.

"I'm right here!" Dean called, his voice too quiet to have to worry about the volume. He worked his fingers out of the fabric threads, and climbed hand over hand slowly towards the peak of Sam's shoulder.

A bloodstained hand reached towards Dean as Sam twisted painfully around. Dean accepted the help, staring disdainfully at the blood that stained his and his brother's clothing and boots. Not to mention his climbing string was gone, used to stitch up Sammy.

Sam pulled his hand around and hovered it in front of his face, far closer than Dean was prepared. The worry in those hazel eyes was clear.

Dean shoved at Sam's nose. "Little personal space?" he griped, though there was no actual venom in his voice, simply relieved to see the worry reflected back at him.

"I thought I'd lost you for a second there," Sam gasped out, ignoring Dean's grumpy words. A huge finger touched against Dean's shoulder. "Be careful, okay? I need someone to watch my back out here."

Dean smirked. "Whatever you say, Sasquatch."

Sam held his hand back up to his shoulder and Dean scrambled up, taking his position and holding his knife out. "We'll make them regret messing with us and those vics," Dean declared optimistically.

A half-smile haunted Sam's face at the unusual optimism. "We will."

The second werewolf went down easier, and this time Dean got a slice of his own on the monster when a clawed hand went for Sam's vulnerable neck. He angrily struck out with his silver blade, making the werewolf draw back in confusion and pain, staring at the tiny figure crouched on the hunter with eyes that were almost all pupil to see in the darkness.

A lot like Dean's were.

That did her no good. The moment of distraction from the sight of the tiny man was what did her in. Sam's blade sank between her ribs, doing far more damage than Dean's little blade. The light left her eyes and she slumped to the ground, following her partner into death.

Taking in a shuddering breath, Sam pushed the woman's body off of him so he could stand. Dean could feel the weakness quivering below the surface.

"Sam..." Dean said hesitantly. "Maybe you should rest..."

Sam shook his head, almost jarring Dean from his shoulder. "No," he gritted out. "Gotta find Dean. He might need help. The victim... the man... he got bit. He's a fucking werewolf and Dean doesn't know."

Dean silently digested that revelation, remembering the sight of his doppelganger as he cradled his little brother's body. Thinking Sam was dead, and unable to even mourn him because he needed to save the victims.

One of whom wasn't a victim.

Dean's resolve hardened to match Sam's.

"We'll just have to take care of it for him, then," he determined.

With that thought held between them, Sam made his way out of the house. He limped, and from time to time Dean thought the sway in his gait would throw them both to the ground. Sam was weak, and the hole in his gut was doing him no favors.

But Dean was out there, and they both knew that he was counting on them.

The trip through the forest went better than Dean expected. Dean helped direct Sam to the truck the werewolves had taken to the abandoned shack, and watched his older little brother steal it without a second thought. They found the road, and pointed the truck unerringly towards it. The Impala was calling them home.

When the Impala was in sight, and Dean saw her in her full glory, all black and chrome and blending into the night as though she belonged, he let out a heartfelt sigh that match Sam's.

One day, his Impala would look the same. It might take a little time, but he'd find a way to restore her to her former glory.

Sam hauled himself in and the car started up with the most reassuring growl in the world, welcoming them both home.

Reaching the hospital at last, Dean almost curled into a ball as Sam dragged himself out of the car, a gun with silver bullets in it clutched in his hands. He was afraid of being spotted, both by normal passerby and by the other version of himself. What if he was seen as a threat? There was a good chance Dean would lash out before Sam could explain.

He needn't have worried.

The older, full-sized Winchester was in the middle of a brawl with the last werewolf, trying to scramble away from the thick black claws. Sam's gun roared to life, leaving the Dean on his shoulder to cover his ears against the percussive blast of sound.

The werewolf collapsed, leaving Sam and Dean staring wide-eyed at each other across the hall.

The tiny Dean on Sam's shoulder felt a strange sensation in his middle. He put his hand against Sam's neck one last time. His time here was over. He could feel it.

"Make sure to keep an eye on Dean for me, okay?" he said as sternly as he could. "Always watch out for each other."

At that moment, the full-sized Dean's eyes landed on Sam's shoulder, widening at the sight of another-him.

Dean never heard a reply from Sam as the world faded around him, leaving the two normal-sized Winchesters on their own to figure things out.

Like they always did.

Dean woke with a gasp.

Sam glanced up from where he was reading over his journal under the bookshelf, one eyebrow raised. "Nightmare?" he inquired calmly.

Dean stared at him, barely able to believe his eyes that his little brother was back, all bright-eyed and innocent, his fluffy brown hair so much shorter than that older, grimmer Sam's.

"You... I..." Dean stumbled over a few answers, then clammed up again as he saw his hook and climbing thread hanging out of his bag.

Was it all a dream?

Deep in his heart, he held to the thought that it hadn't been a dream. That it was a look at them both, brought back to full-size. It was hard to credit that, especially since both brothers seemed shocked to spot someone so small.

But he could keep dreaming.

Dean gave Sam a cocky smile, deciding to shield him from the image of their future selves, battered and hardened with little of the optimism that Sam held inside himself left.

He would never forget, though.

"Just dreamin' about gettin' grabbed from my climbing string the other day. Nothin' to it."

FIN