AN: Well, here we are, at the second chapter and not nearly finished. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: Don't own Supernatural, no matter how many dreams I have where I'm Sam, and, by some beautiful result, taller than my Dean-sister.

Summary: Sam and Dean find themselves in a hotel room, which they can't remember paying for or even walking into. Something strange is going on here, and they're going to find out what it is.

Dean blinked.

"What the hell?"

He was standing in . . . a motel room? He'd been knocked out by . . . something . . . when he and Sam had been walking back to Bobby's place, and now he was standing in a motel room.

What was wrong with this picture? Well, besides the cherry wallpaper.

"Dean?"

He turned to see Sam standing behind him, looking very confused. "What . . . ?"

"I dunno what happened, Sammy. One minute I was unconscious, now I'm here." He paused. "You okay?"

"I'm fine, Dean. You?"

"I'm fine. You remember what happened?"

Sam shook his head. "I remember walking back to the motel with you, but not what happened next."

"Yeah, me neither."

Sam glanced around the room, brow furrowing in that way he had that made him look like a sorrowful, sympathetic puppy in need of care and comfort.

No wonder no one ever refused those sad, sad eyes.

"You're a weapon of mass destruction, Sam," Dean said aloud.

Sammy looked at him oddly. "What?"

"You're lethal."

"Dean."

"Dangerous to the hearts of men and women everywhere."

"Dean," Sam said in a familiar tone of exasperation.

He shrugged, then stopped to look at his brother. "You doing okay, Sam?"

"I said I'm fine," his brother said, exasperated.

"Not seeing Lucifer or anything?"

Sam shook his head. "Nothing so far. Don't worry about me, Dean, I'll be fine."

Don't worry about him? Dean wondered if Sam had hit his head. "Dude . . . you sure you're okay?" 'Cause You seem to be under the (wrong) impression that I actually stop worrying at one point or another. Seriously, do you not know me at all?

Maybe Sam had gotten a concussion from the fall or something.

Bastards. He'd hunt them down and make them pay for that. He was so gonna rip their lungs ou-

"Dean?"

"Huh? Nothing," he said guiltily, snapping out of it.

Sam looked at him suspiciously. "Riiight."

Dean changed the subject. "Should we get out of here?"

"Probably," Sam said, graciously allowing the change of subject, though the look in his eyes said it wasn't forgotten. "If this isn't our room, whoever checked in is gonna have to come back sometime."

"Right," Dean agreed.

There was a pause where something shifted, or melted away, or became something new. Became more than it was before, more alive, more there, just . . . more.

Of course, neither Sam nor Dean noticed this. It was something subtle, delicate, yet unbreakable in a way that no one would ever be able to understand. Especially not emotionally repressed monster-hunters.

"Let's get a drink. You're buying."

"Sure, Dean. As soon you pay me back for last time."

"You still think that's gonna happen? Dude, talk about denial."

"Let's talk about our feelings instead."

"God, you're brutal."

"I do what I have to do to survive."

"Sam Winchester, ladies and gentleman. Exaggeration and drama all the way."

"You're one to talk."

"Aw, Sammy, I'm blushing."

"Wow, Dean. Pink is so your color."

"Really? 'Cause I think my fist would really go well with your face."

"We should leave," Sam said, changing the subject.

Dean snorted. "Coward."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

Then they got out.

In the end, they went to a nearby restaurant, where they both got coffee, then didn't order anything else.

"Any ideas?" Dean asked as he took a gulp of his drink.

"Well, possession is out, since we still have the anti-possession tattoos. Unless it's a ghost? But I think we'd remember if it were. A witch? Except we haven't run into any lately . . ."

"Stop thinking so hard, Sammy. You'll strain yourself."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I think that's you, Dean, not me."

Dean paused. Then he shrugged, and drank more coffee. "Yeah, probably."

A waitress came by, smiling pleasantly at them. Her nametag said 'Katie'. "Would you like to order anything yet?"

"Nah," Dean told her, giving her an easy smile. "We're good."

"Yes you are," she murmured, chuckling to herself as she left to another table.

He watched her leave, amused. "I like her."

"You would," Sam replied.

"You can't tell me you didn't like her, either."

Sam rolled his eyes, but smiled. "Whatever you say, Dean."

"Let's keep it that way."

The words "Yeah, right" hovered in the air between them. Dean ignored it, gong back to drinking his coffee.

They sat in comfortable silence until they became aware of someone sitting beside their table, arguing with his friend.

"I swear to you, it's a ghost, I saw it. I barely made it out in time. Why won't you believe me?"

"Because there's no such thing, Vic. Ghosts aren't real."

Vic sighed in frustration. "I saw it, Nikki."

"You saw something that you perceived to be a ghost," the dark-haired woman opposite him said. "That doesn't mean it was one."

The third person at their table, a man with white-blond hair, rolled his black eyes. "Don't go all psychiatrist on him now, Nikki. You know how he hates that."

Nikki looked at him. "Lee. I don't care."

"You're a psychiatrist," Vic pointed out. "You're supposed to care."

"You're practically obligated to care," Lee said.

Nikki looked offended. "Don't gang up on me."

"Why not? You've never had any qualms about doing it to us," Vic replied.

"In fact, you enjoyed it," Lee added. "What kind of doctor are you?"

Vic shook his head in disappointment. "Not the good kind, that's for sure."

"She puts all other shrinks to shame."

"Okay, okay, stop that, it's creepy. Jeez," she muttered. "You try to help a friend and boom, just like that, they turn on you."

"What is this world coming to?" Vic said mildly.

"Nothing she wants," Lee murmured.

"You'd think you guys were brothers or something," Nikki complained. "Stop it. You're freaking me out."

"Good. Now you know how all your other patients felt," Vic told her.

"Except not, because you're way more disturbing than we could ever be," Lee said.

"Way, way, way more."

Dean thought this was a good time to barge in. "You said something about a ghost?"

They turned to look at him.

"Yeah," Vic said slowly. "Why?"

"Can you tell us about it?" Sam asked, puppy-dog charm at full power.

Nikki melted. She whacked Vic on the arm. "Tell him already, you heartless creature."

Lee looked at her as if she'd just betrayed them both. Vic looked slightly bored, as if the sudden attitude reversal happened all the time.

Considering how Nikki didn't even blink when Lee turned and accused her of treason, it probably did.

"I was looking around the Crane family's ancestral home when it happened," Vic began. "I walked down into the basement, and this . . . this woman . . . attacked me. She looked as if she'd been in dirt or something. Her dress was all tattered and her hair was in a mess. I escaped before she could do anything more than scratch my arm." He paused. "I think she was Adelaide Crane, the wife of Nikolai Crane. You see, Adelaide couldn't have children, and Nikolai wasn't the greatest husband ever. One day, she just . . . disappeared. No one said anything, but I think they all knew it wasn't a coincidence that she and Nikolai had a fight the day before."

Dean and Sam exchanged glances. "And no one looked into it?"

Vic shrugged. "Nikolai was rich, connected, and influential. There wasn't any evidence that he'd done anything. It would have been nearly impossible to convict him."

Dean nodded. "You know where Adelaide's . . . uh . . . buried?"

Vic raised an eyebrow, but answered, "Well, there's a few rumors about that, but the only one I'm not doubtful about is the one where she's buried in the basement I was in."

"Figures it's not gonna be that easy," he muttered in a low tone that only Sam heard.

His brother glanced at him sympathetically, then turned to Vic. "Thanks for the help."

"You journalists or something?" Lee asked.

Sam smiled. "Or something."

An hour later, Dean and Sam staggered into the motel room they'd . . . woken up in? Came aware? Became conscious? Whatever.

They'd learned that they had, in fact, checked in, apparently not saying anything of interest to the bored-looking guy at the desk, which was slightly disappointing, but not unexpected.

They both collapsed side-by-side on the couch, trying to get their breath back.

"Never again, Sammy," Dean said as he gulped in air. "Never again."

Sam let his head rest on the back of the couch. "Not gonna argue with you there. Did you have to taunt her so much?"

Dean lifted his shoulder in a tired shrug. "Hey, I wasn't lying. It really was possible that her dad was the illegitimate offspring of a feral hedgehog."

"But did you have to tell her that?"

"She had to know, Sammy," Dean said solemnly, eyes grave. "No matter how it broke her poor little transparent heart."

There was a moment of silence.

Then they snorted, the ridiculousness of the statement getting to them both.

They sat there in comfortable quiet, and Dean didn't even notice when he'd fallen asleep, but suddenly, he was waking up.

The first thing he saw was Sammy's shirt, which his head was resting on. Now, this wouldn't have mattered, if only Sam hadn't still been wearing it.

Dean lifted his head off of Sam's shoulder to squint at his brother's face. Sam's expression was smoothed out in sleep, without any hint of the worry or sadness (or desperation) he sometimes saw on his face.

Sam blinked tired eyes open when the strangely comforting weight disappeared. He returned the look Dean was giving him, the one that said, This is awkward.

Except Sam's replied, Not really.

Well, it should be.

What say you, knave?

Okay, so that last one didn't happen, but it might as well have.

Dean lifted his shoulder in a clear gesture of I have now ceased to care.

Sam rolled his eyes. I never started.

Dean pushed himself off the couch and stretched. He couldn't keep the flicker of surprise off his face as the muscles barely protested. Crashing through a window and colliding with walls really took it out of you, but it seemed as if he was just fine. He turned to casually ask Sam, "You doin' okay?"

His brother smiled. "I'm fine, Dean."

He leveled a look at Sam. "Don't give me that. I know for a fact that at least a few pieces of glass cut you."

"I could say the same of you," Sam pointed out.

"None of it got me."

"Right."

Dean made a 'come on' gesture. "Show me your arm."

"Only if you show me yours," Sam countered.

Dean wrinkled his nose. "At least phrase it differently."

His brother sighed and pulled the sleeves of his shirt up to his shoulder. "There. Are you happy now?"

"For now." Dean frowned. "Dude, is your blood black?"

Sam looked down.

The dried blood on his arm was, indeed, black. And it was undoubtedly his. He stared at it for a moment before raising his gaze to Dean. "Show me your arm."

Dean did, and they both looked at his own black blood.

Finally, Dean spoke what they were both thinking.

"What the hell?"

Not-Sam furrowed his brow, somehow managing to look like a strangely puzzled yet sad puppy. "I don't know."

Not-Dean pointed to his arm. "We're Leviathan? I don't remember being an ooze monster with too many teeth."

Realization flashed through Not-Sam's hazel eyes. "Dean, you know when we were attacked this morning . . ."

Not-Dean looked disappointed, as if he'd been hoping for a logical explanation to be bleeding black blood. "You think that was us?"

"I think it's a possible."

"So, then . . . where's the real Sam and Dean?"

Not-Sam sighed. "I don't know, Dean . . ." he trailed, unsure how to address his not-brother now that he knew they were Leviathan.

"Let's just keep the names for now," Not-Dean suggested.

Not-Sam nodded. He frowned. "What do we do now?"

"We should probably find the real Winchesters."

"Yeah."

There was a moment of silence.

Then Dean said, "You're still my brother. You're getting out of this that easily."

The corners of Sam's lips quirked. "Damn. And I was so hopeful, too."

Dean laughed, putting an arm around Sam's shoulders and mussing (already messy) hair with his free hand.

He paused, realizing that the real Dean's issues with Public Displays of Affection was absent from him. If this was what Dean felt for his brother (protectiveness, warm affection, a need to be needed and a love as if his world would end if Sam did) then it was no wonder he went to Hell for him. Though why Dean didn't show it more was beyond him. Something to do with the stern John Winchester, perhaps?

(He still wasn't telling his Sam that, though. He understood Dean's reluctance in that instance. Blackmail material was not something he wanted to just give away all willy-nilly.)

He glanced up at Sam, immediately registering the reason for one of Dean's other issues. "Dude, why are you so tall? That's not right. Maybe God gave you all the height because he felt guilty for making me the pretty one. "

Sam's lips twitched. "I'm sure you're right, Dean."

"Don't agree," he complained. "You make it sound like it's not true."

"I wonder why that is."

"Yeah," Dean said depressingly. "Yeah, I'll just bet you do."

"Don't feel bad," Sam soothed. "At least you've still got your looks."

"Not helping, Sammy."

He subsided. "Well, I tried."

"Uh, no. No, you didn't."

Yes! They're Leviathans! Didn't see that coming, did ya? Ha!

There's going to be a second chapter of this story, but not a third. Sorry.

So, Levi!Sam and Levi!Dean can't call Cas, 'cause he's an angel and you just know he'd figure it out. They can't call the real Sam and Dean, because, hey, they're Leviathans. There's no way those stubborn Winchester boys would listen to their monster copycats, no matter how weirdly affectionate they are. So who can they call?

Next up: The Winchesters-okay, they're not actually the Winchesters, but whatever-are Leviathans. Who else can they turn to but Bobby?

Weird Randomness!

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The real Dean and Sam Winchester started sneezing sporadically.

The demon in the Devil Trap shrieked as it was sprayed mercilessly. They may have sealed away Michael and Lucifer, but they were still Angelic vessels.

In other words, their sneezes were literally holy.

0000