A/N:

Post-post change: There was a part at the end of the chapter that has been bugging me, so even though this chapter was already published I changed it. Hopefully that doesn't break any cardinal rules of fanfic I'm unaware of. So, if you're actually reading this twice (I'm a wishful thinker) you will probably notice. If not, then you won't notice.

***SPOILER ALERT***

Actually not really. I just wanted to catch everyone's attention (sorry). This is more of an anti-spoiler plea. SPN S7 premiers on Friday 9/23 here in the U.S. and I don't plan on watching it until I'm done with this story (the things I do for fanfic). That may sound weird, but if I do, I know that it will get into my head and interfere with where I'm going with this story. Hey, I never said I wasn't eccentric. So this is a plea to those wonderful folks who submit reviews to please not spoil me. Sadly, I don't have room in my poor head for two fake worlds at once. So if you review (and bless you if you do) don't mention anything about what's happening in the current season. Thanks!

The chapter title (Gallows Pole) is a Led Zeppelin song from Led Zeppelin III (1970)

As always, thanks to my beta isugirl.

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 14 – Gallows Pole

During Faith's second day in the hospital, it became increasingly clear that they needed to get her out before she ended up being splashed all over the media as the miracle patient. Her rapid healing had caused the nurses and doctors to treat her with a combination of awe and even a little fear. One of the nurse's aides had even gone so far as to smuggle in her thousand-year-old, incontinent cat so that Faith could 'lay hands' on her. Needless to say, that bizarre episode was what convinced them that they needed to bust her out. Their little caper went off without a hitch too. They had her loaded in the car and out of there before anyone even realized she was gone, leading Buffy to suspect that the Winchesters had quite a bit of experience with that sort of thing.

Buffy had ended up insisting that Faith come home with her and stay in Dawn's room for a few days while she was still healing. She probably wouldn't have gone along had it not been for the fact that the hospital had been keeping her so drugged up. Things had been awkward between the two Slayers after recent events and Buffy had hoped some forced togetherness might put their relationship back on track. Plus, she really didn't think Faith should be staying by herself after having major surgery less than forty-eight hours before. So, she had moved in temporarily and Buffy's devious plan seemed to working. The icy wall Faith had put up between them seemed to be beginning to melt away.

Now it was mostly a matter of trying to get Faith to follow doctor's orders (not that Buffy was exactly known for doing that herself). Regardless, it was obvious that Faith was stiff and very sore and going up and down the stairs every five minutes was just unnecessary in Buffy's opinion. She had a bed, a TV, and a bathroom upstairs, so there was no reason she shouldn't just stay put. It would only be for a couple of days after all. However, apparently that was too much to ask, because, once again, she heard Faith's slow footsteps coming down the stairs.

She hurried from the kitchen where she'd been brewing more of Willow's healing tea and popped her head into the stairwell.

"Damn B," Faith exclaimed. "Do you have to sneak around like that? You scared the hell out of me."

"Then you should stay off the stairs," she replied unapologetically.

"Make me," Faith replied with a challenging smirk.

When Buffy just stood there with her arms folded, Faith tried another angle. "It's boring up there. I like to be where the action is. Just not the action I heard from you and loverboy last night," she added with a wink. Actually, she hadn't heard anything. The pain pills and Willow's tea were keeping her pretty well knocked out, but she knew Buffy would be mortified by the suggestion. And judging from her suddenly red face, she was.

"Where is he anyway?" Faith asked as she took a seat on the couch and reached for the remote.

Buffy sighed in defeat and took a seat herself. "Sam came and got him so they could look at this truck he's thinking of buying. He wanted Dean to look under the hood and give the mechanic-y thumbs up and all that manly stuff. Can you believe I actually find that hot?"

Faith didn't answer, but instead gave Buffy a sour look. "You mean Sam was here and you didn't wake me up?" she asked.

"Relax, he'll be back. He accidentally left his phone on the coffee table," she added with an eye roll.

"So a guy can't forget his phone?" Faith asked a bit defensively.

"Not one of those guys. They live by those phones. You know that."

Faith just shrugged and appeared to concentrate on finding something to watch.

Buffy had just gone back to the kitchen to finish making the tea when the doorbell rang. It turned out to be Sam. What a surprise.

"Hey, I think I forgot my phone," he said innocently.

Buffy opened the door to let him in and tried to keep a straight face as she informed him it was still lying on the coffee table (just where he'd left it).

"So where's Dean?" she asked. She assumed Sam had bought the truck, because Dean didn't appear to be with him and she hadn't heard the Impala.

"Out hustling pool somewhere," he said irritably as he took a seat on the couch beside Faith. "You do realize he's just being a stubborn ass, don't you? I could kill him. You should've seen his face when he opened up his wallet and saw that you'd slipped all that money back in. Dude was pissed," Sam confided with a laugh. "It was great."

Buffy just shook her head. She was well aware that Dean had turned this into some ridiculous contest of wills. You'd think they were trying to get him to go to the Ice Capades or something.

"So did you get the truck?" Faith asked curiously.

"Yeah. Dean said it was pretty solid and the price was good, so I decided to go for it. It's an '86 GMC Sierra, but the body's in almost perfect condition. I know it's old and way bigger than what I need," he shrugged a little sheepishly, "but our dad had one. So, I kinda wanted it. Besides, I'm tired of sharing with Dean."

"Sounds hot to me," Faith said as she stood up. "I like big trucks. Let's go see it. Me and B need to sign off on it too."

"Okay, I've got to head out anyway," he said in a clearly disappointed tone. "I need to meet up with this dude that's supposed to hook me up with some silver bullets. Between the two of us, Dean and I might have half-a-clip right now. That's not a good thing when there's a psycho shifter running around. Anyway, this guy only works nights and I hear his customers are pretty unusual, so I'd really like to get in and out of there before it gets too late."

"You must be going to see Willy," Buffy said.

"Yeah, you know him?"

"Oh yeah," Buffy confirmed with a mischievous grin. "He's a refugee from Sunnydale. Why don't you take me along with? I haven't intimidated him for information in months. He probably misses me."

"I'm going too," Faith announced.

"Jeez," she remarked when she was met with disapproving stares. "I'm not plannin' on beating up Willy the snitch or anything. He's no fun. Dude caves if you look at him wrong. I just want out of the house for a minute. Come on, I feel like a prisoner here."

XXXXXXXXXX

Dean went back to the dive bar he'd been in on the night everything went to shit. He was happy to see that the guy he'd tried to hustle that night was there again too. He felt sure he wouldn't have any trouble getting him on the hook again. Since he'd taken Dean for twenty dollars last time, he'd likely be eager for another go. That was perfect, because he wouldn't have to waste a lot of time on the con. In fact, if he could get dude to put up a decent amount on the first game, he'd be able to go straight for the kill.

It went off pretty much as he predicted it would. His mark, Ronny, had enthusiastically taken the bait. He obviously thought Dean was a sucker and probably not too bright either, so he quickly offered to place fifty on the first game. The problem was that when Dean watched him open his wallet, the fifty appeared to be pretty much all the guy had on him. Meaning, there wasn't going to be a big score this time. It would be best to just run the table and move on. He'd still be pretty broke, but the fifty would be enough to tide him over for a day or two until he could find a better mark. He really didn't have time for this hustling crap, but after Sam's latest lecture and Buffy's sneaky little stunt, he wasn't about to give up now. It was a matter of principal. This was war.

They were just about to get the game started when his opponent spoke up.

"Looks like your brother's here," he said, pointing over towards the bar.

Dean shot Ronny a puzzled look. First of all, how did this guy know his brother? And second, he couldn't believe Sam had actually stooped to following him. He was going to kick his lanky ass for this.

He looked up with an annoyed scowl, however, it quickly dissolved into an expression of surprise when he saw not Sam, but himself, smirking back at him from a barstool. He'd expected the shifter to come to them, but this was ridiculous. What was that bastard up to?

Ronny looked back and forth between the two several times before commenting, "You know man, I always thought it'd be trippy to have an identical twin."

"You have no idea," Dean remarked absently as he placed his pool stick back on the wall rack, never taking his eyes off of his fake self. "Sorry dude," he told his disappointed looking opponent. "We'll have to do this some other time." Actually they'd have to do this never, because Dean wasn't coming back to this place. It was friggin cursed.

The shifter slid off the bar stool as Dean started heading that way. They stopped a few feet away from one another, each in nearly identical fight-ready stances.

"So what brings a looker like you to a crap joint like this?" Dean asked glibly.

The shifter shrugged and continued to smirk. "Just wanted to talk."

"I bet," he remarked skeptically. "So what's on the mind of mutant douche bags these days? Global warming? The economy maybe? Or are you still looking for that perfect way to murder an innocent girl?"

Dean saw anger flash in the shifter's green eyes. It was freaky to see its reactions on his face.

"Yeah, it figures you'd be self-righteous," the creature observed contemptuously. "I'm not the only murderer here, you know. How many of my kind have you killed? You ever stop to think they might not've deserved it?"

Dean shook his head. "Not really," he replied nonchalantly.

"Then why don't we step outside and discuss things? You first," the shifter said as it held out a hand.

"Sure, I'd love to show my back to the knife-happy monster."

"Trust me, you will," it stated with certainty. "You didn't think I'd actually go against a hunter without a little insurance, did you? I have the advantage here. I know how you think, Dean. That means I know all your weaknesses."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" he asked suspiciously.

The shifter smiled cruelly and reached into its pocket to pull out a cellphone. "I got this off a kid," it said, closely watching Dean for a reaction. "It's a nice one too. Takes really clear video. You should take a look, it's riveting."

Dean tried to put on his best poker face, although he was dreading what this twisted bastard was about to show him. When it held the phone up in front of him, he could see a boy that was probably ten or eleven years old. The video quality was pretty damn good too. He could clearly make out that the kid had longish, skater-punk hair and was wearing a black Misfits T. He'd been tied with his hands behind his back and even though the volume was low, he could still hear the kid sobbing and begging to be let go.

"You look angry," the shifter observed, still smiling cruelly. "But don't worry. He's okay… for now. It's all up to you actually. As long as you come with me and behave yourself, he'll be fine. So it's your choice. You can lead the way or you can get cute and put a bullet in my heart. But if you do, that kid will never be found. If he's lucky, he'll die of dehydration before the rats start gnawing on him. "

"Fine," Dean growled through clenched teeth, "but you should know that once I get to that kid, I'm gonna rip your ass apart. That's a promise."

"We'll see," it said as it revealed a gun that was tucked into its waistband. "But rest assured, I've got more insurance. So you go first, I insist."

Dean walked in front as they left the bar, his head spinning as he searched for options. If he could just get a hold of this freak, he could force it to tell him where the kid was, but he needed an opportunity first.

As soon as they were outside, the shifter warned him that it now had the gun trained on his back. Dean turned around cautiously with his hands held out to the sides and saw that it wasn't lying.

"Put your hands up against that car," it said as it gestured with the pistol. "You better keep still too or I'll blow a hole through your back and that's a promise," it growled in a perfect imitation of Dean's previous threat.

Dean gritted his teeth in frustration and did as he was ordered. The shifter came forward and hurriedly snatched the pistol from his waistband before stepping back quickly. The pistol was loaded with silver bullets, something the creature undoubtedly suspected. Judging by its reluctance to get close, it was also obviously wary of giving Dean any opportunity to get the upper hand.

"Now the silver knife," it said. "And don't bother lying, because I know you've got one. Just drop it on the ground and kick it as far away as possible."

Dean sighed and pulled the knife out from where it was sheathed at his waist and dropped it on the ground beside him before kicking it under the car he was leaning against. Under any other circumstances, he would have thrown it at the creature. But since he had his back turned and a gun trained on him, it didn't seem like such a hot prospect. At least he still had his bowie knife.

"Okay then," the shifter said with obvious relief in its voice. "Time to take a little walk. Put your hands where I can see 'em and head toward the fence on your right."

As he straightened up and turned, Dean saw that the shifter was herding him toward a chain link security fence that had been put up around a dilapidated building next door to the bar. It had a faded sign above it that showed the outline of a curvy woman, below that, the word 'girls' was still clearly visible.

When they made it to the fence, Shifter-Dean directed him toward a spot where the links had been cut and directed him to slide on through.

"This is your top-secret hiding place?" Dean exclaimed in irritation. "The abandoned titty bar next freakin' door! Seriously?" He couldn't believe he'd actually gone along with this sham.

The shifter chuckled. "Sure is. I knew it didn't have to be too elaborate. You were sucked in the minute I showed you my little movie. It was almost too easy," the creature gloated smugly. "You even led me to the perfect side of town too. Half the buildings are abandoned and nobody around here sees anything. Excellent choice."

"Nobody follows me," Dean replied with certainty. "You just got lucky."

"You are hard to follow," the shifter admitted. "I'll give you that. But, luckily for me, I have an extremely long criminal career under my belt. I've picked up some really neat tricks over the years. For instance, no matter how much you worship that car of yours, I knew you'd never notice a tiny transmitter attached to the frame underneath. I'm just that talented. It's a gift."

"Yeah, I'm sure you make your family real proud."

"Funny you should mention that," the shifter said angrily. "I don't have much family left these days thanks to hunters. Especially the ones like you. See, you've got some really interesting info in that head of yours. Imagine my surprise when I just happened to catch that you worked for Crowley. That's kinda hypocritical, don't you think? "

"Didn't have many options," Dean replied casually. He wasn't about to explain himself to this freak.

"Right. You had to save precious little Sammy again."

When he didn't reply, the shifter directed him through the old club's front door. The chain that had once held it shut had been severed with bolt cutters. He had to admit this thing had come prepared.

"Where's the kid?" Dean asked suspiciously as he looked around the empty barroom.

"He's around," the shifter assured him. "I'll introduce you just as soon as you're all safe and secure. It's all part of the plan."

"Bullshit! You'll show him to me now or I kill you where you stand. How's that for a plan?"

"Fine, we'll compromise," it said, rolling its eyes in exasperation. "Hey Chase!" the creature called out loudly. "How you doin' back there buddy?"

From somewhere in the back, Dean could clearly hear a child's panicked voice, pleading to be set free.

"Goddammit," he cursed under his breath.

"Looks like it's show time," the shifter announced with a triumphant smile. "Now get up on the stage."

Dean couldn't believe what was happening. The son of a bitch was actually going to tie him to the stripper pole. Of all the jacked up positions he'd found himself in over the years, this had to make the top five.

"Don't even try it," the shifter warned as he stepped behind Dean, who had his back pressed against the pole. "I'll put a bullet through the back of your head and then I'll leave that kid tied up back there to die. Nobody would ever find him. Not in time anyway. I didn't lie about that part."

Dean cursed when he felt the plastic zip ties being tightened around his wrists. He hated those things. They were a hell of a lot stronger than they looked and they always cut off his circulation. He cursed even louder when the shifter reached into his front pocket and took his cell.

"Sorry dude," Dean remarked. "I get the kink factor here and you may be the best looking man I've ever seen, but I still don't play for that team."

"Funny," the thing observed dryly, "but don't worry. I wouldn't bang one of you filthy hunters if my life depended on it. But," it added with a calculated smile, "If I can get to that whore of yours before she finds out that you're worm bait, I just might have a little fun with her. I promise to get her off before I slice her up though."

Dean struggled uselessly against his bonds and kicked back blindly. "She'll make you in a second," he spat out. "The only fun you'll have will be a knife through your heart."

"Keep telling yourself that," the shifter replied, showing little concern. It kept the gun aimed at Dean as it knelt down behind him and strapped his ankles together. When that was done, it moved around to the front and lifted up his right pant leg, revealing the bowie knife that was strapped there. "See Dean," it said as it removed the knife from its sheath, "I know all your tricks."

Dean's ankles were strapped together but they weren't affixed to the pole. The zip ties weren't long enough for that. So he bent his knees, brought up his feet, and kicked the shifter in the face before it could react. The position he was in made it hard to put much momentum behind the blow, but the creature still fell back on its ass, spitting blood from its mouth.

"Didn't know that trick, did ya?" Dean prodded. "Don't forget. I'm the real hunter here. You're just playing dress up."

Shifter-Dean sat stunned for a few moments before spitting out another mouthful of blood and regaining its feet. As soon as it rose, it immediately slammed its fist into Dean's stomach.

"Maybe you need something to help you remember your manners," it remarked angrily before disappearing behind the bar.

For the few moments he was left alone, Dean did his best to struggle against the restraints, but he wasn't having any luck. When the shifter returned, he had his arms hooked under the boy's arms and was dragging him along. Like Dean, his wrists and ankles were also tied together with the plastic ties. The creature roughly shoved the boy against a wall and pulled him into a sitting position facing Dean.

"Chase, this is Dean," the shifter said in a conversational tone. "Don't get too attached to him though. He won't be around much longer."

The boy looked horrified to see the exact double of his captor standing just a few feet away.

"Just let him go," Dean argued. "You've got what you want now."

The shifter shook its head. "Nope. Don't think so. Because if I do, we both know you'll try some crazy stunt. Remember, I know how your mind works. Now watch those feet," it ordered as it held up a couple lengths of rope. "Believe me when I say that little Chase here will pay for it if you try to kick me again."

Despite the threat, the shifter still kept a wide berth around Dean until it was safely behind him once again. Then it used the lengths of ropes to secure him to the pole, first around his ankles and then across his chest. When the thing was satisfied that the ropes were tight enough, it walked back around to face him.

"I ought to thank you," it said with a smile, "because all that crazy stuff in your head just might keep me and my sister alive. I can hardly wait to go and share… but, don't worry, it won't be until after I'm done with you and your brother. And if it makes you feel any better, you'll have it easy compared to what I have planned for him. From what I gather," it said as it tapped on the side of its head, "Sam was into Crowley's business much deeper than you were. You might've actually had a scruple or two, but that one was the real coldhearted monster."

Dean felt rage and a bit of panic beginning to well up inside of him. He had to get this thing, but now he was even more tied up, with no foreseeable plan for freeing himself. "You'll be dead before you ever lay eyes on him," he warned coldly.

"I hate to disappoint you," it said as it almost casually slammed its fist into Dean's stomach again, "but you won't be able to do jack about it, because you'll be kinda dead. But I'm sure your slut and your baby brother will be all torn up when they see what's left of your body." It held Dean's blade up in front of him menacingly. "I like this one," it remarked. "It'll make a good replacement for the one I left in Faith. How'd baby bro take her death by the way?"

Dean was still trying to catch his breath, but he managed a satisfied smile. "She ain't dead, dickhead. Guess you haven't bothered playing around in her skin anymore or you'd know that. I'm sure she misses you though. She sends her love."

The shifter appeared apprehensive for a moment, but quickly hid it. "I kinda figured that," it shrugged. "Otherwise you'd have been a little more surprised to see me."

"Yeah bitch, we're on to your ass."

"Not real worried," it replied with forced bravado. "I'll make sure to finish her off the next time. Think I'll try to get into Sam's skin first though. That'll really screw with her head. Too bad you'll miss all the fun. Cause you know what? I'm getting a little tired of all this talking," it answered with a grin before punching Dean in the face.

Dean grunted a little, it was pretty much involuntary. He was fairly certain his nose had been broken and could feel blood dripping down his face. It was annoying as hell not to be able to wipe it away.

"Gotta say, you know how to take a punch," the shifter remarked. "Of course you've had a lot of practice with that sort of thing. The things you learned in hell are just brilliant by the way. I might have to try some of that stuff on you myself."

"Bring it bitch," Dean challenged. "You don't have what it takes to break me."

The shifter replied by delivering another, even more vicious punch to Dean's face. "You run your mouth too much," it scolded in an amused tone.

"It's been said," Dean replied before spitting a mouthful of blood into the shifter's face.

That may not have been his most brilliant move, because the next few minutes were decidedly unpleasant. However, he'd be damned if he'd give this bastard any more satisfaction than he had to. It was probably yet another stupid thing to do, but he also continued to make smart ass comments whenever he could. The enraged shifter responded by punching and kicking him until Dean was pretty sure he must look like roadkill. Through it all he could hear the boy screaming and crying for the shifter to stop. It couldn't have been a fun thing for a kid to watch.

By the time those agonizing minutes were over, Dean's weight was being almost completely supported by the ropes and he was having a hard time holding his head up. The shifter stopped punching and grabbed a handful of his hair, pulling his head back so that he could see the Impala's keys glittering in his hand.

"I think it's time we move this little party along," it stated, "if you'll give me a minute, I'm just gonna run out to my new car and grab a few supplies."

Dean dreaded to see what dickwad was going to bring back. There were all sorts of implements of pain in the Impala's trunk. Maybe he should learn to watch his mouth a little more, but then again, it probably wouldn't have made much difference to the sadistic bastard. The important thing was that he had at least a minute or two to try to come up with a plan. It was better than nothing.

"Hey kid," he called out, once he felt sure the shifter was gone. "I'm gonna get us out of here, but I need your help. You're the only one that can move around right now, so you need to find something I can use to cut these restraints off."

The boy didn't reply. Dean decided it was probably because he was completely traumatized and he sympathized, but the kid was also their only chance.

"Chase!" he managed to bark loudly even though it felt like his head might split open. "You have to hurry and pull it together dude," he continued. "You've got to find me something I can use to get loose. It can be anything. A nail, a piece of glass… anything. Just look around."

"I have a pocketknife," a shaky voice answered him.

Dean couldn't believe what he'd just heard. There was no way he'd actually caught that big of a break. It was utterly beyond belief. The shifter had been too damn stupid to pat down the kid.

"Please tell me you can get to it," he said hopefully.

"I think I can," the boy said, "it's in my back pocket. But it's just a piece of junk really," he added reluctantly. "It's a little tiny Swiss Army knife. My dad's trucking company gave them out to everybody last Christmas. Dad was pretty pissed about that. He expected a bonus."

"That's perfect," Dean assured him strongly. "Get it out and get it over here as fast as you can. We don't have much time."

The kid did manage to fish the knife out of his back pocket using the hands that were tied behind his back. That was the easy part though. He still had to make it over to where Dean was and pass it off to him without either of them dropping it. The minute that it took for Chase to hop across the room and pass the knife off to him was one of the longest Dean had ever experienced.

The wave of relief that washed over him when he gripped the small knife almost made him feel high. He had to remind himself that he still had a ways to go before they were free. He first ordered the boy to go back to where he'd been sitting and then began checking out the knife with his fingers. It was a delicate operation because his hands were getting numb from lack of circulation and if he dropped it, they were both screwed.

Chase managed to regain his previous position just as the shifter re-entered the room. They'd cut it awfully close.

The shifter, Dean noticed, was carrying the toolbox he kept in the car along with a blowtorch and a few other things he couldn't readily identify. One eye was swollen shut and blood kept running into the other, so he was lucky to make out anything at this point. The main thing was to keep the freak talking while he worked on the knife.

"Thought you said you didn't wanna get kinky with a hunter," he remarked.

"Still the comedian," the shifter remarked as it stepped forward with Dean's blade in hand. "Enjoy it, because I doubt you'll be funny for too much longer. But since you seem so uncomfortable with this body, maybe I should change into someone you find more appealing."

Dean startled when the shifter suddenly became Buffy. He'd only seen a quick change like that one other time.

"You're the alpha?" he asked in disbelief. From what he remembered, the alpha was a whole lot more badass than this thing. It certainly hadn't been afraid of hunters.

"My father was," Shifter-Buffy said. "Until your hunter friends served him up to Crowley that is. That's why you and I are going to have some fun," she purred.

Dean cringed as this obscene caricature of Buffy pulled open his flannel. There was a distinct ripping sound as the knife separated the material of his undershirt. Dean tried to hold still and not breathe, but he got a few nasty cuts just the same.

"I was thinkin' I'd leave another message," the shifter stated cheerfully as it pushed aside the remains of Dean's t-shirt, revealing his bare chest. "I think you'll make a nice canvas too. Just not sure what I should write though. Should I leave another note for Buffy or do you think I should personalize this one just for Sam?"

"I think you should go fuck yourself," Dean replied with a forced grin. He'd almost gotten the blade opened on the tiny knife. He just had to distract this freak for a little longer and his hands would be free.

"I'm sure you do," the shifter replied with a laugh. Then, to Dean's relief, the thing actually turned its back and bent down to open his tool box. He took that opportunity to saw frantically at the restraints on his wrist. He cut himself a few times in the process, but he kept going. By the time the shifter returned, holding up a box cutter Dean kept in the toolbox, his hands were free.

"I think this will work better for the actual writing," it remarked. "I wanna make sure my message can be clearly read."

Dean steadied his breathing and forced himself to keep his hands behind his back. Since he was still tied up with the rope, he couldn't make his move until he was absolutely sure he could get a hold of this monster and disable it.

As soon as it stepped up close and pressed the box cutter against his chest in preparation for the cut, Dean swung his arms around and grabbed it by the shoulders. This clearly stunned the shifter, giving him the opportunity to deliver a vicious head butt, which sent it sprawling to the floor barely conscious.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Is that the place?" Faith asked as she pointed toward a rundown dive bar.

"No," Sam replied, "but we're almost there. It's over on the next block."

"That's Dean's car though, ain't it?"

Both Buffy and Sam's heads immediately snapped to the right. Sure enough, there was the Impala parked right below a flashing neon sign that was advertising pool.

"Dammit," Sam snapped as he turned the wheel sharply so that he wouldn't miss the entrance to the bar's parking lot. The truck bed swayed a little as he did so. "Couldn't his stupid ass at least do this crap in a less dangerous part of town?"

"Well, he's busted this time," Buffy observed tightly.

Faith just laughed. This was going to be an interesting show.

Sam quickly parked his truck in the first empty spot he came to. "Stay here," he said to Faith. "We'll be back in a minute."

"Hell no. I'm not missin' this."

Sam sighed and shook his head, but jumped out and walked around to the passenger side so that he could help her down. Faith didn't like being treated like an invalid, but she went along since the truck was pretty far off the ground and she had to admit that it did hurt like hell to jar that injury. At least this way, she got to put her hands on him.

The three had just started to walk toward the bar's entrance when Buffy and Faith stopped suddenly.

"Did you hear that?" Faith asked.

"That's Dean," Buffy confirmed before she took off running in the direction of the abandoned building beside the bar. She'd heard some loud cursing coming from that direction. The voice was strained, but immediately recognizable as Dean's.

Sam stood frozen. He hadn't heard anything, but, then again, the Slayers did have better hearing than he did. After a split second of indecision, he quickly ran to catch up with Buffy, leaving Faith to follow at her much slower pace.

Buffy skidded to a halt once she entered the building. She wasn't quite prepared for the sight in front of her. Dean had what appeared to be her exact double pinned to the floor with a gun against her chest. Then she noticed some unknown kid sitting against the wall a few feet away. This was definitely one of the crazier things she'd ever witnessed and that was saying a lot.

About that time, Faith caught up and stepped up beside Sam. "Damn," she breathed out. It was the only word she could come up with.

Dean looked over at the new arrivals before turning his attention back toward the shifter. He started to pull the trigger, but hesitated. The thing was terrified and it looked exactly like Buffy. It even had tears in its eyes. He felt like an idiot, but he was having a hard time following through now. That particular expression on Buffy's face was a little too much for him. They stayed in that position for a moment longer before he pulled the gun away and flicked the safety back on.

"Ladies first," he said as he pushed himself back onto his knees. Nobody needed to know he'd wussed out. Besides, Faith and Buffy definitely had their own bone to pick with this bitch. He shouldn't hog all the fun.

The shifter scrambled to its feet and glanced around wildly for a way out as both Slayers stalked toward it almost simultaneously.

"Faith," Buffy warned, "you need to sit this one out."

"Sure B," she replied. "I've just gotta do this first." She then proceeded to hit the shifter so hard that its body became airborne.

"Faith!" Sam exclaimed when she immediately hugged one arm against her stomach.

"It's not a problem. I'm five-by-five," she assured him with a groan and a pained smile. "I mean, it hurt like a bitch and all, but it was totally worth it."

Sam shook his head in exasperation and then turned to see Buffy slowly rounding on the dazed body of the shifter. That matter was basically a done deal, so he focused his attention on his brother who was sitting on the floor looking a little woozy.

"My God, Dean," he said sympathetically as he knelt down beside him. "What did that thing do to you?"

"Go get the kid," he replied as he pointed across the room.

Sam followed his brother's finger to see a terrified kid huddled against the wall. He couldn't believe he hadn't noticed him. He'd been so focused on the scene between Dean and the shifter that he hadn't seen anything else in the room.

When his brother went over to check on Chase, Dean grabbed hold of the stripper pole and used it to haul himself to his feet. Faith tried to offer some assistance, but he brushed her off. She sure as hell didn't need to put any more strain on her stitches. Sam would just love that.

After a moment or two of struggling, he was finally able to stand up relatively straight, although he had to keep a tight grip on the pole. He turned just in time to see Buffy pull the creature up by the front of its shirt and then the twisted bitch turned back into him. The thing was still trying to play them and like a jackass, he'd fallen for it.

"You can't hurt me in this body," it said with more certainty than it felt.

"Don't be so sure about that," Buffy stated icily as she pointed toward the actual Dean standing a few feet away. "That's Dean. You're not even close. You're just a sick, pathetic phony. So what did you do?" she asked angrily. "Did you tell Dean you'd kill that kid if he didn't take a beating? Because that's the only way something like you could ever get the upper hand on him." Buffy was getting more enraged the longer she spoke. "You know what? I've spent every waking minute of the last few days dreaming about what I'd do to you and now that I've found you… you're not even worth it. You're just a coward, a disappointing, sniveling coward that can't even meet someone in a fair fight."

"But I didn't want to kill that girl," the shifter whined. "I had no choice."

"You always have a choice," Buffy replied coldly as she raised her silver blade. "And quit sniveling like that in Dean's body. It makes your disguise so totally not convincing."

Even though Buffy knew this thing was nothing more than a parody of Dean, she had to admit she was a little disturbed by the thought of sticking a blade in it. Aside from the pathetic and whiny expression, every single physical feature appeared to be identical. It was freaky. But then she turned to look at Dean, who was battered and bloody, and remembered what had done that to him. It was enough to cement her resolve. She slammed the blade into the imposter's heart and then quickly turned from the sight and headed toward the real thing.

As she stopped in front of Dean, she held her hands up to touch him, but was unsure what would be a safe place that wouldn't cause him further pain. "Oh Dean," she said sadly as she stared at him in horror.

"I'm fine," he said, playing down his injuries as usual.

"You're not fine," she said firmly, placing a gentle arm around his waist. "We need to get you looked at. And this is the last time you hustle. You almost got yourself killed this time."

"She's right Dean," his brother agreed as he and a very relieved looking Chase stepped in front of him.

Dean looked at them both like they were crazy people. "That doesn't even make sense," he said incredulously. "This had nothing to do with that. I wasn't trying to hustle fake Buffy or fake me. I think I woulda noticed a little detail like that."

When no one responded to his logic and Buffy continued to stare at him with a sad and worried expression, he decided these people were simply beyond reason.

"I'm fine," he stressed again. "I just need to take a few Vicodin, drink a beer, and take it easy for the rest of the night."

"Don't be stupid," his brother said. "You're at least gonna let Allie look at you."

"You do look like shit," Faith remarked with a nod, determined to put her own two cents in.

Dean sighed deeply. Everything hurt like hell and the whole world was ganging up on him. What else?

"Yeah mister," Chase piped up, finally finding his tongue after a prolonged period of silence. "When you were tied to that pole and that thing started hitting on you… I was sure it was gonna kill you. You better see a doctor."

Dean felt a sudden urge to throttle that damn kid. The fact that he'd been tied to a stripper pole and beaten all to hell wasn't something he wanted to make common knowledge.

"Fake Buffy tied you to the stripper pole?" Sam asked, sounding like he couldn't believe his ears. When his brother just stared back at him with a stony expression, Sam lost it and started laughing. The absurdity of that imagery combined with the relief he felt knowing the shifter was dead and Dean was standing and relatively okay, was just too overwhelming. He couldn't help it.

Faith joined in the laughter and also made a few wise cracks, but to Dean's relief, Buffy didn't seem to find any humor in that little scenario. She just glared at the pair disapprovingly.

"I'm sorry man," his brother said as he forced himself to stop laughing. "You've gotta admit. That's just messed up… and kinda kinky. "

"Yeah, I get it. It's freakin hilarious. Now let's go before I have to kill one of you."

XXXXXXXXXX

When Buffy sat down gingerly on the bed beside him, Dean looked away from his channel surfing and gave her a lopsided grin. Partly because his lip was swollen and partly because of the drugs Allie had pumped him full of. He'd been opposed to the clinic visit, but a few of the cuts on his chest had been a little deep and he had to admit that it was better to get stitches after being numbed. Besides, he'd also gotten a nice shot of morphine out of the deal.

Buffy gave him a small smile in return and patted his arm gently. She was still wearing the same solemn expression she'd had on since they left the abandoned bar. You'd have thought he was dying.

"I'm fine," he said for what was probably the thousandth time. "I've had my ass beat worse than this."

"Doesn't mean I have to like it," she replied with a pout.

"Come on," he said encouragingly. "It's not so bad. I feel pretty damn good right now actually."

Buffy regarded him solemnly for another moment before asking softly, "You're not going to hustle anymore are you?"

Dean couldn't believe his ears. Somehow Sam and Buffy had turned this situation into the shining example of why hustling pool was the source of all evil. The logical explanation - which was that the shifter had slapped a LoJack on him and would've found him no matter where he was – didn't seem to compute with those two. They were either both completely insane or being willfully ignorant. The problem was that while he could ignore Sam's pinched bitchface until the end of time, he was quickly being worn down by the pitiful, sad pout that Buffy had adopted. He could've handled it if she'd just bitched at him, but this tiptoeing around like he was some poor invalid on his deathbed was more than he could stand, especially after the things she'd been through lately.

"Fine," he said with a defeated sigh. "No more hustling."

"You'll let the Council pay you?" she asked hopefully.

"Yes, I'll let the Council pay me," he confirmed irritably. "I'm a broken man. I hope you're happy now."

Buffy smiled and kissed him on the one spot on his face that didn't look bruised. "Don't be so dramatic. You're not broken. You just don't like to think you lost to me and Sam."

Dean just snorted.

"It's true and you know it," Buffy said teasingly. "And we're not trying to push you around. We just want you to have what you deserve." She paused to observe Dean's reaction and as she predicted, somewhere under all those bruises, he looked thoroughly annoyed. "I don't care about you having money," she assured him, "but you do. You're always worried about it. I can tell. And you shouldn't have to be. You work hard enough already, you shouldn't have to stress about that too. That's all I want for you. Okay?"

Dean's features softened a little and he smiled slightly. "Okay," he agreed.

"Good," Buffy smiled. "Now you get to relax and tell Nurse Buffy what you need. I'm at your service."

"Does Nurse Buffy have a naughty little costume?" he asked hopefully.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Come Cas," Crowley said jovially as he poured himself a drink. "Have a glass of bourbon with me. It's the best money can buy. Costs more than those poor third world bastards make in a year."

"No thank you," the angel replied impatiently.

Crowley rolled his eyes and took a sip of his drink before speaking. "You're loads of fun as always. Let me guess, you're terribly busy and you want me to get straight to business."

"Something like that."

"Fine then," the demon shrugged. "I've finally found a squealer. That's why I summoned you. It was a shtriga actually. They're nasty little buggers. Like to feed on the life force of helpless little children. I'm actually quite the fan."

"It told you how to open Purgatory?" Castiel asked with a slight hint of excitement in his voice.

"Not precisely actually, but we're much closer than we had been. The incantations are surprisingly common. It's little more than a basic dimension opening spell. The real trick is in the secret ingredients."

"Which are?" Castiel asked, his voice once again impatient.

"One is the blood of an alpha. Obviously, that won't be a problem. The shtriga was generous enough to provide me with more than we'll need. It's the second bit that's slightly more problematic. We need the blood of the 'stolen one' – whatever the bleeding hell that is - and it must be fresh. We'll need to capture it and keep it alive until curtain time. So, does that ring any bells for you?"

"No, it doesn't. Didn't the creature know?"

Crowley smiled cruelly. "Believe me. If he'd known, he'd have told me. His last few hours were a tad bit trying."

"I will investigate then," the angel said before disappearing.

The demon shook his head and stared at the empty spot where Castiel had stood. "Funny that I'm the one with the manners," he remarked under his breath before returning his attention to the expensive glass of bourbon.

"Boss," a voice interrupted from behind him.

Crowley turned around, clearly annoyed to see one of his demon henchmen standing in the doorway. The meat suit it was wearing was absurdly muscle bound and its neck was nearly non-existent.

"I asked you not to disturb me," he said tightly.

"Sorry, but you're gonna wanna see this."

Crowley groaned. Not only did this moron look appalling, it also had an equally appalling Jersey accent. The guy reminded him of an escapee fromthat hideous Jersey Shore program. That show, he was fairly certain, was responsible for breaking at least one of the sixty-six seals.

"See what?" he asked impatiently.

"That shifter. It's dead."

"Fascinating," Crowley remarked sarcastically. "I suppose her sister managed to go and get herself snuffed. Seems we've solved the mystery of what happens when one of them dies."

"Trust me. Ya need t' see the body."

Crowley sighed deeply and internally bemoaned the shortage of decent minions. He supposed he may as well go and see what this steroid filled nightmare was so excited about. Maybe then he could get back to celebrating in peace.

XXXXXXXXXX

If it were possible for a demon to have a stroke, Crowley was certain that he would be dead. The horror in front of him was simply beyond civilized words. The dead shifter looked exactly like Dean Winchester. Dean-Bloody-Sodding-Winchester! He couldn't imagine a worse scenario if he tried and he could imagine quite a lot.

"Castiel!" he bellowed in rage. "Get your sanctimonious ass down here! Now!"

The angel suddenly appeared beside him. He was clearly insulted by the manner in which he'd been summoned, but Crowley had no patience for coddling him at the moment.

"Explain that," he snapped as he pointed to the dead shifter's body.

Castiel gazed curiously at the body, a bit of surprise flashing across his features.

"That's not actually Dean," he informed Crowley.

"You don't say," the demon spat back.

"I don't understand," Castiel remarked. "Why are you showing me this?"

"Do you happen to remember the amazing shifter Doublemint Twins? Double your pleasure, double your fun?"

"Yes, but I don't see the point of –"

Crowley interrupted impatiently. "The other half of the matched set is currently on the Hellmouth. That's what the bloody point is!"

The demon thought he might want to get a handle on his rage when he took in the cold and furious expression on Castiel's face. It was sometimes easy to forget that this pompous stick-in-the-mud could easily obliterate him with a mere snap of his fingers.

"I was merely keeping an eye on my investment," Crowley explained in a much more subdued tone. "We agreed that it would be best if no demons went there, so I decided to employ the shifter. She was only asked to keep an eye on things and report back if the Slayers suspected anything."

Castiel glared at the demon angrily. "Sending a shapeshifter to the Hellmouth was not in the spirit of our agreement."

Crowley cleared his throat in an effort not to laugh. He couldn't believe that an angel would be so naïve as to think that the 'spirit' of a demon deal meant anything whatsoever. The only thing that mattered was what was written in black and white (or sometimes in blood).

"You're right of course," the demon replied, making a great effort to sound reasonably ashamed. "But I was only trying to ensure our success. You can't blame me for being concerned after you told me that the Slayers were remembering their dreams. Besides, you were conducting your very own sibling conspiracy with those idiot Winchesters. Fair is fair as they say."

"I didn't send them there," Castiel said tightly.

"And you aren't curious as to why those two would suddenly be playing in our sandbox?"

"It's not what you think. They are there for personal reasons."

"Ahh," Crowley remarked with a sly grin. "Dean is Fluffy's boy toy."

"That is not the reason," the angel said unconvincingly.

"Don't bother lying, you're terrible at it. Besides, I think they make an adorable couple. I'm sure their children will be unusually strong, unnaturally good looking, and possess the mental capacity of a fruit fly. How fortunate for humanity."

"It is none of your concern. As I said, they went to the Hellmouth on their own. They know nothing of our plan."

"That's the problem with those two, Castiel," Crowley remarked in a patronizing tone. "They're always doing something on their own. I realize they're your favorite pets, but I think its past time you put them down. I can't imagine anything worse than having the Winchesters aligned with the Slayers."

"I have it under control," the angel emphasized firmly.

"That's what Lucifer thought and you see where he is now. So if you won't get rid of them, I will," the demon stated angrily.

Castiel grabbed Crowley by his lapels and slammed him into the wall. "Do not forget that I can destroy you," he growled. "Sam and Dean are off limits. Leave them alone and leave the Slayers alone. Otherwise the deal is off and you die. Do you understand me?"

When Castiel released him, Crowley calmly smoothed his jacket before speaking. "Fine. You can have your precious lap dogs, but those boys are more pit bull than poodle and you'd do well to remember that. Just don't come crying when they start biting."

"They won't," the angel said confidently, "and they're going to lead us to Eve. She will know the identity of the 'stolen one'."

"I suppose that's one thing they might actually be good for," the demon admitted reluctantly.

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N: That was a long one, so thanks for hanging in there. I couldn't find a good breaking point.

If any readers out there are from Jersey - that joke was all in good fun, I promise. Please don't track me down and put me in concrete shoes. I spent last weekend at the black tie affair known as the annual Rod Run in Pigeon Forge, TN. So, you can see why I'd feel superior.