THE STAGES OF GRIEF

Summary: Sam had someone to help him through the loss of Dean, someone who too had just lost a brother - Dean Winchester.

Notes: This story is in five parts, and takes place in the SPN world during season 3.

Stage II - Anger
(a.k.a Shooting the First Thing in Sight)

There were many things you can say to a loved one when they're standing in front of you, despite the fact you've already attended their funeral. What the hell is going on? is one, you're supposed to be dead is another. Even starting with how... and trailing off was acceptable. Pulling a gun and growling, 'You picked the wrong fucking face to wear,' wasn't.

Sam wasn't going to let a pesky thing like that stop him though.

At the sight of the gun, the thing who'd stolen Deans' features widened his eyes. Not afraid of Sam per se - more afraid of Sam accidentally shooting someone. Right, like I've never held a gun before.

'Woah, woah - put the gun down Sam before you hurt somebody.'

Sam scoffed, letting just enough malice in his voice to let the imposter know that he wasn't buying it. 'That's generally what guns are for.'

Dean rolled his eyes at the remark and strode forward to disarm him.

Sam kept the gun trained on his 'brother' until he caught sight of the two men behind him. One was clenching the box and seemed to be flickering out of existence like a spirit, and the other-

BANG.

Dean spun around to see that Jake had yet another bullet in his recently-patched shoulder. Spirit-man, having recovered from his affliction, rushed to his aid. Dean turned back to his brother.

'The hell is wrong with you!? You don't just go around shootin' people like that!'

Sam was about to tell him that it was only a shoulder hit and that he deserved much worse, when the words echoed in his mind, reminding him of the last time he was in this town. Only he was the one with the bullet in his shoulder. He wasn't too happy to realise who that implied he was in this comparison.

Dean used Sam's momentary distraction to confiscate his gun and empty the clip and chamber. He dropped the bullets on the floor and tossed the now useless gun onto a nearby shelf. When he looked up, he seemed to remember that Bobby had his rifle trained. Slowly Dean raised his hands in placation.

'Look, I can explain everything. It may sound crazy but you just have to trust me.'

The experienced hunter didn't waver. 'Start talking.'

Checking on Jake, Dean explained. 'Alright, this might not make much sense to you, but I swear it's the truth.

'We're from another reality.'

Not missing a beat Bobby replied, 'How did you get here?'

'Through the mirror.' He gestured to the mirror that was standing in its own curse box along the far wall. 'We just need to find the remote that comes with it, and we'll be gone.'

Immediately Sam interrupted, trying to catch them off guard. 'Oh yeah? And what am I doing in this 'alternate reality' of yours, huh?'

When Dean didn't reply, Sam was sure it was a ruse. Watching someone with his brothers' features gave Sam an insight into what was going on in his 'brother's' mind. He could tell his exact thinking process. Right now, he was trying to find a way to answer. When he'd just about formulated a response, he stopped and reconsidered. Whatever it was, it was clearly something he didn't want to talk about; Sam knew that expression all too well.

Eventually he settled on a feeble 'Not much,' that didn't even fool Bobby.

He stood tall in the face of their open doubt for a good minute before he relented in a frustrated growl. 'You're dead, okay? You died two weeks ago. Happy now?'

Uncomfortable silence reigned supreme after that statement. Well, as silent as a room could be when one of its' occupants had just been shot.

Sam studied his supposed-brother after that news. Yeah, possibly he looked a little downed at the prospect that his brother had died. But not enough to justify going to a crossroads. Not enough for it to really be Dean, no matter the reality. Sure Dean had told him that they didn't spend much time together in his little djinn-induced dream, and he could see the logic in that. But even if it they didn't converse regularly, he knew that Dean would be upset. Because he was his big brother; a man of uncategorised selflessness when it came to family. The fact that he went and made that stupid deal was a testament to that.

So no, Sam didn't think the person standing in front of him, who had shifted around a little and muttered a feeble, 'you're dead,' was really his brother. From any reality.

Sam decided to keep this little piece of knowledge up his sleeve until later. Didn't want them to know he knew, and all that.

'So, if yer from another reality, how is it yer friend's a spirit? He didn't come through right or something?' Bobby brought the conversation back, making sure every detail checked out before he even thought about lowering his gun.

As one they turned to said man (whom Sam had simply dubbed Spirit in lieu of a name), who sensed the attention and looked up from Jake's shoulder. 'Huh?'

'They want to know why you've got that ECF thing going on. Remember to go easy on the geek, not everyone's fluent like you.'

Spirit shot Winchester a look that questioned Dean's intelligence, and Dean replied in typical Dean fashion which made Sam feel a little jealous. That type of camaraderie was Sam's. Even if he was sure that it wasn't actually Dean it was still unsettling to see him get along with someone else in the same manner they had for years, all the while treating him like a total stranger.

It was like Sam had been replaced. And Sam wasn't sure he liked it.

Sam ignored what Spirit was saying and glanced at his brother. Not because he wanted to, but because he couldn't help it. He was bored, Sam could tell. And this kind of boredom only led to one thing. When Dean opened his mouth to make some kind of sure-to-be irritating noise, Sam cut him off-

'Dean.'

Dean looked over at him and Sam sighed. Deans' features scrunched up in confusion for the briefest of seconds before he seemed to have a mild epiphany. Whatever he realised caused him to turn away.

Sam tried to focus on the actual problem at hand, but when his brother chuckled, his gaze found its way back to him.

Dean caught him looking and immediately lost his humour; turning away for the second time in as many minutes.

Sam wasn't happy with the implication that his own brother couldn't even look at him, and an uneasy feeling stirred.

'You can't just go opening curse boxes, you idjits! It's like throwing dynamite on a fire.'

Glancing back to Bobby at his outburst, Sam made sure to keep his attention there and not acknowledge Dean when he retorted about the likeliness of that situation. Sams' eyes were trained on Bobby with the determination that one used to refrain from pushing that immortal 'don't push' button.

'Until it blows up in your face.' Bobby countered.

Being the closest, he heard Dean mutter, 'Well, yeah, if it happened.' It was petulant and sarcastic and too familiar for Sam to take. He hoped someone else would start talking.

When Jake started to speak, Sam amended that thought to be someone else that hadn't killed him. The look he shot Jake held no reservations on what he was feeling towards the man at the moment.

Jake seemed to pick up on it, as he trailed off mid sentence; 'When you say 'curse boxes'...'

'He means curse boxes. They're built to contain the power of the cursed object within.' Not being able to look at Jake any more without wanting to shoot him again, he turned to someone else. Unfortunately an unconscious pull made that person his brother. It was like he couldn't win.

Dean was looking slightly confused. 'But the mirror's not cursed.' He looked to Spirit for confirmation, who nodded.

Jealousy niggled at Sam again. He was the one Dean looked to for facts. Slightly irritated, Sam ignored it and blurted something he probably shouldn't have. 'Dad probably wanted to be safe instead of sorry.'

'I'm sorry - Dad!? As in... our dad!? No way would our dad be keeping freaky occult 'curse boxes' in the middle of friggin' nowhere! Nice try, what else have you got?'

'Dean,' Damnit, stop calling him Dean! 'Why do you think we're here? Do you think we like to show up at random storage lockers and filch curse boxes?' Come to think of it, they probably would if they thought it posed a threat. But the three before him didn't know that. Come to think of it they didn't seem to know anything a hunter or even a fugly should, and it was making Sam a mite frustrated. 'No, we're here because this was Dad's friggin' nuclear waste dump that he never told us about, and now we have to move all these before someone else comes in and tries to STEAL SOMETHING ELSE!'

Sam huffed. His anger had culminated from everything that had happened in the last week that he'd tried to ignore. His father was dead, but he was still chasing after him - only finding out things two hours past the last minute, which was all Sam seemed to do when he was alive. Now his brother was dead and in Hell and some pale imitation was standing in front of him; all human and non-demonic and smart-assed and everything else that was Dean, but still Sam knew that he wasn't his brother. And hearing him speak didn't help the matter;

'Dude, chill.'

'SHUTUP! YOU'RE NOT DEAN! JUST SHUTUP!'

Dean blinked. His eyes widened almost imperceptibly and then narrowed, his tone was a barely-controlled anger that both Sam and Bobby knew all too well.

'Yeah? Well you ain't Sam either! I don't know who the hell you are, but you aren't my brother. He's a lawyer and he's married to some hot chick. He's not some gun-totin' psycho that goes around hoarding 'curse boxes' in the middle of Nowheresville like some friggin' messed up SATANIST!'

He'd inched closer over the course of his tirade, and when they were nose-to-nose, Dean shoved him back. 'So don't tell me I'm not Dean! YOU'RE the one who isn't fuckin' Sam!'

Stage II/A - When You Can't Hold it In Any Longer

'You picked the wrong fucking face to wear.'

Seeing his wide-eyed, the-world-is-sunshine-and-kittens, dork of a brother with a gun kicked Dean out of soldier mode and into brother mode. 'Woah, woah - put the gun down Sam before you hurt somebody.'

When Sam replied, his voice was a menacing sneer that didn't suit him, even at his bitchiest. And Dean would know. Being the bigger brother, he had taken it upon himself to provoke such bitchiness out of him on numerous occasions. When he may/may not have hooked up with his prom date was one of them.

Even though his demeanour was a little cold, Dean knew that the person standing before him was Sam, albeit an alternate reality Sam, and therefore still his brother.

Confident that said brother wouldn't shoot him, Dean strode forward to disarm him, before Klutzboy accidentally set it off.

He was about halfway there when Sams' eyes skipped to the two people behind him. And before Dean knew it, he had pulled his aim off Dean and fired.

Spinning around, Dean saw that Talley had been shot in the same shoulder yet again. This reality doesn't seem to like him much, flittered through Dean's mind as Stanson tended to Talley for the second time today.

The wound only seemed to prove Dean right in his position that Sam shouldn't be looking at guns, let alone holding them. He looked back to him, a certain amount of incredulity in his voice.

'The hell is wrong with you!? You don't just go around shootin' people like that!'

Sam opened his mouth to reply, but the words never came. Off in his own little world, Dean used that moment of inattention to relieve his brother of his gun.

Glancing down at it, he mused that it wasn't half bad; obviously not something a first-time gun wielder would buy. The phone conversation from what seemed like hours ago flittered through his mind, and Dean found himself wondering exactly what kind of family they were in this reality, where he was a fugitive and Sam was going around shooting people.

He put that train of thought on the backburner as he emptied the clip and the chamber before separating the weapon from its ammunition.

When he looked up, it was into the barrel of the unknown stranger's rifle. Slowly he raised his hands, because getting shot wasn't really on his list of plans for today. When no response -not even a blink- was forthcoming, Dean felt the need to clarify,

'Look, I can explain everything. It may sound crazy but you just have to trust me.'

Still no blink. Apparently crazy wasn't a problem for them. 'Start talking.'

Or they didn't think what Dean had to say would be that crazy. After double checking that Talley was alright, Dean continued, 'Alright, this might not make much sense to you, but I swear it's the truth.' He paused, possibly for effect. 'We're from another reality.'

Still nothing. Didn't that guys' eyes ever dry out? 'How did you get here?'

Dean paused a second. He was expecting a little incredulity, possibly some shock. Definitely not an instant reply. However, he did notice that the tone was slightly sceptic, so he supposed that was the most by the way of expression this guy offered. When all this was said and done, and if Dean wasn't dead at that point, he was going to challenge the haggard man to a round of poker.

Waving to the mirror, Dean offered a simple explanation, partly because confusing them wouldn't help, and partly because he didn't get around to reading all the technical aspects of his brief.

As soon as the words had left his mouth, his brother was interjecting, like he was trying to catch him out. He remembered the tone from when they were kids and Dean would be late picking Sam up from school. It took six months for Dean to actually slip up, and that was because Sam had finally figured out the right question to ask.

This Sam had obviously learnt that lesson too, because he knew the exact thing that would catch him off guard. 'What am I doing in this 'alternate reality' of yours, huh?'

Dean almost blurted that there's no way Sam would or wouldn't know whether what Dean said he was doing was the truth, because he'd been here for two hours, and from what he'd found this reality didn't make a lick of sense to him. So why should his make any to the other Sam's?

Then of course, there was that other reason. The one where his brother is... he didn't really want to address that issue at the moment.

'Not much.'

He looked up into their twin faces of doubt. What? That's all you're getting. Deal with it.

...

...

...

Don't...

...

...

...

Make...

...

...

...

Me...

...

...

...

'You're dead, okay? You died two weeks ago. Happy now?'

He looked to his brother, hoping he got the message that this topic was officially over. He didn't want to talk about it anymore. It's one thing to tell someone that your brother's dead; it's another to tell said brother that they're dead. It's a whole paint can of absurd. Especially if he didn't drop it. I mean, how do you tell your dead brother that his death doesn't really affect you? You died - so what?

They're thoughts that exist only in the mind and the ears of other like-minded people. They have no place near the actual subject. Which is why people wait until the subject is actually dead before they think it. It's a callous truth and Dean feels a little guilty that the only reason he feels guilty is because he knows that it's callous, not that it's because it's his brother. But he can't feel any different. He was right in Hammond's office - they were never close, and he was fine with that. He was sure Sam was fine with it too. He had his own life; friends, wife... They never needed to talk about it.

And he doesn't need that to change that now. Or ever.

Looking away, Dean growled internally. This whole thing is bringing up thoughts he didn't need to have, especially on a mission. All because his dead brother was standing five feet from him. What's dead should stay dead.

Dean was drawn out of his never-to-be-acknowledged emo trail as The Bearded One started to speak. He missed the words, but from the look he gathered that it had something to do with Stanson. And there was only one thing up with Stanson at the moment.

'Huh?'

'They want to know why you've got that ECF thing going on. Remember to go easy on the geek, not everyone's fluent like you.'

Stanson shot Winchester a look that suggested that they only person he thought wouldn't be able to understand was Dean, before he dumbed down Entropic Cascade Failure for the civvies. Dean was thankful for the return to the familiar, and true to form pretended not to notice as he looked about the room in mild curiosity, the boredom prompting his hands to swing and his tongue to the roof of his mouth-

'Dean.'

He looked over to see Sam shooting him a look that suggested he knew exactly what Dean was about to do, and he wasn't impressed. It was in that moment that he realised that the person in front of him wasn't his geek brother, but his old drill sergeant. He stood tall and ready; dashed with a sprinkle of paranoia that was only present those who had lost dearly through bad experience. A soldier, not a lawyer.

The likeness standing in front of Dean wasn't his brother at all. And Dean wasn't sure he liked it.

He turned away from the unfamiliar familiar face and focused his attention back on the matter at hand. Stanson was now holding the sheltered remains and explaining how the remote worked to Sam's bearded companion, whom Dean surmised had long forgotten how to make any other expression except perpetual suspicion. The thought reminded him of when he was nine, and their family had gone to the carnival. Sam - back when he was still Sammy - had wanted to ride the rollercoaster with his brother, but was too short. He had pouted something fierce until Dad had told him that if he made that face long enough and the wind changed, it would be stuck like that. Ever the dunderhead, Sam had believed him and spent the rest of the day changing his face every five seconds.

Dean was going to do the brotherly thing and set him straight, but when he actually looked at Sammy, whose eyebrows were currently furrowed and his nose and mouth were scrunched up, he had started snickering and forgot all about it.

Dean chuckled at the memory until the sound drew the attention of the person in question. His eyes found his brother's and when he realised he couldn't liken the chubby-faced boy to the hardened man before him, he quickly sobered and looked away, an indiscernible feeling in his stomach.

It wasn't right. This 'Sam' wasn't his brother. And if was going to be stuck in an alternate reality with his brother, he'd rather that it actually was his brother, not some unknown imposter with the same face. Hammond was right, he should have taken that holiday.

'You can't just go opening curse boxes, you idjits! It's like throwing dynamite on a fire.'

'What, a big anti-climax?' Dean snarked.

When Beardy McSerious glared his way, Dean couldn't help but feel belittled, like he should have known better. How the hell do old people perfect that look?

'Until it blows up in your face.'

'Well, yeah, if it happened,' Dean muttered.

'When you say 'curse boxes'...' Talley started, but trailed off when Sam looked his way. He wasn't too eager to get shot again today.

The hostility in his brother's reply confirmed thrice over that he wasn't the Sam he barely knew. Dean decided the best way through this debacle was to clamp down on all stray thoughts, ignore all the tones and focus on the words. When he got back he could deal with it.

Curse boxes? 'But the mirror's not cursed.' He confirmed it with Stanson.

What Sam said next floored him. 'Dad probably wanted to be safe instead of sorry.'

None of this was adding up to a place Dean was happy with. Dean - fugitive. Sam - Murderer. Dad... occultist? Having spent more time with his dad than Sam, Dean was adamant that was one road he knew for sure was never going to be taken.

'I'm sorry - Dad!? As in... our dad!? No way would our dad be keeping freaky occult 'curse boxes' in the middle of friggin' nowhere! Nice try, what else have you got?'

As Sam talked, he seemed to grow more and more frustrated. But Dean got the distinct feeling that it wasn't entirely directed at him. Still, the last thing he needed was this to take a heated turn, because Dean was having a hard time keeping his thoughts in check at the moment. Everything had come bubbling to the surface, and when Sam finished, Dean's words were as much for him as they were for himself.

'Dude, chill.'

This only seemed to make him angrier; 'SHUTUP! YOU'RE NOT DEAN! JUST SHUTUP!'

Dean blinked at the ferociousness of the outburst, because he registered that his brother had just told him exactly what he was thinking. It didn't matter whether he was really Sam in Deans' eyes or not; the words had burned into his mind, and Dean felt himself losing his struggle to hold it all together.

'Yeah? Well you ain't Sam either! I don't know who the hell you are, but you aren't my brother. He's a lawyer and he's married to some hot chick. He's NOT some gun-totin' psycho that goes around hoarding 'curse boxes' in the middle of Nowheresville like some friggin' messed up SATANIST!'

As each unbidden thought sprang out of him, Dean's anger at the entire situation mounted until he was barely a hair's breadth apart from Sam. Frustrated with everything that had happened and was happening, Dean placed all the blame on the man in front of him, and let it show by shoving him back with as much force as he could muster.

'So don't tell me I'm not Dean! YOU'RE the one who isn't fuckin' Sam!'

Stage II/B - Taking a Breath

'Awkwwarrrrrd,' Stanson exhaled, his eyes shifting to his C/O for the expectant reprimand. It didn't come.

Winchester was busy staring at the floor, trying not to look at anyone, especially not his brother. His brother was doing the same thing, and the other fellow whose name Paul didn't know was checking on Sam.

Stanson looked over to Talley, who looked thirty-one flavours of freaked out (one had nuts). He was inclined to join him.

Winchester finally looked up from the ground, a hand scratching the back of his neck. 'Found that remote yet Stanson?'

'Uhh, getting to it right now, Colonel.'

'Talley, you dead?'

He glanced down at his shoulder. 'Not yet.'

'Good, help him.'

Apparently Dean had simply chosen to ignore his brother and the scruffy but intimidating man toting a rifle behind him.

The latter of which didn't seem to like that, and decided to make his presence known.

'Don't touch that.'

Stanson was amazed at the amount of disbelief, scorn and petty insult his commanding officer and long time friend could affect in one sentence. 'Right right - 'cos it might be cursed, right? Just like the mirror...'

The elder opened his mouth to reply, but the sound that came out was distorted. Recognising it for what it was, Stanson braced himself against a nearby shelf.

The world started to shake, though from Major Carters' notes and first-hand accounts he knew it was only himself. What he felt next could only be described as chaos. Joints locked and relaxed concurrently, pain throbbed through him, but his mind rationalised it as numbness. He could see more than his eyes knew to process, and his mind was a swirl; mindlessly flittering from each new input of information, but never able to settle on one thought. A nagging instinct telling him that there was something he needed to know/think about/see/feel/touch/do, but it was always just out of reach.

Then nothing. Then everything. All at once.

.-.-.

When he came to it felt like hours had passed. Though in reality it was only seconds.

Winchester had a hand on his shoulder and was peering intently in his eyes. 'You okay?'

Paul coughed (though if asked he couldn't give a reason why), and forced a small smile. 'Why Winchester, I didn' know ya cared.'

If Dean noticed the twang in his accent, he didn't comment on it, as his hand dropped from Stanson's shoulder. 'Bitch.'

'Sanders.'

'Major.'

'Colonel.'

Satisfied that Paul wasn't going to break down in front of him, be it in a literal or figurative sense, Dean turned to face the others.

'See, this is exactly why we need the remote. Stanson's gonna die unless we get him home - are you gonna live with that on your heads?' He turned to Sam. 'Please, Sam.'

Something had changed in the last few minutes, but being slightly disorientated by the ECF attack, Stanson had missed it. The paranoia in Sam's eyes had been replaced with wist; it seemed that he finally believed the person standing before him was actually his brother. Which meant that he also bought the whole alternate reality sh-bang as well.

Stanson didn't exactly know much about Sam Winchester. That is to say he didn't know anything about the man. Dean had mentioned a 'geek brother' once, and Stanson had been eating dinner with him when he received the news. But the distinct lack of a reaction to said news led him to believe that they were only brothers in the word, nothing more.

Then again, being an alternate reality, they could be BFF's for all Stanson - or heck, anyone - knew. Stanson wished he knew what he'd missed in those few minutes.

Returning to the here and now, he saw that Sam had yet to respond. Though if the look on his face was any indication, he was going to cave.

'Bobby...?'

So that's what his name was.

At Sam's imploring tone, Bobby finally lowered his weapon and replaced the safety. In virtually the same movement he managed to sigh, remove his cap and scratch his scalp before setting it back in its rightful place.

'Alright. First things first, we gotta seal up all the boxes you lot opened.'

'Then how will we know which one it's in?'

'John took a picture of what's inside and stuck it on the bottom. If you idjits had bothered to look instead of bustin' them open willy nilly, you'd've known that.'

It was so simple, Paul felt like punching himself. A quick glance in Winchester's direction and he was happy to know he wasn't the only one. He nudged the box before him with his foot, tilting it to see the picture underneath. An hourglass. Hunh.

Dean caught Stanson checking, and when he shook his head, gestured to the ones on the shelf. 'Stanson, check those boxes for the remote. Talley, when you're done bleeding all over the place, you can give him a hand.'

Talley rolled his eyes. 'How considerate of you, Colonel.'

'I'm a considerate guy.'

Stanson imagined that the only reason Talley was helping him (as much as a shoulder-wounded person could lift heavy objects) was to keep him away from Sam, who was still shooting him the odd death glare while he had a brief, whispered conversation with Bobby.

Eventually they conceded Winchester's plan, and they too split up - Sam to Dean and Bobby came over to 'help' them. In other words; make sure they didn't try anything.

They perused the shelves, Stanson giving a brief description of the remote's size and appearance. In the background he could hear Winchester's snarky diatribe:

'Oh look, here's the curse box that has a cursed snowglobe inside. Quick, we better shut the lid before the curse turns us all into… friggin' chipmunks.'

Stanson sniggered as he shook his head at the picture Bobby was holding up.

'I think I found it.'

Stanson turned to Talley to see a small tackle box with a polaroid of the very remote they were looking for taped to the bottom. He let out a breath he'd been holding since the first ECF attack. Finally things were looking up.

He turned around to inform Winchester, but stopped when he saw them standing over the case that had the marionette in it. 'Had', in the sense that it was now empty. Stanson felt the younger Winchester summed up the situation very succinctly;

'Shit.'

End Part II.