"It's only twenty miles, Dean. At most, it'll add an hour or so to our time."
"That's not the point, Sam. It's been nearly ten years now," Dean grunted, unhappy with his younger brother's suggestion.
"That IS the point," Sam countered. "We should go pay our respects as we're so near."
Dean sneaked a glance at his brother, knowing beforehand what he'd see.
And there it was, the earnest heartfelt expression that had always prompted Dean to do whatever Sammy wanted, well except on the few occasions when not even the puppy eyes had overruled Dean's will, and that was usually when it concerned saving his baby brother's ass!
:
Sam sensed his sibling's near surrender and laid it on thicker
"Pastor Jim was a good man and he died because of our family. He deserves a visit to his grave at least."
"Fine!" Dean sighed, capitulating. He directed the Impala towards the next turn off for Blue Earth, Minnesota.
What Sam said was true.
Pastor Jim had been a good man who hadn't deserved to die by Meg's hand but Dean hated to stand over the graves of those he'd loved or counted as friends. Ganking spooks in a cemetery was one thing, feeling the tears fill your eyes as you mourned, another altogether.
Pastor Jim hadn't undergone a hunter's burial.
The parish had interred him in the little graveyard next to the church where the Winchesters were now standing, each brother paying their homage to the man who'd entered their lives when they were small children and with whom they'd spent weeks on and off when John was too occupied with acquiring the hunting skills and information necessary to his obsessive hunt for Mary's killer.
;
Dean was the first to break the silence as the tears began to prick the back of his eyes.
"I'm done here," he mouthed gruffly to his brother. "I'll be inside the church when you're ready."
Sam nodded in understanding. "Give me another few minutes and I'll join you."
"Take all the time you want, Sammy. I wanna see just where that bitch Meg murdered him."
:
The inside of the church was cool and welcoming and Dean flopped bonelessly down on a pew.
He should be immune to death and mourning by now.
Hell, he'd seen so much of it- from Dad to Ellen and Jo through to Bobby.
He was so tired of it all but he knew it would never end, not until he himself was nothing but a pile of ashes or buried in some unmarked grave. He was fated to lose anyone who got near to the cursed Winchester brothers.
Melancholy sat heavily on his shoulders, and when the pain of a searing headache hit him, he was completely unprepared, his body tensing like a cord at the unexpected agony.
Thankfully it lasted only a few moments before an image imprinted itself on the inside of Dean's retinas, an image he recognized instantly, for it was none other than himself, Dean Winchester, a smiling clone dressed like some biker in skintight black leather trousers and an equally figure-hugging black shirt.
:
"Congratulations, man! Today's the big day!" the leather-clad Dean chuckled.
"Don't worry, you're not having a stroke. Sammy worked some of his vision-channeling to let me communicate with you. Don't try to talk, this vision stuff only works one way. All you can do is listen while I sound off.
You're probably wondering about the threads. Black leather isn't our thing but sometimes you gotta dress for the occasion!"
:
Dean was wondering if he HAD just experienced a stroke, cos' otherwise what shit was this!
"I'll repeat it, Dude, you're NOT having a stroke! It's a kind of temporal phone call from me to you," the leather-clad Dean assured him as if reading his mind.
"I just wanted to cheer you up. I've been through it all. I remember sitting right there in that pew and feeling like you do now, but it gets better Dean, believe me. So much better!
I guess you're wondering about Sam, I know I would be, but the Sasquatch is right here."
:
The image widened to include a smiling Sam Winchester dressed in tight black leather like his brother. "Hey, Dean, " Sam said with a smile.
"This is gonna come as a shock, I know," leather-clad Dean continued, resuming his monologue. "But don't be too upset, it's not as bad as it looks."
The image refocused to show Sam sitting on an intricately sculptured throne, shiny and black as the outfit he was wearing,
:
Dean swallowed.
What the fuck was going on? He could feel panic beginning to grip him. He tried to shake away the 'vision', or whatever the crap this was, but the image of the black-clad Winchesters remained seared into his eyeballs.
"I'm not gonna tell you how, why, or when, that would be interfering too much with the timeline. Well, so Sam says anyway."
Leather-Dean halted to throw an affectionate grin at his brother who was slouched, long legs akimbo, on the tenebrous throne as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"But incredible as it may seem, this IS your future, Dean- yours and Sam's. I understand it's not the one you might have wanted or dreamed of, nevertheless, it is what it is. Somewhere along the line, you decided that cooped up in one of heaven's boxrooms like jailbirds, reliving old memories for the rest of eternity wasn't the stuff of Winchesters."
Leather-clad Sam smiled, dimples gracing his cheeks, but didn't speak. This was clearly his brother's show.
:
"You might be asking where Crowley is.
Well let's just say though Sam's slated as the empathic one, he can be a vindictive little bitch when he wants, and..." leather-clad Dean's face grew serious, "...he-we- couldn't forget Sarah's death, so Crowley's languishing in the worst corner of Hell, 'cos that's where we're broadcasting from if you hadn't already guessed. But don't worry, he gets regular visitors including yours truly. Not that he's ever happy to see me, I gotta say."
:
Back in the Church, Dean felt a dark treacherous thrill go through him. He'd been tortured in Hell for thirty years but when he'd taken up the scalpel of torturer himself, he'd learned to enjoy inflicting pain on the souls on his rack.
"Don't be too horrified, Dean," his clone continued, seemingly once again to read his mind. " Is torturing evil souls really any different from killing shapeshifters or werewolves? You don't have qualms about that, do you?
Well, it's almost time for me to say goodbye, Dude. Sammy can't keep this wavelength open much longer.
There's just one more thing before I go."
Hell Dean turned toward his little brother, cupped a hand behind his neck, and kissed him full on the lips, a kiss which Sam eagerly returned, his hand coming up to pull Dean even closer.
:
From his seat, Dean watched horrified as his and Sam's clones kissed passionately.
THIS was his future? Sam, King of Hell, with himself as his corrupt sidekick! Never gonna happen!
As for this... incest. It was the stuff of Becky Rosen and her ilk.
He and Sam were brothers.
They loved each other, would die for each other, but this... was...just! NO!
:
Hell Dean drew back reluctantly from Sam's touch, turning one last time towards his vision-prisoner.
"You're disgusted and grossed out, I know," he said, "but you'll learn differently, Dean. After all, we chose Hell, and what's a little incest compared to the atrocities we get coming in day after day? Make no mistake, Dean. This IS your future, and Sam and I have never been so good in our entire lives as we are right here, right now."
"So... Happy first day of the rest of your life, Dean," his clone finished off enigmatically.
Just as suddenly as it had arrived, the vision disappeared, the last lingering image of his "future self's" smiling face dissipating into nothingness.
:
"Dean! Dean!" Sam's worried voice echoed in his ears as his head cleared completely. "For a minute there I couldn't wake you."
Dean looked up at his brother, what he'd just experienced fresh in his mind, particularly the passionate kiss the hell clones had exchanged.
He sensed something within himself shifting, remodeling, modifying its focus, and as he held Sam's anxious gaze, he felt the heat building in his loins followed by a treacherous jerk of his cock.
TBC