The French Correction

This is a totally wackadoo little piece that came to me in a dream (literally). It's based on the idea I used to play with when I was a teenager with posters of my favorite actors and musical heroes all over my bedroom wall. What if they were alive and trapped in those pictures? What if they could really see me? What if they could hear me and I could talk out all my problems to them and wouldn't that be just way cool? So this is that, sorta. Sorry it's so weird -- I'm still new at this!

Warning: Wincest is implied, but not explicit.

Characters: Sam & Dean Season 9, Jared & Jensen, Richard Speight, Sam & Dean Season 1, three female OCs.

* * *

"What the fuck!"

It had been over an hour, and even Dean was beginning to despair of their ever finding a way out of this place.

Like that room Zachariah had trapped him in all those years ago -- the one with no door -- this room, which Sam and Dean had entered (stupidly!) in their search of an abandoned photography studio where forty people had previously disappeared -- this room had no exit.

And it was beginning to really piss Dean off.

Because now the place had not only swallowed forty people without a trace. Now it had forty-two.

"Shut up," he muttered to himself. "If it's angels, they won't leave us here forever."

"What?" Sam glanced down at him from his perch on a chair on the other side of the room, where he was meticulously following the edge of the ceiling with his hands, looking for cracks. This, after doing the same thing with the walls, the floor, peeling back wallpaper, taking down photographs. Dean had already tried shooting his way through the wall, but of course that had only caused their ears to ring and almost got them shot by the ricochet.

The room was about twenty feet by twenty feet. Perfectly square, as far as Dean could tell. Looked like an ordinary office room with photographs on the walls, a desk, a few chairs, bookcases, even a couch.

But no doors. No windows. No way out.

"Fuckin' angels," he snarled angrily.

Sam was still staring at him, hands over his head, pressed along the ceiling seam.

"Seriously?" he huffed. "You think angels did this? Dean, that makes no sense. Why would angels trap us in a room with no exit?"

He finished, having covered the entire ceiling, meticulous as always, then stepped off the chair to face his brother.

"Well, what else, Sam?" Dean demanded. "I'm kinda runnin' outta ideas here. And patience! Goddamn it!"

And just when they thought things couldn't get weirder, they did.

At first it was sounds. Some guy was talking, but his voice was muffled, like it was on the other side of the wall. And echoey, like he was speaking through a microphone.

Sam and Dean pressed their ears to the wall, smashed everything in the room against it, but it wasn't giving. It was just a wall.

And then it wasn't.

In a blinding flash of light, so they had to cover their eyes against the sudden glare, the wall disappeared.

In its place was a solid sheet of glass, or something solid but transparent, taking up the entire space the former wall had occupied, through which they could see -- and could obviously be seen by -- a large audience of mostly overweight, mostly middle-aged women.

Who were all staring at them, some with looks of amazement, some with delight, some with expressions of such open lust --

"Oh shit," Sam breathed, reading the situation along with the posters and banners on the far walls. "We're at a Supernatural convention."

At his shoulder, Dean sucked in his own breath.

"What the hell!" he muttered.

"And it looks like we're the main attraction," Sam noted with a raise of his eyebrows.

He pressed his hands against the glass, then set to work trying to break it while Dean stared out at the people watching him.

"Hey!" he yelled at them, finally finding his voice. "What the hell're you lookin' at?"

Dean glanced at Sam. "Can they see us?"

Sam glanced up from his efforts to crack the glass with the butt of his gun, feeling along the surface for weaknesses, not finding any.

"Yeah, I think they can see us, Dean," Sam answered grimly.

"What are we? Some kind of circus exhibit?" Dean growled, then raised his voice again. "Hey! A little help here! What's the matter with you people?"

Suddenly, a familiar figure with a microphone in his hand crossed into their line of sight, staring at them with a slight smile, his eyes full of wonder and more than a little snarky delight.

"Gabriel?" Sam gasped, recognizing the man. "We thought you were dead!"

Dean clenched his fists. "I should've known," he growled out. "Fuckin' angels. What'd I tell you, Sam?"

"We saw you die," Sam went on, still staring at Gabriel. "How're you even alive?"

Gabriel stared back at Sam, smile widening, then he turned to the audience, sweeping one hand out to the glass cage behind him.

"Amazing, huh?" he said into the microphone, and the audience gave a collective sigh of agreement. "So lifelike!"

He continued to pace in front of the glass wall, addressing the audience, bantering about the Supernatural t.v. show, and no matter how Sam and Dean yelled or banged on the glass wall to try to get his attention, he basically ignored them, turning to look back at them once in awhile with that amused smile.

"That's not Gabriel," Sam said after watching him for a few minutes. "That's the actor who plays Gabriel in the show." The disappointment in his voice was palpable. "He can't help us."

"What the fuck!" Dean all but stamped his foot, feeling the panic rise in his chest, threaten to choke him.

He did not like feeling trapped. It made him claustrophobic. And this -- this was worse than being trapped. It was being trapped and watched at the same time, and he was damned if he was going to have a full-blown panic attack while these people were staring at him.

As if things couldn't get worse, Fake!Gabriel was suddenly announcing the next guests, and from the roaring and cheering going on in the audience, those guests were clearly the main attraction.

"Oh my God, Dean," Sam gasped. "It's them."

All eyes had turned away from Sam and Dean to watch as the two actors took the stage, exchanging hugs and back-pats with Fake!Gabriel, who took his leave as Fake!Dean and Fake!Sam moved downstage to the tall chairs which had been provided for them, every eye in the room on their (obviously) handsome forms. They graciously accepted the applause and cheering, bucking each other up with casual back-pats and smiles.

Then they noticed Sam and Dean. Fake!Dean did a double take.

"Whoa!" Fake!Dean stared, obviously shaken and struggling to compose himself.

Fake!Sam turned to look, chomping his gum. He raised his eyebrows, then frowned. He was wearing a stupid hat, and had a couple of days of facial growth which looked ridiculous, Dean decided. They both did.

"Yeah, it's us, ya douche-bags," Dean yelled at them. "The real you two. Now get us outta here!"

Fake!Dean still wore a decidedly spooked expression, but Fake!Sam was recovering, already making witty, flippant comments in a ridiculous southern drawl.

"What are you, from Texas?" Dean yelled at him, glancing at Sam, who shrugged.

"I don't think they can hear us, Dean," he commented. "We're just moving pictures to them. Life-sized, life-like, semi-interactive. Like a silent movie that keeps playing the same scene. Must be weird to look at. But obviously we're not real to them. They're real, we're just images."

Dean glared at him.

"I'm not a fuckin' peep show," he growled ominously, then glared out at his doppelgänger, who was still staring straight at him.

"Read my lips, ass-hat," he yelled, mouthing each word with exaggerated clarity. "Fuck you!"

Fake!Dean jumped, looking genuinely startled now, glanced away to Fake!Sam, who was rattling on and on about something idiotic and pointless, playing to the audience and totally ignoring the drama unfolding beside him until Fake!Dean touched his arm to get his attention. Fake!Sam turned then, giving his full attention to Fake!Dean.

"I think it just told me to eff-off," Fake!Dean said, nodding back at Sam and Dean.

Fake!Sam glanced back too, and the audience roared with laughter.

"You know, I don't remember this scene," Fake!Sam noted when the laughter quieted a little.

Fake!Dean shook his head, raising his palms to the ceiling in an exaggerated shrug as Fake!Sam went on.

"I mean, it's a wreck, right? Like those poor guys have been in there tearing it apart, trying to get out or something."

"For weeks," Fake!Dean commented, and the audience laughed again.

Dean felt panic rising again. This was not going well.

"Fuck you all!" he shouted, raising his middle finger for emphasis.

"Oh my," Fake!Sam commented, feigning shock. "Really, now. This is a family show."

The audience roared. Dean's blood pressure was rising. He was on the verge of totally losing it.

Then he felt Sam's fingers on the back of his neck, gently rubbing his thumb along Dean's hairline, reassuring.

"It's okay, Dean," Sam murmured softly.

Dean closed his eyes, leaning into the touch, taking a deep breath to steady himself. When he opened his eyes, Fake!Dean was staring again, his eyes steely cold, hostile.

Dean knew that look. Dude was pissed.

"Hey," Fake!Sam seemed to recognize his fellow actor's expression and was flippantly trying to diffuse the situation. "Y'all remember this scene?"

The audience responded with various calls of "Yeah!" and shouted episode titles, but there was clearly some confusion.

"It's from the Season 6 gag reel, right?" Fake!Sam went on. "The French Mistake? Only this wasn't supposed to make it onto the reel. How'd that happen, I wonder?"

Fake!Sam was patting his partner's shoulder, obviously attempting to soothe him, and Fake!Dean visibly relaxed, lowering his eyes and turning back to Fake!Sam with a slight smirk.

"Jared gets a little handsy on set sometimes," Fake!Dean noted, raising his eyes to the hand on his shoulder, then out to the audience.

"Not just on set," Fake!Sam shot back, squeezing Fake!Dean's shoulder and raising his eyebrows provocatively.

The catcalls, gasps, and laughter were deafening, and the two actors took the opportunity to play up to the audience, casting amused looks at each other, grinning ridiculously, alternately blushing and strutting like overstuffed peacocks.

"Oh my god," Sam breathed. "They're gay."

Dean frowned. "No, you married Fake!Ruby, remember? They're just douche-bag actors."

And as if he heard, Fake!Dean spoke as the audience began to quiet again.

"We're actors," Fake!Dean breathed into his microphone, his voice low and deep and exaggerated. "It's called acting."

But Fake!Dean didn't look at Sam and Dean again, seemed determined to ignore them, and Fake!Sam seemed totally clueless and absorbed in entertaining his audience.

Sam and Dean looked at each other, then out at their counterparts, watching them do their thing for a moment or two in bewildered silence before Dean got the idea to start waving his arms wildly at the audience and making faces.

"Freakin' actors!" he muttered under his breath as he banged on the glass wall, then tried slamming his shoulder against the wall in an effort to crack it.

"Come on, Sam," he ordered his brother, who was frowning at him like he'd lost his mind. "Don't let them ignore us. We have to get out of here, dammit."

The audience was starting to notice them again, murmuring and pointing, distracting the actors, who were forced to glance back at them again so see what they were doing.

"Ha!" Dean crowed at them. "Upstaged again, douche-bags!"

Fake!Sam frowned at them, then glanced out at the audience, shading his eyes against the spotlight.

"Can we get this thing turned off?" he asked, obviously speaking to someone out beyond the audience.

Dean could see a shadowy figure in the back of the room conferring briefly with another shadowy figure.

Suddenly he couldn't move.

It was like being held in a vise from head to toe, although he could still make his fingers and toes and facial muscles make small, indiscernible movements, all his major muscles were gripped so tightly he could barely take a breath, and then not even a deep one.

Sliding his eyes to the left, he could see Sam struggling against the same forcefield, frozen in place except for tiny twitches of his fingers, clenching his larger muscles to no effect.

"What the hell, Sam!" he managed to move his mouth enough to get the words out, but the strange force was bearing down even on his face, limiting his expressions and threatening to cut off his air flow.

"Can't -- move -- " Sam gritted out through clenched jaw.

Dean's panic level was rising again. He closed his eyes (at least he could do that!) and sucked in a slow breath, willing himself to relax. He was feeling light-headed, a little dizzy, and definitely claustrophobic.

"This is not good," he ground out, opening his eyes to glance sideways at Sam again.

Sam met his eye and sucked in a small breath.

"It's ok, Dean," he gritted out. "Just breathe. We'll get through this."

The next twenty minutes or so were pure torture. There was literally nothing they could do to break the grip of the mysterious energy that held them motionless, helpless as those idiot actors strutted around in front of them, occasionally flinging triumphant glances at them -- smirking!

Fuck!

Dean was sweating with the strain of trying to break free, the need for action threatening to burst blood vessels or break bones. But the forcefield wasn't letting him hurt himself. It gave just enough to keep him from breaking, but not enough for real movement. They were like stuck pigs on display -- stared at, objectified, ogled freakishly by all those hungry-looking women, whose eyes rarely left the actors but when they did look at him it made Dean feel naked, so he had to keep glancing down to be sure his clothes were in place.

In the end he was shaking with effort, sweating profusely, nearly in tears.

Nearly.

And from the grunts and groaning going on next to him, he knew Sam was doing the same thing.

Could smell him, the sweaty jackass.

And then the actors were done doing their thing and the show was over and the audience was filing out as the lights came up and finally somebody flipped the switch so the wall was there again and Sam and Dean collapsed on the floor in a sweaty heap, breathing hard, exhausted.

But though they recovered quickly and renewed their efforts to get the hell out of the magic room, there was clearly no way out and they eventually found themselves giving in to exhaustion, nodding off into a stuporous, overwhelmed doze together on the floor of the weird room.

Time passed strangely in this place, so that by the time Sam and Dean startled awake, blinking in the bright light flooding in through the glass wall which had suddenly appeared again, it felt as if several days had passed.

While they slept.

Rising stiffly to their feet, struggling to get their bearings, it quickly became obvious that the world outside the wall had changed.

Instead of the large hotel convention hall filled with chairs and people and idiot actors with all their bullshit, there was a smaller room with white walls and furniture and life-sized wall hangings with moving characters in them.

Moving characters who looked like Sam and Dean.

Great, Dean thought. More douche-baggery. Fuckin' awesome.

Sam figured it out first.

"That's us," he breathed. "That must be what we look like to people outside. We're inside some kind of moving photograph."

As if to confirm their discovery, a group of women entered the room, dressed well in suits and heels, carrying glasses of wine. There were several audible gasps as they stopped in front of Sam and Dean's little prison, staring at them with slightly more refined versions of those admiring looks Dean had already endured in the convention hall.

"Wow," one of them murmured approvingly. "They're so real. I feel like I could touch them."

She reached one manicured hand out, tentatively, but curled it back before making contact.

"How much did you pay for this one?" another woman asked.

"Enough," a third woman said. Red-haired, with bright green eyes and bright red lipstick, this one was obviously the gallery owner. Or collection curator. Or whatever. She was gazing at Dean with barely concealed lust and a possessive pride that was causing his body to react in its typical way when an attractive woman was in the room.

Sam noticed immediately, the fucker.

"Dean, you can't be serious," he admonished sternly.

Dean smirked and gave a small shrug.

"What can I say? She's hot," he noted, raising his eyebrows at the woman, swaggering a little as Sam rolled his eyes.

"And you're trapped inside some kind of magic moving picture frame," Sam snorted.

Dean shrugged again. "Ever hear of video phone sex, Sammy? Same idea."

"Oh God, Dean!" Sam exclaimed, flushing red to the roots of his hair.

"Safe, too," Dean winked at him as he hooked his thumbs into his belt loops and swaggered again, aiming another sultry gaze at the red-head.

"He's flirting with you!" the blonde woman exclaimed, glancing between Dean and the red-head.

The red-head was smiling coyly at Dean, and the brunette clucked her tongue.

"Alright Tessa, you made your point!" she huffed.

The red-head, Tessa, tossed her head back and laughed.

"Wait," the blonde was frowning thoughtfully. "Can you really do that? I mean, it's like he can really see you, right?"

Tessa nodded, still smiling broadly. "Completely interactive," she agreed.

"So you could -- you two could -- would he really? With Sam right there?"

Despite her vague words and gestures, everyone knew exactly what Blondie meant.

Dean raised his eyebrows at Tessa and Sam let out a disgusted groan.

Tessa shrugged. "Theoretically," she nodded. "The possibilities are endless. That's the beauty of this thing. Within character, this Dean and Sam will do anything you would see them do on the show. They're totally self-aware, fully functional characters. They respond just as you would expect them to."

"But they see us, so they're aware of being trapped in a t.v. set?" the brunette clarified. "They must hate that!"

"And they're silent?" Blondie chimed in. "They can hear us but we can't hear them?"

"Right," Tessa nodded. "The technology isn't perfect. Yet. Supposedly the next upgrade will include voice recognition software so that this thing will be aurally as well as visually interactive. Cool, huh?"

"I'm waiting for the 3-D version," Blondie sighed. "That's the one I want."

The other two nodded enthusiastically, and the three women moved on, briefly admiring the other wall hangings before leaving the room.

But before Sam and Dean could fully process their new surroundings, the brunette returned, sans wine and heels. She was a little thing, no more than five-two or so, and before pausing in front of Sam and Dean's cage she pulled a chair up and climbed onto it so she wasn't staring at their crotches as she beckoned to them, glancing surreptitiously over her shoulder toward the door where her friends had departed.

"Hey," she leaned toward them so that her lips almost, but not quite, touched the glass. "I just want you guys to know I don't think this is right. And I think there's something really creepy about this collection. And Tessa can talk about technology all she wants, but I know there's something supernatural about these pictures you guys are trapped in. And if I knew how to get you out, I would, ok? 'Cause it's not right."

Then she beckoned Sam to lean down so she could whisper something to him, her eyes glittering with intent, and Sam complied, hoping she would give him some information he could actually use.

But instead she waited until Sam had pressed his face almost flush with the glass wall before pressing a kiss onto the surface where his lips almost touched the glass on his side.

Sam started back, staring at her, and she winked at him before darting off the chair and dashing out of the room after her friends.

"That did not just happen," Sam muttered, wiping his mouth.

"Oh, you liked it," Dean grinned. "Look on the bright side. You're getting kissed, and from in here you can't kill her. It's win win."

Sam shot him an irritated look, huffing out a breath.

"Hey! You two!"

The voice was Dean's, but it was coming from outside the photograph. It was coming from one of the other photographs which was hanging on the wall opposite.

In this one, the Winchesters were standing next to their car, and the scene was in the desert somewhere.

Outside.

What the hell?

"Who the hell're you?" Dean demanded, glaring at the subjects in the other photograph.

"Who do you think we are, numb-nuts? We're you." The other Dean shot back.

"No, you're not," Dean glanced at Sam, then at the other Sam in the other photo. "I'm me, this is him. Not you. Or you."

"Right," the other Sam scoffed. "That's what they all say when they first get here."

"Wait, what?" Dean glared. "What are you talking about? How long have you two been here?"

"Since the first season, man," the other Sam said. "We were captured right away -- just after Jess died."

"What? How is that possible?" It was Sam's turn to stare. "You're us. How can we be in two places at once?"

"Multiple universes, douche-bag," the other Dean growled. "You guys are obviously from a later season. You've been out hunting things while we've been stuck in here. For years! So fuck you!"

Dean ignored the insult, but Sam jumped in before he could respond.

"There were others?" he demanded. "Before us?"

"Yeah," the other Sam stepped up, bumping his nose on the glass before he remembered he couldn't move beyond it, focusing again on Sam. "She collects these things. These life-size, living photographs of us, or whatever. Then she gives them to her friends as gifts. We were the first. We've seen five, maybe six of you guys come and go."

"And in all that time, you guys haven't gotten out?" Sam asked.

"Ha," Other!Dean huffed. "Whadya think, asshat?"

""I think you better stop calling my brother names, dickbrain," Dean growled.

"Yeah?" Other!Dean smirked. "What're ya gonna do about it? Hit me?"

"What about the car?" Sam interrupted. "Why can't you guys just get in the car and drive away?"

"Car doesn't start," Other!Dean said. "Even if it did, we're in a fuckin' cage, man. We've walked the perimeter a hundred times. It may look like it's all open here, but we're in a cage, same as you. Little bigger, is all."

Sam shifted, put his hands on his hips, frowned.

Dean stared, horrified.

"What the hell do you guys do all the time?" he asked finally.

Other!Sam shrugged. "Not much. Sleep, mostly. Don't need to eat, don't age, at least not that we can tell. No bodily functions, thank God. At first we did a lot of exercising, but our bodies don't even seem to need that, really."

Sam peered at them. "You say you're us from seven or eight years ago?"

"Yeah, that's right," Other!Dean nodded. "We were on the road when this happened. On our way to Black Water, right after the case with the Woman in White."

"So you two never -- "

Sam gestured vaguely, unable to finish his sentence. Dean popped him lightly on the arm.

"Shut up, Sam," he admonished. "Just let it go. Doesn't matter anyway."

He turned to Other!Dean. "I'm guessin' you've tried using all the tools in the trunk, right? To get out, I mean."

"Whadya think?" Other!Dean gestured, palms up. "Just 'cause we're younger-n-you, don't mean we're stupid."

"How about Castiel?" Dean asked. "You know about him?"

Their doppelgängers exchanged glances.

"You mean the angel," Other!Dean offered. "Yeah, the other guys that were here told us about him."

"And?" Dean prompted.

Other!Dean shrugged. "And nothin'. The other guys tried to contact him. Praying, or whatever." Other!Dean peered suspiciously. "You guys do the prayin' thing too?"

Sam and Dean exchanged glances.

Other!Dean shook his head. "Damn creepy if you ask me," he commented. "I don't get the world you guys are from. Demons, angels, time travel, Greek gods -- nothin' like Dad taught us."

"A lot has changed since 2005," Sam commented dryly.

"Yeah, we heard," Other!Sam nodded darkly. "Demon blood, angel possession -- you are one fucked-up dude, Sam."

Dean glared.

"Just because it hasn't all happened to you yet, don't mean it ain't gonna," he growled. "Sam is the bravest man I know, and that includes the Sam I knew eight years ago. That includes you, College Boy."

Other!Sam made a face, put his hands up in apology.

"Sorry, man. I can see you've got it all under control," he said with a smirk.

Dean put his hand on Sam's shoulder and turned him so that their backs were to the other Winchesters.

"These guys are useless," he muttered, voice low.

"We heard that!" Other!Dean called.

Dean gritted his teeth, didn't take the bait.

"We have to get out of here, Sam," he said, still speaking low.

"Been there, done that! There ain't no way!" Other!Dean called.

"You are no Winchester if you think I'm just gonna give up," Dean spat back, whirling on his doppelgänger with a fierce look. "What the hell happened to you? I don't remember being such a pussy eight years ago, and I sure ain't one now."

"Eight years of being locked in this hellhole with no way out -- that's what happened to me," Other!Dean spat back. "You try it. See how full of fire you are then!"

Dean clenched his fists, unclenched them. "I have spent forty years in Hell, you asshole, and I know exactly how it feels to give in to the dark side. And I ain't never letting it happen again. So you and your Professor there can just go fuck yourselves. Better yet, fuck each other. You might learn something."

Other!Dean glanced at Other!Sam with a frown. Other!Sam raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

"I'm gonna pretend you didn't just say that," Other!Dean's voice was shaking. "Because if you're saying what I think you're saying, you are two very sick puppies."

"Yeah, well at least we're alive," Dean said. "Which is more than can be said about you two sorry jackasses."

Dean turned to his brother, who was looking at him with an expression of utter revelation.

"What?" Dean demanded.

"That's it, Dean," Sam said, excitement lighting up his face like sunshine. "The power of true love. Gay love breaking through the veil."

"Wha -- " Dean stared at his brother uncomprehendingly.

"True love's kiss," Sam continued. "It's the oldest fairytale in the book. True love's kiss breaks the spell."

Dean stared, opened his mouth, closed it again.

"You want me to kiss you?" he hissed. "In front of them?"

"Come on, Dean," Sam insisted. "It's the only thing we haven't tried. The only thing they haven't tried, obviously."

Dean glanced at the other Winchesters, who were staring at him and Sam with looks of utter shock on their faces.

And more than a little curiosity, Dean noted, at least in Other!Sam's expression. Even in this earlier incarnation of himself Sam was one bright boy. He suspected these two had thought about this stuff just as much as he and Sam had at their stage of the game. Then this thing had happened to them and time stood still. Even Other!Sam's hair hadn't grown.

So maybe if they tried this, they'd actually do the other Winchesters a favor. And if it worked, maybe they could save themselves too.

Still, it made him blush to think about, and he just did not want to blush in front of those other, younger selves.

Plus, this idea of Sam's was just nine buckets o' crazy. And stupid to boot. And there had to be other stuff they hadn't tried yet. And --

But Sam could read the expression on his face, understood his thought processes, knew him better than anyone. So when Sam leaned in and just kissed him, Dean was both shocked and relieved because Sam had just done it, no more discussion.

And Sam drew back just as quickly, no tongue, nothing intense. More of a peck, really, barely enough to make Dean put his hands up to push Sam back.

But he did anyway, because feeling Sam's solid, over-heated chest against his palms was reassuring in ways he didn't want to think about.

And when Sam drew back, Dean's lips tingled with more than just the momentary thrill of having Sam's mouth on his.

There was magic in that kiss.

Oh shit.

He heard the quick intake of breath from Other!Sam and turned his head, sending a heated look into the younger Sam's eyes that made Other!Sam's lips part and his skin flush. He flicked a glance at Other!Dean, whose face was still a mask of shock, and saw nothing but shocked rage there.

Yeah, it took awhile to convince me too, buddy, he thought but didn't say.

"Yeah, I think this might work, Sam," Dean said as he turned to his brother, slipping one hand into Sam's hair to tug his face down again, sliding his other hand around the younger man's waist, under his jacket. Sam's lips parted in anticipation of Dean's kiss, and just before he pulled him in for the kill Dean turned his face so that he was almost pressed cheek-to-cheek with Sam and they were both gazing at their doppelgängers.

"I hope you guys are taking notes," Dean said with a smirk, "because this just may save your sorry asses."

He had one final glimpse of the other Winchesters' faces, noting the combination of horrified fascination and unadulterated lust, before he tipped his face up to his Sammy and pulled him down, perfectly angled from years of practice, into a hot, messy, over-the-top moan-inducing kiss.

'Cause hell yeah. Dean knew how to kiss his brother. He knew how to drag that little moan from deep in his chest, that sexy, deep-throated gasp that Dean swallowed with one tongue-laving sex-coated movement, opening his mouth wider to let Sam delve inside, oversized tongue hot and wet and greedy. He felt Sam's big hands sliding down to cup his ass, yanking him in so that Sam could grind against him, and Dean slid his hand under Sam's shirt, finding warm, smooth skin just above his waistband, pressing the small of Sam's back with one splayed hand while he worked the tangled hair at the back of Sam's neck with his other hand.

At first nothing happened. Well, other than a gasp from Other!Dean and an "Oh my God!" from Other!Sam and the hotness of Sam all over him making him instantly hard and ready for anything. Shit, why the hell not make out right here? Give these dumb-ass prudes a real show?

Then the tingling sensation intensified until it was a steady hum just under the surface of the air in the room, and with it there was a sensation of glowing, although there was nothing visual, nothing that made Dean want to open his eyes to see -- he had the feeling if he did there would be nothing there, and the glowing and tingling was so good, added to the sensation of Sam's mouth and hands and skin all over him so he didn't want to stop to find out what it was --

Then it just stopped. There was a sensation of something popping, like all the air in the room just collapsed for a moment, and under it was another layer of air, and it smelled different.

And just like that, they knew they were back.

Sam felt it too, and they broke apart in one single movement, still clinging to each other as they looked around wildly.

The glass wall was gone, the other Winchesters and the girl's apartment were gone, and in its place was the ordinary fourth wall of the room, with the door to the room, just an ordinary door like the one they had used to enter the room all those days ago.

They didn't hesitate. With a quick glance at each other they were sprinting to that door, Dean getting there first and yanking it open and -- yes! They were out!

"Oh my God! It worked!" Sam cried and Dean grabbed his arm, squeezed, almost said "I love you, Sam!" Didn't. Just gave his brother that look, and Sam smiled happily back at him.

"Let's get out of here," Dean said, and Sam nodded, in complete agreement.

Epilogue:

They never found out what had happened to them. The photography studio was condemned, and later demolished, so that no one would ever go in there and disappear again. The place had obviously been cursed somehow, by someone, but it just didn't matter enough to them to figure it out. Just getting out was enough. Finding out that in their world only a few minutes had passed while they were trapped for several days in that place.

And though they never found out what had happened to that other Sam and Dean, they always sorta hoped those two idiots had figured things out for themselves and maybe learned a thing or two in the process. And maybe, starting over as they did with as much knowledge of their futures as they had, maybe they could avoid some of the stupid mistakes Sam and Dean had made over the past few years.

Yeah. That would be good. 'Cause maybe there were no happy endings -- they were Winchesters, after all -- but if they could just find a little more happiness with each other, maybe be a little more real about their feelings right from the start, well, at least they had each other. At least maybe they wouldn't have to waste so much time apart.

And that was a good thing, wasn't it?