amypond45

Nevertheless, Dean found himself on the phone with Other!Sam again a week later, pacing in the parking lot while Sam was inside searching the 'net for cases of demonic possession.

"Oh, and by the way. When were you gonna tell me about the demon blood, Sam? Huh? I had to hear it from Crowley."

"Oh God," Other!Sam breathed.

"No, not Him. Definitely not Him," Dean growled. He took a deep breath, wishing -- hoping -- this was nothing, but not quite daring to believe it.

"Sam, tell me it doesn't matter," he pushed. "Tell me my brother having demon blood in his veins is not going to make him turn dark-side."

The anguished, choked sound that burst out of Other!Sam sounded like a sob.

"Fuck," Dean breathed.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Other!Sam said again. "I didn't tell you about that because I was hoping it didn't matter in your world. Your dad killed Yellow-Eyes, and nothing happened after that the way it did here, so I was thinking maybe none of those things I went through would happen for you guys."

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. Tired, tired, tired. He was so fucking tired.

"What things, Sam?" he asked. "What do I need to watch out for? Is my brother gonna grow horns? Start killing people with his mind?"

"No, no," Other!Sam responded quickly.

"So what then? What can happen?"

Other!Sam took a deep breath. "I started having visions," he said reluctantly, like it was causing him pain to have to remember. "A few days before Jess died. Death visions. I -- I saw her die."

Dean couldn't believe what he was hearing. He already knew about that. Relief flooded him suddenly like a punch in the gut. This might be something he could handle after all.

"Sam had those too," he said out-loud now. "For almost that whole first year after I picked him up from Stanford. But they stopped as soon as the demon was dead. We figured it was connected because Dad had found other kids with psychic powers, all born about the same time. Figured the demon had been creating some kind of army."

"That's right," Sam agreed. "Azazel bled into all of us."

"Dad never mentioned the blood," Dean said. "But he must have known."

"Yeah, he knew," Other!Sam said. "But it sounds like he decided not to tell you, once he could see that Azazel's death stopped the visions."

"Your dad told you," Dean clarified.

"No," Other!Sam said, his voice still and small. "He told Dean he might have to kill me. Then he died."

"Fuck," Dean breathed.

"Yeah," Other!Sam agreed.

Dean took a deep breath, closed his eyes.

"Ok, I gotta go."

"Hey Dean?"

"Yeah."

"How's Sam doing?"

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face, shuffled his feet.

"Yeah -- no -- he's ok," he said. "Still pretty beat up about what happened, obviously. Thinks it's his fault for not figuring out what your brother was doing."

Other!Sam huffed out a breath. "It's not his fault," he said quietly.

"Yeah, tell him that," Dean groused. "And just so we're clear, Sam, if I ever have the chance, I will kill your brother."

"Yeah, I get that," Other!Sam sighed. "Right now, I'm pretty sure he deserves it."

* *

Other!Sam called once a week for awhile. He seemed to need the contact, and Dean didn't have the heart to refuse it. Sam frowned his disapproval whenever he caught Dean talking to his doppelgänger, but he seemed to accept it when Dean assured him he drew the line at phone sex.

Until the night the poor bastard drunk-dialed him and Dean spent almost the whole night locked in the bathroom, talking Other!Sam down off the edge of some serious self-hatred.

Finally he told Other!Sam exactly what he should have told him from the beginning.

"You have to tell him, Sam. You have to tell him how you feel. This is never gonna get better otherwise."

"But I'm not -- Dean, I'm in love with you, not him," Other!Sam sobbed. "I want you."

"No, Sam, you're just confused," Dean insisted. "This was always about him. You and me -- that was just an excuse. Never would've happened if you weren't already in love with him. You know that, you stupid jackass. Now you need to man up and tell him."

"He doesn't love me like that," Other!Sam whined, sobbing softly. "He thinks it's sick. He told me so when he found out about you."

Dean felt his anger rising, clenched his jaw.

"Yeah, he would say that," he growled. "And let me tell you what's sick. Him going more than fifteen years not telling you he's in love with you because he thinks he can keep you normal somehow. Thinks he can save you from his own obsession. Thinks that even if you say you want him it's his fault for wanting you first. Thinks it makes him some kind of pedophile.

"But see the thing is, you're not a fifteen-year-old kid, Sam."

Dean was fierce, determined to get through to Other!Sam. Make him understand.

"You're a grown man who knows his own mind now. Your brother doesn't get to tell you how you feel, see. He doesn't get to control everything anymore. And let me tell you something."

Dean wasn't sure whether this would work, but he was sure gonna give it his best shot.

"He's had fifteen years to repress his feelings and it's not gonna be easy breaking through his -- dumbass Winchester stubbornness. You might have to sit on him. I mean it, Sam. SIT ON HIM. But if you do, if you really hang in there and force him to face it, you will get through to him.

"He just needs you to convince him that it's what YOU want. 'Cause in the long run, he can't say no to you. Your needs. He's programmed to give you what you want. He just has to be convinced it really is what you want. You get me?"

Other!Sam was silent, his sobbing reduced to quiet gasps and the occasional sniffle.

"Sam?" Dean used his most commanding voice. "You hear what I'm saying to you? 'Cause you gotta trust me on this. Sam?"

Sam let out a long sigh.

"I hear you," he said softly. "I'll try."

"Ok, good," Dean grunted, satisfied. "And Sam, I want you to promise me something, ok?"

Dean could sense Other!Sam's nod through the phone connection.

"You make this work, you don't call me again. OK? You've got everything you need right there. You don't need -- you don't call again after you get him to man up, ya got me?"

"Dean -- " Other!Sam's choked cry nearly broke Dean's heart.

"No," he insisted through clenched teeth. "I mean it, Sam. You get this done, you don't need me. You just gotta trust me on this, Sam. Don't let him wiggle out of this. You sit on him. Make him 'fess up. 'Cause he will, Sam. It's what he wants, ya gotta believe me. Don't give up, don't back down. He'll break, I promise you."

Other!Sam was panting, fighting back sobs again.

"You got me, Sam?" Dean pushed. "Do we have a deal?"

Other!Sam took a deep breath, let it out slowly. Dean waited, clenching his free fist and fighting with his own emotions.

"Sam?"

Finally, Other!Sam let out a small breath, sniffed, then Dean could almost see another small nod.

"Yeah, ok. Deal."

Dean took a deep breath of his own.

"Alright then," he said. "Goodbye, Sam. Good luck."

Other!Sam said nothing, probably wouldn't, so Dean ended the call, stood holding the phone for a minute, steadying himself.

When he finally turned, Sam was standing in the doorway, arms folded, leaning against the frame, his eyes dark.

Dean flushed, looked away from that intense gaze, shuffled uncomfortably.

"It's over, Sam," Dean muttered finally, sensing that Sam wasn't about to budge, was waiting for him to make the first move.

"Yeah, I got that," Sam said, jaw working.

"He -- " Dean felt tears threatening at the back of his eyes. "He's gonna fix things with his brother."

Sam huffed out a breath. "About time," he muttered.

His voice sounded bitter, and Dean couldn't resist glancing up. "I'm gonna throw the phone away," he offered, and Sam nodded, not meeting his eyes.

"I don't know what you want me to do, Sam," Dean threw his arms wide in a gesture of helplessness.

Sam moved so fast then that Dean didn't have time to react. Suddenly Sam was just there, in his space, grabbing his shirt and pushing him up against the wall, crowding against him, in his face.

"I want you to be my brother," Sam growled, shaking him. "Mine. Nobody else's. Just mine."

Before Dean could recover, could answer, Sam's mouth crashed down on his, taking his breath away. Sam's kiss was bruising, possessive. His hands were everywhere, clutching, squeezing, claiming every inch of his body so that Dean could have no doubt as to his intention. When Sam finally tore his mouth away it was only to bury his face in Dean's neck, sucking and nipping there, claiming and marking almost brutally as his hands slipped into Dean's boxers to cup his bare ass. Dean's lips felt stung, swollen; he could taste blood. As Sam's fingers dug into the meat of his ass then slid into his crack Dean let out a deep moan, bucking up against Sam's erection as Sam's teeth sank into the crook of his neck. Dean's reaction seemed to enflame Sam; he lifted his head long enough to look at his brother's face, his eyes blown and dark, lips parted and slick, cheeks flushed -- then he attacked Dean's mouth with renewed hunger, fucking into him with his tongue, sliding a dry finger back and forth over his entrance, teasing, before pushing inside, making Dean wince. He was holding onto Sam's waist, sliding his hands under the waistband of his sweatpants to touch his warm, smooth skin, just holding on as Sam fucked him with his tongue and finger.

Then, just as suddenly as he was there, he wasn't. Dean's eyes fluttered open, missing his brother's touch instantly, blinking up at Sam, who was pulling his shirt off, reaching for Dean's. Sam's massive, muscled chest filled Dean's vision as Sam yanked his shirt up, then held his wrists against the wall over his head, still tangled in the shirt with one of Sam's huge hands holding them there as his other hand slipped down Dean's bare chest, squeezing his left pec, over his heart, sliding down over his stomach into his boxers. Sam leaned in as his hand wrapped around Dean's erection, then slipped down and cupped his balls.

"Mine," Sam whispered against Dean's mouth, squeezing gently, possessively. "Say it."

Dean shivered as Sam's clever fingers stroked the sensitive skin of his perineum, eyes slipping closed.

Sam drew back instantly, gave his balls another gentle squeeze.

"Say it!" he hissed, shaking Dean's wrists insistently.

"Yeah, ok, Sam," Dean choked out. "Yours."

"Look at me when you say it!" Sam squeezed and shook him again, and Dean's eyes flew open, stared up at his brother's dark, fierce expression, shivering uncontrollably.

"Yours, Sam," Dean agreed, voice rough with his own need. "Only yours."

* *
Later, after Sam had made it abundantly clear that yeah, Dean was his alright, and they lay thoroughly fucked out across the bed, tangled and sweaty and almost in tears with exhaustion, Sam said,

"Tomorrow we get tattoos."

Dean was too tired to do more than grunt in response.

Sam's hand slid up over his chest, over his heart, pressed a little as he said,

"Here. Anti-possession tattoos."

And all Dean could do was nod and breathe out "Okay" before he slid into sleep.

* *

Other!Sam didn't call again, although Dean found the phone on the floor of the bathroom the next morning and kept it, probably against his better judgment, but he just didn't give it much thought.

Which is pretty much the way he was functioning these days. As long as he could focus on the work -- on killing all the evil sons-of-bitches he'd let out into the world -- he could keep most of the nightmares away, control most of the grief.

It took them over a year to track down and kill the last of the demons. Without their king the demons were unorganized, stupid, and lazy. Easy pickings, really. Especially after Sam showed Dean where to find the special blade that could easily kill them, so that they didn't even need to rely on exorcisms anymore. Nevertheless, they got the matching anti-possession tattoos Sam demanded, and Sam made Dean promise he would never, ever let him be possessed again by anything, even if it meant saving his life.

And Dean agreed, since he couldn't imagine a situation where that might be necessary anyway.

After another year passed and they had found no more demons, Sam announced it was time to do a little nesting. He had done some research and found a place in Kansas, he said. Not far from their old hometown, but not too close to bring up unhappy memories either.

The Men of Letters bunker was a revelation to Dean. A home obviously designed for them, left to them by a secret society once run by their grandfather, though the man had died before they were born. Dean spent the first day just exploring the place, picking out and decorating his own room, washing out the kitchen and fixing their first meal there. Scoping out the garage and finding the perfect home for his baby.

Sam sat in the library the whole time, researching. When Dean asked him what he was doing, he admitted to looking up instances of travel between alternate universes, just to make sure what had happened to them wasn't likely to happen again.

It was a subject they rarely talked about, except the few times Sam mentioned out of the blue how he knew certain things because he had learned about them "over there." Like the bunker. The wound was still too fresh, even after two years, and except for the first few weeks of crying jags and nightmares, and those never-again-mentioned phone calls from Other!Sam, neither of them had ever brought up that night in Wyoming directly. They comforted each other when one of them needed it but never spoke about it or alluded to it much the rest of the time. Killing demons helped, and keeping their minds on their jobs and their heads in the game had always been the best antidote for grief for them, passed down from their father. And since they were pretty sure now that they had got the last of the bastards, Dean was starting to relax again, beginning to hope that things were getting back to normal. He liked to think they had started to put the whole thing behind them.

But lately Sam had been acting morbid again. The simple hunter's life had never been enough for Sam, and Dean had always worried that one day Sam would just leave, find something more satisfying. More meaningful than just chasing down monsters and ending them. Never mind the fact that they were getting older. They were both in their thirties now. Dean would be forty in just three more years. There would come a time when his reflexes just wouldn't be what they should be.

Which was what made the Men of Letters bunker so cool. With this place as a home-base the Winchesters were positioned for a second career as advisors and consultants to a whole new generation of hunters and monster-killers. It automatically put them in the position of elder-statesmen to the entire universe of supernatural-creature gankers. Like Bobby only better equipped.

Bobby.

And just like that, Dean's thoughts plummeted into grief again.

Funny how the littlest thought could set it off.

Bobby would've loved this place, he thought, unable to go down there once the door had been opened.

He wandered back into the library, put an open beer on the table next to his brother, who barely looked up from his books. Stood watching him for awhile, sipping his beer, till Sam finally glanced up, read his mood instantly, frowned.

"Hey," Sam said, gesturing to the chair across the table. "You're welcome to join me."

Dean shook his head.

"Nah, I think I'll just go check out the garage again," he rolled his shoulders and moved off toward the basement, determined to shake the melancholia from his bones.

He had a moment's panic as he took a shower and got ready for bed. What if Sam didn't come? What if now that they had all this space Sam would stay in his own room from now on? They would just stop co-sleeping, and gradually grow apart until they were like an old married couple that no longer shared more than a passing touch --

But just as he was about to turn out the light and slip under the covers on his side of the bed, the door opened and Sam stuck his head in.

"Hey," he said, only slightly hesitant. "My bed's a mess, so I figured -- "

Dean tried not to grin too wide. "Yeah, sure," he shrugged, patting the bed next to him. "Always welcome, Sammy."

The relief on Sam's face was classic, and Dean felt himself breathe easier, picked up a book so that he didn't embarrass Sam by staring as his brother undressed, then slid into bed next to him, pulling the blankets up around them.

Dean put the book down, reached up to turn out the light, pulled Sam into his arms, pressed his lips against his forehead as Sam snuggled into his chest, big body all warm and solid, limbs everywhere.

"Goodnight, Sam," he whispered into Sam's hair.

"Goodnight, Dean," his brother murmured against his chest.

And it may have been a long, long way from perfect, but for now, it was what they had. And it was better than a lot of things, better than it could've been.

As Dean drifted into sleep, the thought of Other!Sam and his life in that other world slid across his consciousness, and he hoped things really had worked out for his not-brother and Other!Dean, even if they didn't deserve it.

Because really, no matter how miserable things got, no matter how many stupid mistakes and choices led to death and destruction and everything fucked all-to-hell, when the Winchesters had each other there was something wild and wonderful in the world.

Even when they were too stubborn to see it.

END

MASTERPOST

They rode in silence the next few miles, till Dean's unerring sense of direction found them a comfortable, greasy roadside diner where they could join humanity again. Dean left Other!Sam staring morosely at his plate while he stepped outside to call Bobby, filling him in on the angel thing and Other!Sam's weird stories.

"Heaven?" Bobby's voice practically dripped with skepticism. "That's a new one. And angels are scary, Dean. If that's what just visited you, it's definitely not a good thing."

"Wait -- you've heard of these things? Angels are real in this world too?" Dean frowned into his phone.

"There's lore, yeah," Bobby said. "But it's old. Real old. The idea is angels only come to earth when something big is happening, or about to happen. And I mean big, as in end-of-the-world big."

It was almost night already, and Dean found himself staring up, watching the stars as they lit up one by one in the darkening sky.

"So you think what that angel said could be true," he clarified. "If we open the Devil's Gate, we could destroy the world."

"I would say getting visited by an angel qualifies as an omen, Dean," Bobby agreed. "What does Sam think?"

Dean took a deep breath. "Sam thinks he's destroying the world," he breathed out. "Single-handed. Thinks he's Satan or something. Usual crap."

Bobby was silent for a moment. Dean waited, watching his breath fog in the chill night air.

"Dean," Bobby said finally, and his voice was low and full of warning. "If this thing goes bad -- "

"Not gonna go bad," Dean insisted with every ounce of bravado he could convey. "We're gonna open that door, get Sam out, close it again. End of story."

"And this Sam goes back," Bobby clarified.

Dean clenched his jaw, didn't answer.

"Dean -- "

"Yeah, we give this one back," Dean agreed. "Can't have two Sams here now, can we? Upsetting the balance of nature or whatever."

* *

Dean and Other!Sam were silent on the drive to the cemetery, each lost in his own thoughts of how things had gone, where things were going, what it all meant.

At least Dean was. He didn't really want to know what Other!Sam was thinking. Had a feeling it wasn't good, whatever it was.

And the thing was, he knew he should've been asking more questions, getting everything he could from Other!Sam about what they were up against. As it was, he was going in mostly blind, without crucial information about what happens when one of these doors into Hell gets opened.

But the thing was, he didn't want to know. He was pretty sure whatever Other!Sam could tell him would not help their current situation one bit, and might actually make him doubt himself, which was not something he could let happen. He needed to keep his determination, his focus. Because this was about rescuing his brother, and nothing was going to change that. He didn't need to start second-guessing himself or the mission now.

When they rolled up to the cemetery and Other!Sam told him to stop, he did. The night had turned cloudless and dark, moon in its earliest, darkest phase. He could barely make out the darker shadows of trees against the flat landscape, the only indication that this place was different from all the empty, endless Wyoming landscape they had just been traveling for the past several miles.

As Dean closed the car door he heard the slamming of another door a few feet behind him, knew someone -- Ellen? Bobby? -- had followed him down the little side road, lights off and quieter than the rumbling motor of the Impala. He drew his gun instinctively, waited a moment as Other!Sam got out and stood on the other side of the car, silent and watchful, following Dean's lead.

Dean recognized his father's hulking shape even before he moved out of the shadows of the trees lining the road, but he struggled to contain his relief. Dad didn't need to see how much it meant to him that he was here.

"Hey, Dad," Dean breathed as John closed the distance between them, glancing warily at Other!Sam, who had moved around the car to flank Dean's left. "Didn't know if you'd come."

"Had to get my boy back," John's eyes softened slightly. "Besides, I guess you can't do this without my magic gun."

John patted his pocket, then shot a warning glare at Other!Sam.

"Winchesters and their guns," Bobby muttered as he moved up behind John.

Then Dean noticed other hunters, standing back quietly among the trees, watching them.

Ellen Harvelle moved into the road behind Bobby, Jo at her shoulder. Ash must've stayed home with the baby, Dean realized, which was good because Ash had always been a little less steady and predictable on hunts.

Dean felt grateful to have them.

"OK, let's get this done," he said, looking up at Sam to lead the way.

The cemetery was old, that was obvious. Some of the headstones had come loose and fallen over with time, some tilted over at odd angles. Yet the ground around the graves was strangely dead. Old brush and leaves crushed underfoot, but nothing alive. Nothing growing.

Someplace this old, Dean would have expected the land to have reclaimed it years ago. But either someone had been tending it until recently -- maybe in the past few years at least -- or there was something different about the soil here, something that was keeping life at bay altogether.

Then they saw it.

The mausoleum was a fairly small one, but it stood dead center and the ground around it was perfectly clear, no weeds or leaves or dead brush at all.

In the same moment, the wind picked up. Then a flash of lightening, followed by a clap of thunder that was so close it couldn't possibly be natural. They would've seen and heard the storm rumbling in the distance if it had been coming in a natural way.

Other!Sam stopped for a moment and stared up. The clouds forming overheard were moving fast, roiling and bubbling in strange patterns, clearly coming together directly over the mausoleum itself.

Dean glanced at Bobby, then at Other!Sam.

"Did this happen before?" he yelled over the rush of the wind.

Other!Sam nodded, hair flying wildly around his face.

"Demonic omens," he shouted. "For weeks before."

Bobby frowned. "Well, we ain't had any of those," he shouted. "So what's that mean?"

Lightening flashed, followed immediately by a loud crack.

"No demon sightings for years," Ellen was yelling. "We figured we got 'em all, or drove them out of the country, at least."

The storm was intensifying, making speech more challenging. They were in the clearing in front of the mausoleum doors now, and John was pulling out the colt. Bobby was reciting the spell, burying the little bag of Cold Oak soil in the ground in front of the stone steps. Dean could see the pentagram carved into the seam of the doors, could see the round keyhole where the barrel of the colt would fit perfectly.. He pulled out his phone and glanced at it.

"It's time," he shouted, pushing speed dial and putting the phone to his ear, putting his fingers against his other ear so he could listen for his brother's voice.

"Dean."

Relief flooded him at the sound, and Dean realized he had been worrying he wouldn't get reception with the storm's interference.

"We're in position," he yelled into the phone. "Remember what we said, Sammy, ok?"

"Ok, Dean," Sam sounded anxious. He was breathing hard, like he'd been running.

"Everything ok on your end, Sam?" Dean asked, anxiety creeping coldly up his spine.

"It will be in a minute," Sam's answer was firm, confident.

"Ok then," Dean nodded. "Let's do this thing."

He nodded at John, who moved forward with the gun raised. Dean glanced back at the assembled hunters, counted roughly a dozen good men and a handful of women,, all silent and grim and ready for anything. It made his chest swell with pride, and when he glanced up at Other!Sam and read the anxious expectation creasing his forehead and making wrinkles around his almond eyes, Dean threw him an encouraging smile. Because yeah, they could do this. This is what they did. This is who they are, and if there was one thing he wanted to leave Other!Sam with, it was a sense of having succeeded at this one thing, that no matter how badly things had gone in his world, here in this one the Winchesters were pretty good at their jobs.

The wind picked up again as the colt slid into place in the mausoleum door, and a loud crack of thunder made Dean's ears ring. Another instantaneous lighting strike filled the air with the smell of ozone and something sour which Dean's brain had only a second to process as sulfur before the gears on the door were grinding into place, turning on ancient hinges with supernatural power.

"Get ready!" he shouted over the roar of the wind and the almost continuous lightening strikes as the door made its final mechanical movement, locking into place. Dean widened his stance, bracing himself squarely in front of the entrance as the doors began to move outward of their own accord, groaning with disuse. A smell of dust and old bones wafted out as the doors first pulled apart, and Dean felt Other!Sam's hand on his shoulder, then fisting the back of his jacket. Dean put his arm out in front of Other!Sam in a protective gesture that was completely unconscious as the first crack of light appeared between the separating doors.

Then everything happened very fast.

The light from inside the mausoleum grew brighter as the doors swung open -- a red, fiery brightness that flooded the area in front of the doors and illuminated the hunters' faces in a dark-orange glow that made them look bathed in blood. Then a flash of white light overwhelmed the red and Dean put his arm up to shield his eyes, squinting to see through the glare.

Two familiar figures stood inside the tomb, facing him, shadowed by the light shining from behind them.

"Sam?!" Dean yelled above the roar of the storm, and the taller of the two figures started.

"Dean!" he could hear his brother's booming voice through the noise, saw him start forward toward him.

But Other!Dean reached out and grabbed his arm.

"Wait!" he yelled. "Send my brother in first!"

Dean felt his anger rise instantly, threatening to choke him in its righteous fury.

"Fuck you!" he shouted back, even as he could feel Other!Sam moving forward, gently pushing against Dean's arm. "My brother comes out first!"

"It's ok, Dean," Other!Sam had one hand on his shoulder, the other on his wrist, reassuring and steady, gently pushing his arm down. "I'll go. He'll never let your brother go if I don't go first."

Dean turned his head, looked up at Other!Sam, at the concern and compassion in those almond-shaped eyes, and for a moment time seemed to stand still and it was just the two of them, silent and alone -- no storm, no other hunters, no other brothers. Just Dean and this sad, beautiful man who had been his companion, his lover, for such a short time but it seemed like forever because he was Sam, just Sam a little different.

"It's ok, Dean," Other!Sam said again, slipping one hand up to cup the back of Dean's head, folding Dean's arm between their bodies as he stepped forward and slipped his other hand up so he was holding Dean's face in his huge, warm hands.

For a minute Dean thought he was going to kiss him, right here in front of everyone.

And the crazy thing was, he didn't care. Let them see. Let Other!Dean see what he was missing, the asshole.

Other!Sam held his face, rubbing his thumbs along Dean's cheekbones, hazel eyes soft and wet, for what seemed like an eternity.

Then he was leaning in and tipping Dean's head down at the same time, so that Other!Sam's lips pressed against Dean's forehead, leaving a kiss there that felt like a brand, hot and hard and almost bruising.

As Other!Sam drew back Dean let out a long breath, realized he'd been holding it the whole time.

"Goodbye, Dean," Other!Sam said, his voice sounding choked as he stepped back, then turned away.

And Dean almost grabbed him back, almost surged forward to clutch at that broad back, moving away from him toward the light, his shoulders stooping as he took on the mantle of that other Sam, the one whose brother was so damaged he couldn't even love him, couldn't even make the effort to understand him --

"Sam!" he heard his own voice wailing in his head, but at the last second he pressed his lips together, swallowing the cry even as he felt tears slipping down his cheeks.

"You take care of him, you son-of-a-bitch!" he yelled at Other!Dean instead.

He watched helplessly as Other!Dean gave Sam a little push, sending him forward towards his brother. As he and Other!Sam passed, they looked at each other, and although their faces were in shadow against the bright light behind them, Other!Sam started when he looked into Sam's face, turned back to Dean as if he meant to say something.

Then Other!Dean was grabbing Other!Sam's shoulder and wrist, pulling him in with a parody of Other!Sam's earlier hold on Dean, and Sam was in his arms, holding on for dear life and tucking his chin into Dean's shoulder, bending over him in that familiar crushing embrace that was all Sam.

Dean was vaguely aware of his dad and Bobby and Ellen and the other hunters crowding up around them to shut the doors, was aware of the bright light fading and the red, demonic light growing more intensely as the hunters struggled to close the gate -- but most of all he was aware of Other!Sam's voice, yelling back to him as the doors clanged shut and the bright light swallowed him away forever.

"Dean! It's a trick! It's got Sam!"

Other!Sam's final words rang in Dean's ears, making no sense at first as he held his brother's warm, heavy weight in his arms, breath hot and damp on his neck.

Sam was murmuring, "Missed you, man," and "Dean," and then pulling back a little so he could kiss him --

"Sam, no," Dean breathed, aware of his dad and the others turning back from closing the gate, aware of the storm still ravaging his cheeks and hair and pulling on his clothes.

Then Sam's mouth was on his, crushing his lips, hot hungry tongue pushing into his mouth, huge hands running through his hair, holding his head still so Sam's mouth could devour his brother's, biting and claiming and wild with need.

But something was wrong.

Sam was pulling back again, sensing Dean's hesitation maybe, and Dean was aware of Jo's gasp from somewhere off to his right, Bobby yelling at him -- "Dean, that's not Sam!" -- Other!Sam's final words "It's in Sam!" echoing in his mind --

Then he was gazing into Sam's eyes.

And they were a deep, intense red.

Dean scrambled backwards so fast he almost fell. Hands caught him -- Dad, Ellen -- but all he saw was Sam's eyes, Sam's mouth curling into an almost friendly smile.

"Hello, Squirrel," Sam's voice was lilting, lighter than usual. "You don't know me, but on the other side, you and I are besties."

The red eyes shone like wet blood for a moment, then switched back to their normal hazel color as the demon curled Sam's lips into a wider smile.

"Crowley," Dean guessed, and the demon possessing Sam's body made an elaborate and very swishy bow.

"In the flesh," he agreed, still smiling broadly. "Well, in Moose's flesh anyway."

Sam's large hands moved down his own body slowly, suggestively, cupping between his legs with a quick squeeze before moving back up to squeeze Sam's tight pecs.

"Nice, firm flesh too," Crowley noted smarmily. "I can see why you can't resist, Squirrel."

Dean clenched his fists, felt his jaw moving in fury.

"Get out of my brother," he growled, then Bobby's voice -- incanting in Latin -- caught his attention.

Caught Crowley's attention too. Sam's eyes went red and his arm shot out toward Bobby, and suddenly the old hunter was flying backwards, hitting the ground with a loud thud and a crack as his head slammed into one one of the headstones, then lay motionless.

John's voice picked up the chant, then Ellen's, and suddenly bodies were flying everywhere. Dean watched helplessly as John slammed backwards into the side of the mausoleum, then slid to the ground with his neck at an odd angle, eyes half-mast.

"Dad!" Dean heard the anguish in his own voice as he watched his father die, disbelief choking down any grief he might have felt in the shock of the moment.

Ellen, Jo, several other old friends met the same fate in a gruesome massacre that happened so fast Dean didn't even have time to react.

The storm was picking up again and now the doors to the Devil's Gate were opening again, seemingly of their own accord, and blood-red light was flooding the cemetery, covered as it was now in fresh bodies. Dean watched in horror as dozens of demons smoked out of the open gate, taking off into the night sky to find meat suits, ignoring the bodies on the ground.

That's when Dean noticed the colt, lying on the ground not a food from his father's dead hand.

Crowley followed his gaze, smirked.

"What're you going to do, Squirrel," he asked with a sly grin. "Shoot you brother? You really think you can do that?"

Crowley shook Sam's head, the look on his face changing to something almost pitying. "That was the whole problem, you see," he said quietly, his voice almost gentle now. "You couldn't kill your brother. Even though he was a monster. Even though he was the devil himself. You couldn't do it."

Dean stared, colt forgotten as Crowley's words sunk in, making his blood run cold with fear.

Because even though demons lie, he knew with absolute certainty that this one was telling the truth.

Crowley blinked, looked surprised as he read the expression in Dean's face, then gave a single laugh that sounded so much like Sam it brought tears to Dean's eyes.

"Moose didn't tell you, did he?" Crowley asked, then shook his head once. "Of course he didn't. He couldn't."

Crowley took a breath, let the words sink in, watching Dean's face closely.

"Sammy has demon blood in him, Dean," he said, voice soft and only slightly mocking now. "Azazel dripped blood into his mouth that night. The night your mum died. See, your mum made a deal, before Sammy was even conceived. She offered him up, y'see. She gave him to Azazel before he was even born."

Dean felt his vision cloud over, felt his head fill with hot, pounding fear.

"No," he heard his voice whisper, and Crowley nodded, mocking sympathy parodying Sam's natural look of concern.

"Oh, yes," Crowley nodded again. "And now he's the perfect vessel for Satan himself. And you and he are going to bring about the apocalypse here, just like you did in the other world."

"No," Dean shook his head, sick dread congealing in his stomach, rage and despair clouding his vision. "I won't do it."

Crowley tilted Sam's head, pursed his lips.

"Yes, you will," he said in Sam's soft voice. "You'll do it because you love your brother, Dean. And now -- " Crowley looked around at the bodies strewn at their feet. "Now he's all you've got."

He started to turn away, as if he was just going to stroll out of here, and then turned back as another thought hit him.

"Oh, and all your former girlfriends -- not that there were that many, after Sam here stole your heart -- and that nice fashion designer and curator in upstate New York who dated Sam for awhile, other people you don't even know yet but who might be friends since they were your pals in the other world -- I've just sent my demons to kill them all.

"So you really are alone, Dean," Crowley finished, Sam's softest smile planted mockingly on his lips.

"You son-of-a-bitch," Dean growled, clenching his fists and his jaw reflexively. "I will kill you. If it's the last thing I do -- "

"Funny, that's what the other Dean kept telling me," Crowley shrugged. "Instead, look where I am!" He spread his arms expansively. "Ruler of another kingdom."

Dean's vision was almost completely red now, fury rippling through his muscles like liquid fire.

"I must say, it's been fun," Crowley was saying, but all Dean could see was death. Everywhere.

And in the middle of it, his brother, his Sam, face twisted in that horrible, taunting grin.

"I do believe it's time for me to get back into my own body," Crowley was crooning. "But before I go, Squirrel, I thought I'd leave you with one last death."

That's when Dean noticed the hunter running up behind Sam, silent as a fox, long-handled knife held low and firm in his grasp.

Jake, Dean thought in the split second before the hunter thrust his knife into Sam's back, hilt-deep, and twisted. His name is Jake.

"No!"

Dean was screaming, his voice hoarse from yelling, moving forward out of pure instinct to catch his brother's body as he slumped forward.

Sam's body jerked with the force of the blow, then his head fell back, mouth open in a silent scream as red smoke streamed forth from deep inside him, long and thick and snake-like, moving up over Dean's head and toward the mausoleum, which was wide open now and pulsing with that red, infernal light.

Then Dean was on his knees, holding his brother's dying body, sobbing incoherently into his neck, nonsense syllables bursting free as Sam's head rolled back and his eyes slid shut -- no, no, Sammy, no -- I've got you -- you're gonna be fine -- stay with me, Sam -- Goddamn it, Sam! I said stay with me! Sam!

The tears were flowing freely now, bathing Sam's hair and neck, dampening the collar of his shirt and jacket.

Dean was only vaguely aware that Jake's demon had smoked out, leaving another dead hunter on the ground behind Sam, only vaguely aware that he was alone, that the storm had died down, that it was suddenly silent in the cemetery, the only sound his own gasping breath as he sobbed his brother's name over and over helplessly, rocking his lifeless body in his arms, pressing useless kisses across his still-warm skin.

"And so it begins. Again."

A sharp voice with an English accent, dripping with dry British sarcasm, spoke from behind Dean, from the door to the mausoleum.

"So touching," the voice spoke again. "A brother's final farewells."

Dean didn't move, couldn't -- probably never would. He would just die here, clutching Sam's dead body, endlessly whispering Sam's name.

The Englishman -- Crowley, the King of Hell -- descended the steps of the house of death and crossed behind Sam, into Dean's field of vision. The man was short, stocky, handsome in a kind of teddy-bear way, well-dressed.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut, ignoring the bastard, buried his face in Sam's neck, his body shaking with sobs, holding tight to the last thing on earth he would ever love. His reason for living.

"Well, I hate to wreak havoc and run," Crowley said dryly. "But I've got a world to destroy and a whole new kingdom to run. So unless there's something else I can do for you -- "

"Go to Hell," Dean growled out, lifting his head long enough to glare at the demon king, tears blurring his vision.

"Very well, darling," Crowley shrugged, raising his hands in a gesture of mocking surrender. "But if you change your mind -- decide to make a deal for your brother's life, for example, hint hint, ya moron -- you know where to find me. I used to be a simple crossroads demon, you know. Just in case you don't have those in this world."

"Fuck you," Dean grated out, and Crowley shrugged again.

"Sorry -- been there, done that, got the tee-shirt. And I have to say, Dean, you're not as good in bed as your brother. All that self-pity. And always with the tears! Good thing there's a Kevin Tran in this world. Looking forward to tasting his blood again -- "

Dean ignored him, focused instead on laying his brother down, cradling his head gently, trailing his fingers across his cheek and lips, Cool now, lifeless.

Crowley was watching him, but in an idle and inattentive way, still going on in that mocking tone of his.

"I get it," he purred. "You need a little time to think about it. Let it sink in. Just don't let it go too long. Bodies start to decompose fairly quickly in this climate -- "

Dean clenched his right hand, brought it up slowly, clutching the colt. He met Crowley's eyes the moment before the King of Hell realized what was happening, but by then it was too late.

"This is for my brother, you son-of-a-bitch," Dean muttered fiercely as he pulled the trigger.

The shock on Crowley's face as the bullet hit him squarely between the eyes was almost comical. But as he was torn apart from the insides and the red, glowing light of his infernal life crackled and burned out, all expression slid away and his face slackened, eyes rolling up into their sockets just before they closed and his body slid to the ground, dead, dead, dead.

Dean stared for another moment, then brought his arm down, letting the colt slip down to the side, turning his eyes back to his brother's body.

"I'm sorry, Sam," he whispered, tears sliding down his cheeks again as he sat back on his heels, still kneeling in the dirt between his brother's and his father's bodies. "Oh God, I'm so sorry."

He took a deep breath.

"I couldn't do it, Sam," he said. "That deal the other Dean made, it changed him. I saw what it did to his brother. And I couldn't do that to you. I love you so much, man. Oh God, please forgive me. I'm so, so sorry."

Dean pulled the colt into his lap, ran his fingers up and down the warm barrel, checked the chamber. Two bullets left.

He took another deep breath, looked down at his brother's body again, then at his dad's.

"I'm sorry, Dad," he choked out, his voice cracking . "I couldn't keep him safe. You said -- you told me to keep him safe and I -- I failed, Dad. I'm so fuckin' sorry."

Dean felt his voice break again as a fresh round of sobbing tore through him. He held the gun in both hands, fingers moving up and down the barrel, caressing it. He lowered his eyes to the gun and waited until he could get himself under control again, till his hands stopped shaking.

Then he turned the gun barrel up in that direction he had always been trained never to do, toward his own face. He would do this quickly, before he had time to think about it. One quick shot, up through the roof of his mouth and into his brain --

"Dean."

Something about the deep voice made him pause. He sensed, rather than saw, a flutter of huge wings, and suddenly the tax accountant was there, just standing there next to Crowley's body, looking at him with an expression of such soulful sorrow --

Castiel. The angel.

"Dean, put the gun down," Castiel said, his voice quiet and commanding.

For a moment Dean just stared at him, too shocked to answer. Then he glanced down and saw the colt lying on the ground and realized he had obeyed without even meaning to.

Then his brain kicked into gear again.

Two bullets. There are two bullets left. One for me, one for this douche-bag thing in a trench coat. He just needed to distract the bastard for a minute so he could reach for the gun --

"What are you doing here?" Dean demanded, glaring at the angel. He was still on his knees between the bodies of his family, and he was suddenly aware of how seriously pathetic he must appear.

"You called me," Castiel answered, tilting his head to one side. "You were praying."

"The fuck I was," Dean answered shortly. "I don't pray. Sure as hell ain't gonna start now."

Castiel frowned, and Dean could see (with some satisfaction) that he had stumped the stupid son-of-a-bitch. Maybe the other Dean didn't have the balls to talk to angels that way. Ha. Asshole and a pussy.

"Dean, you cannot kill me with that gun," Castiel said, and Dean frowned. Fuck.

But maybe he was bluffing. Gun was supposed to be able to kill anything, right?

But now the asshole was expecting it. Dean's luck may have been with him long enough to kill the demon, but he wasn't sure he could count on it to take out the angel.

Still --

"And I cannot allow you to kill yourself," Castiel continued, and suddenly the colt was gone.

Just gone. Disappeared.

"Where -- " he started to protest, struggling to his feet. He was damned if he was gonna talk to this thing on his knees for one more minute.

"It's in a safe place," Castiel said. He was looking down at the bodies now, his face creasing into sorrow again. "Sam."

Dean felt rage rise in his throat, took a step toward the angel with his fist raised before he even knew what he was doing.

"You shut the fuck up!" he shouted. "You don't get to say his name! You get away from him! You fuckin' caused this, you and your God and your Heaven and your asshole dickwad mother-fuckin' douche-bag world -- "

Dean knew he was sputtering. Didn't care.

"I can bring him back," Castiel's quiet voice broke through Dean's angry diatribe, making him instantly fall silent.

He stared at the angel, whose eyes were still on Sam. As Dean watched in shocked silence, the angel lifted his eyes until they met Dean's, sad and soulful and endlessly blue.

Dean's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"What?" He was fighting down the hope surging in his chest with every once of strength in his body.

Castiel just looked at him, then nodded. "I can bring one of them back," he said. "I don't have the power for more than that. You will have to choose."

"What's the catch?" Dean asked skeptically, but Castiel shook his head.

"No catch," he said gently. "But only one."

"Sam," Dean said immediately, not even taking a minute to think. "Bring Sam back."

"Very well," Castiel agreed with a soft sigh, as if he had already known the answer Dean would give but was still relieved to hear it. He moved forward and knelt, touching his fingertips to Sam's forehead.

Instantly Sam's eyes flew, he took a deep, gasping breath and sat straight up, pulling deep breaths into his lungs as Dean fell to his knees beside him, grabbing onto his shoulder with one hand, the front of his jacket with the other.

"Sam!"

Sam's eyes fluttered up to his brother's face, clear and bright and the most beautiful, beautiful things Dean had ever seen.

"Dean?"

And his brother's voice? Yeah, definitely the most beautiful sound.

Dean's eyes filled with tears again as he ran his hands over his brother's body, checking for injuries, coming away covered with blood, pulling his shirt up so he could check the hole in his back.

It was gone. Completely. No scarring. Just like Other!Sam's smooth skin in exactly the same place --

"Sammy," Dean's hands were on his brother's face now, leaving blood on his cheeks, pulling him in till he could reach his lips, kissing and kissing the soft, warm mouth as Dean's hands clutched his hair, his shirts, held the back of his neck so he could deepen the kiss, needing to be inside and all over his brother, never to stop touching him again.

It was Sam who pulled away first, pushing Dean back gently so he could turn his head, staring at the carnage around them.

"What happened?" Sam asked, frowning as he struggled with his memories, then shoved away from Dean as he noticed their father's body.

"Dad? Dean, what the hell happened?" Sam was on his knees, bending over their father, his face collapsing into horrified grief as he ran his hands over his father's body. "What the hell happened here?"

Dean took a deep breath, not letting himself take his eyes off his brother yet, overcome with relief, every other sensation muted and dull in the face of it.

"He brought you back," Dean said. "Sammy, you were dead and he brought you back. He -- "

Dean looked around, but the angel was gone.

"Who?" Sam was confused, his face twisted in shock and horror. "Who did this? Oh my god, Dean, how did this happen?" He noticed Ellen's body, Jo's, Bobby's, all the familiar faces -- all dead.

"Castiel," Dean whispered. "The angel."

Sam stared at him then, his eyes wild and full of tears.

"Castiel did this?" he clarified. "But he was our friend. On the other side, he was our friend."

Dean shook his head. "Castiel brought you back, Sam. You were dead too. Everybody was dead. And I -- "

Sam understood then. Smart boy. Despite the shock, he figured it out.

Or rather, he remembered.

Dean could see Sam's face crumbling into agonized realization, suddenly claiming the jumbled memories which had been repressed for the first moments after he awakened.

Sam lifted his haunted, desperate gaze finally, met Dean's eyes.

"I did this," Sam whispered, his voice cracking with misery.

"No, Sam," Dean spoke sharply, fiercely, willing his brother to accept his word as truth. "You did not do this. That demon did this. Crowley."

Sam shook his head, tears slipping down his cheeks.

"I trusted him," Sam said, and Dean could tell by the hurt tone in Sam's voice that he was talking about Other!Dean. "I believed him when he said he could handle Crowley. Because I knew he just wanted his brother back. He said as soon as we were through, Crowley would be on his way. Leave us alone. Crowley was just there to open the Gate."

"Yeah, well somebody got double-crossed," Dean said grimly.

Sam stared, wiped a hand across his eyes, shook his head again.

"He lied," Sam breathed. "He just lied."

Dean shrugged.

"Looks like," he agreed.

It wasn't a surprise to Dean that the other Dean had lied to Sam, but Sam seemed genuinely surprised, and deeply betrayed. Bastard had clearly done a number on him, had played him for a fool, and Dean wished there was a way he could pay the bastard back. Wished he could kill him.

And while they were at it, Dean wished he could just forget about the demon blood thing. Sam so did not need to know all that. Didn't make a lick o' difference one way or the other to him, to Dean. Sam was still Sam, and he was alive and here and that was what mattered. Everything else -- they would work it out. Like they always did.

Dean wondered vaguely why Other!Sam hadn't told him about the demon blood, but then he figured Other!Sam had hoped Dean never would know, figured it would be better if he didn't know some things, like how his little brother was infected with something evil. Sure hadn't mattered for the past thirty years. Why would it make any difference now?

Maybe it wasn't even in him anymore, since Azazel died. Or maybe it was permanently dormant, since the demon that put it there was gone so it could never be triggered. Could never do any harm.

At any rate, right here, right now, there was work to do. Sad, messy, hard work.

NEXT CHAPTER - MASTERPOST

In the morning Bobby sent them to town to gather supplies while he did some research and made some calls.

When they got back, Booby was on the phone, and it was pretty clear from his side of the conversation that Other!Dean was on the other end of the call.

"Kid's so sure he's got everything under control," he muttered to Dean when he finished the call. "I need to make some more calls."

The rumble of a monster pick-up truck in the yard caught their attention, and Bobby rolled his eyes.

"Great," he muttered. "It's a goddamn Winchester family reunion."

"Dad?" Other!Sam's face registered utter shock as he recognized the sound of the truck.

Dean shrugged, almost as surprised as Other!Sam. John Winchester didn't participate in group jobs. It just wasn't his style. And he never hunted with his sons anymore. It was like he'd left that part of himself behind as soon as he'd killed the thing that had killed their mother, and that was all there was to it. Once, when Sam had gone off on one of his self-discovery binges, and Dean had been so miserable he could barely stand up, Bobby had called John and insisted he do something, and John had actually reached out to Dean. Had taken him on a hunt again like he used to do when Dean was a kid.

But it hadn't been the same, and Dean had missed Sam so much he wasn't really on his game, and although he did the job, his heart wasn't in it and John had finally called Sam and ordered his younger son to "Get your ass over here and pick up your brother."

And Sam miraculously obeyed, for once in his life.

That was the last time Dean had seen his dad.

Till now.

"We need the colt," Bobby said by way of explanation when Dean shot a questioning look at him.

"You called him?" Dean clarified, and Bobby shrugged. "Did you tell him about Sam?"

Bobby shrugged again. "Had to. He wanted to know what I needed the colt for. What was I gonna say? That I needed the antique gun that killed the thing that killed his wife for target practice?"

So Dean and Other!Sam barely had time to step out onto the porch to greet him before John was on them, pushing past Dean and grabbing Other!Sam by the lapels, throwing him against the wall of the house, then getting right up into his face and grabbing Other!Sam's jacket again, shaking him violently.

"Where's my son, you son-of-a-bitch?" he snarled, slamming Other!Sam against the house again.

"Whoa whoa -- hey, Dad, it's ok -- " Dean tried to push his way between them, and John took a step back, letting Other!Sam go.

"It's not your brother, Dean," John spat out. "That thing is some kind of freak."

Other!Sam was staring, open-mouthed, at John, and when he uttered the word "freak" Other!Sam visibly flinched.

"Hey, it's ok," Dean said again. "Sam's ok. We're getting him back. We do this thing right, we should have him back tonight. This one goes home. Good times."

John's eyes flicked to Dean for a moment, his jaw working. He gave a small nod to acknowledge Dean's words, then shifted awkwardly, fixing Other!Sam with another dark look.

"You stay the hell away from me," he snarled, his voice low and threatening, index finger raised like a pistol at Other!Sam's face.

Other!Sam raised his palms in a gesture of surrender. "No problem, man," he huffed out, finally recovered from his initial shock at seeing the man he had grieved for eight years. "I'm not your son. I get it."

"John," Bobby was in the doorway behind them, nodding at the elder Winchester, who nodded back at him in greeting.

Dean put his hand on Other!Sam's shoulder. "Come on, Sam," he murmured. "We got work to do."

* *
"Where are we going?" Other!Sam asked as they hit the highway, the Impala's comforting rumble beneath them, the road stretching out ahead of them to the southwest.

Dean shrugged. "Thought you might like to visit some more of your ghosts," he said. "We've got a few hours to kill, and I'm pretty sure it's a good idea to get as far away from Dad as we can for a little while."

"Yeah," Other!Sam took a deep breath, let it out slowly. "That was -- Weird doesn't even begin to describe what that was."

Dean nodded. "Dad's gotten a little intense in his old age," he said.

"He and Bobby get along?" Other!Sam asked.

Dean shrugged again. "Well enough, I guess," he said. "Dad doesn't get along with many people. He keeps to himself, mostly."

"Same old same old," Other!Sam said, bitterness creeping into his tone again.

They were silent for a moment, staring out at the landscape.

Then Dean couldn't stand it, so he asked, "In your world, Dad's been gone awhile, right?"

Other!Sam nodded tightly, keeping his eyes on the fields rolling by outside.

"So how did it happen?" Dean squared his shoulders, determined but filled with anxiety. Why the fuck was he doing this to himself? "He must've gone down fighting, right?"

Other!Sam said nothing for a moment, and Dean started to worry he wouldn't tell him, but finally Other!Sam turned his head and Dean could feel him looking, just looking at his profile and thinking.

Dean waited, almost started to get uncomfortable under the gaze of his not-brother, when Other!Sam sighed and turned his head away again.

"It's complicated," Other!Sam said. "But if what you want to know is, did he die a hero? Then yes, he died a hero. He died saving you."

Dean felt his insides go cold, flooded with guilt and anger and the glimmer of something dark and self-destructive.

"So -- did that happen before you died?" Dean was starting to understand why Other!Dean was such an asshole.

"About a year before, yeah," Other!Sam confirmed.

"Wow," Dean took another deep breath, fighting the knot forming in his chest. "I'm starting to get a real sense for just how personally fucked up things are in your world. I mean, monsters and ghosts and fighting things -- I get all that. But losing your family -- man, I don't know. Sounds like your Dean could use a few years in the loony bin, the poor bastard."

He meant it lightly, but Other!Sam's face registered grim, grim, grim.

Fuck.

But he'd opened the can of worms now, and he couldn't help himself.

"But you came back," Dean pushed. "So something brought you back. How did that happen, exactly?"

"Dean -- " Other!Sam let out an exasperated sigh.

Dean knew that sigh. That was Sam saying "Don't ask, you're not gonna like the answer."

Only this time, after hearing Other!Sam talk to his brother in angry, hushed tones on the phone last night, after getting a pretty good sense for how bad things were in that other world -- this time Dean felt like he really needed to know. He was beginning to get the idea that the other Winchesters were somehow central to the messed up situation on the other side, and that meant he and Sam were important somehow too.

He'd never considered the idea of having a destiny. It was counter-intuitive to the way that he thought of himself. He was Dean Winchester, regular guy. Well, except for the fact that he hunted monsters and saved people. Sort of like a supernatural fireman, that was how he'd come to think of himself after all these years. Charging into danger to save someone from some kind of threatening creature was a lot like charging into a burning building to haul people out.

Because of course when it had happened to him he had been too small. Too small to save his mom.

But he had at least saved his baby brother, and he'd always taken some pride in that. It gave him the confidence to get the job done, to avoid the nagging pit of self-doubt and failure his father had ingrained in him from an early age. His father, whose guilt at not being able to save his own wife had triggered a life-long psychotic break.

So things could be worse, 'cause at least Dean had Sam.

And keeping Sam safe -- the prime directive -- was a helluva lot less psychically damaging than the kind of twisted need for revenge that had driven John Winchester all those years.

"I need to know, Sam," Dean said now, darting a warning glance at his not-brother. "You and your Dean seem to be at the center of things in your world, and I need to know how that is."

"The center of things," Other!Sam scoffed. "You make it sound like some sort of hero's destiny or something, when really it's more like a curse."

"Damn it, Sam, just tell me what happened," Dean was losing patience, feeling panic rising in his chest. Something was so not right here.

Sam took a deep breath, stared out the window for a minute without answering.

"Sam," Dean started again, "Either you tell me now or I'm putting the breaks on this thing. Right now."

"You wouldn't do that," Other!Sam breathed. "You wouldn't leave Sam over there."

"He's a big boy," Dean insisted. "He can take care of himself. He's done it before. And if I decide we're not doin' this, he'll understand. He'd get it. He gets me."

Other!Sam visibly flinched at that. His face scrunched into an agony of indecision, and Dean had to fight the urge to comfort him, to offer reassurance that everything was gonna be ok.

Because he was starting to think it wasn't gonna be ok. At all.

"What the hell happened, Sam?" Dean tried again. "I heard you on the phone last night. I need to know what's going on. You owe me that."

Other!Sam darted a glance at him, his eyes full of pain.

"I'm not him, ok?" Dean said. "I deserve to know what's going on."

Other!Sam let out a sigh.

"I know you do, Dean," he said finally, his voice sad, tired. "And I don't know why I think I can make it better by not telling you, or by sugar-coating it somehow. I just wish you didn't have to know, that's all. You and Sam have a life here. It's a good life. You may not see it that way, but from where I'm standing, it looks pretty good. Pretty straight-forward."

"For two monster-hunting incestuous bachelors, I guess we do ok," Dean agreed with a shrug. "Not exactly the life I had planned for Sam, but -- "

"But it's a life he chose," Other!Sam interrupted. "It's clearly what he wants. You're not holding him back, or hanging anything over his head to make him stay with you. He wants this life. He loves you."

Dean shrugged again, noncommittal.

"I hate the thought of spoiling that, Dean," Other!Sam continued. "I can't tell you how much I hate that. You two deserve to be happy, and you obviously are happy."

"Spit it out, Sam," Dean growled, anger replacing his earlier panic. "Whatever you have to say, I can handle it. We'll deal with it, like we always have."

Other!Sam's breath hitched, and Dean resisted the urge to glance at him, spoil the moment. He knew that sound -- Other!Sam was caught. He always went for Dean's confident "It's-us-againt-the-world" and "we can get the job done if we do it together" spiel, and Dean knew it.

It only took Other!Sam another moment to spill, and Dean could feel him close his eyes and square his shoulders, take a deep breath as he gave in to his brother/not-brother.

"Dean made a deal," Other!Sam said, his voice low and intense. "With a demon. My life for his. He got one year out of it, then he went to Hell. For forty years."

Dean sucked in a breath, controlled the urge to curse. Waited.

"After the first thirty years, he started torturing souls," Other!Sam continued. "Was pretty well on his way to becoming a demon."

"A demon?" Dean couldn't stop himself. What the hell?

Other!Sam nodded. "Demons used to be human. They're human souls gone bad long enough in hell."

Shit. Fuck.

"So what happened?" Dean pursued, his hands growing slick on the steering wheel as he broke out in a cold sweat.

Other!Sam hesitated for only a moment this time, then muttered, "Oh, what the hell. An angel pulled him out."

Dean choked. "An angel?" What the fuck! "Those are real?"

"In our world, yeah," Other!Sam nodded. "Pretty sure we covered that already."

Dean was speechless. The idea of spending forty years in Hell was bad enough -- he could almost get that, imagine the experience as a kind of penance for letting his dad make a deal to save him, for letting Sam get hurt in the first place, for not protecting his family.

But being saved from Hell by an angel?

"Why?" he demanded finally. "Why did an angel pull me out of Hell?"

Other!Sam huffed out a breath.

"Why do you think, Dean?" His voice dripped bitterness and frustration.

Dean knew then. Knew the answer. Understood this was another fuck job.

As if it could be anything else.

"So the angels needed me to do something for them," he guessed hotly. "They needed somebody who had spent forty years in Hell and learned to torture and kill without remorse. Somebody who was already half-demon."

"Somebody who would do anything for his brother," Other!Sam continued, not really correcting Dean, just adding to his litany. "Somebody who was so far gone he would destroy the world to save him."

Dean faltered then, frowning. What? How did Sam have anything to do with this?

"They wanted me to destroy the world?" he tried, hesitant.

"Yeah," Other!Sam huffed. "They wanted you to bring on the fuckin' apocalypse. You and me. Because of our Winchester bloodline. We're perfect vessels for archangels, Dean. It's in our fuckin' DNA."

Dean was silent for a moment, too shocked to speak. To think. And the sick thing was, it all sounded true. Sounded right. Made sense.

Fuck.

"So Bobby was right," he said finally, and his voice sounded funny to himself -- hoarse and gravelly and dark. "The Winchester brothers are important after all."

Other!Sam looked at him then -- Dean could feel him staring, glanced over and saw the look of startled horror and revelation on his not-brother's face, frowned.

"What?" he demanded. "I miss something?"

"It's not you, Dean," Other!Sam said, his voice sounding wounded, pleading. "This isn't your story. None of these things have happened to you. That's why I'm telling you all this, because you can change it. You don't have to go down that road. You and your Sam -- and your dad -- you're on a different path. A better one, the way I see it. It's all happened differently for you these past eight years, and it's gonna stay that way, if I have any say in the matter. If I can keep Dean from fucking it all up for you."

Dean frowned.

"This isn't all up to you, Sam," he said gruffly. "We're gonna do this together. It's a job, simple as that, ok? We do it right, we get our brothers back. None of the rest of it matters. None of it."

Dean could feel Other!Sam's eyes on him, glanced over to catch the doubtful, pinched look he knew would be on his not-brother's face.

"I need your head in the game here, Sam," he insisted. "We've got a job to do, and I need to know you've got my back. So do you have my back on this, Sam? Can I count on you?"

When Other!Sam didn't answer, Dean glanced over again, raising his eyebrows, and Other!Sam gave a tight nod, his face a mask of misery and self-doubt that made Dean want to pull over to the side of the road and show him exactly how to take his mind off his troubles.

Unfortunately, they were running short on time.

NEXT CHAPTER - MASTERPOST

It began as a routine investigation.

Four people had gone missing in an old, unused schoolhouse in Klamath Falls, Oregon, and in their place four people had appeared who seemed to have no idea where they were or what had happened to them.

Which might have led the brothers to conclude that nothing supernatural had happened, except that two of the people who came out were not only not two of the four who had gone into the schoolhouse. They were people who did not exist. No birth records, no one who knew or recognized or remembered them, although they claimed to have lives with loved ones who tragically had no idea who they were or who also did not exist.

So now Sam and Dean were checking the place out, and so far nothing had happened.

Until suddenly, as they were leaving the large cavernous space that had once been the school's gymnasium, the entire room started to glow. Then grow brighter, although the source of the light wasn't immediately apparent.

Until it was.

The flash of light blinded them momentarily, and then again as it flooded the room, radiating all around them with a low-pitched hum that they could almost hear.

Sam and Dean put their arms up to shield their eyes from the glare, squinting to see into the tunnel. There were two figures there, shadowed against the glare of the light, almost impossible to make out until they moved, their bodies blocking the light source so that they could make out the familiar shapes of their own bodies, backlit in the glare.

Just as Dean was calling "What the hell?" to his doppelgänger, the hum grew louder and the light flashed again, then went out all together, leaving two people in the room -- himself and Sam.

But now Sam was standing across the room, staring at him with the same confused, wary expression, wearing an unfamiliar shirt and jacket, and Dean had a sinking feeling that this was not his Sam.

"Sam!" He whirled around, looking for his brother, shooting a fierce glare at the other Sam. "Where's my brother, you son-of-a-bitch?"

"You tell me!" the other Sam bellowed. "Where's Dean? What have you done with him?"

"OK, this isn't funny," Dean glared back. "You tell me where my brother is or so help me, I'll -- "

"You'll what? Shoot me?" the other Sam challenged. "You could do that? 'Cause my Dean, he's not exactly the brother-shooting type."

"Shut up!" Dean ordered, panic rising in his chest. "Listen, you asshole, I don't know what kind of game you're playing, but we've got plenty of experience with shapeshifters, and I can tell you -- "

"I'm not a shapeshifter, Dean!" Other!Sam huffed, exasperated.

"Yeah, well then you must know there's ways to test for that," Dean glowered ominously.

"Okay, yeah, I've got a silver knife, and I'm just gonna reach for it slowly and I'm gonna cut my arm so you can see I'm not a shapeshifter, okay?" Sam held his hands out, palms up, and Dean nodded.

"Okay, I'll do the same," he agreed, "and a flask of holy water..."

Sam took a deep breath, let it out in a long sigh of resignation, then nodded in agreement.

The testing took them under a minute, then they both wrapped their bleeding arms, dried their faces, pulled their jackets back on, watching each other warily the entire time.

"Okay," Sam said. "So that's settled. Can we figure out how to get our brothers back now?"

* *

Three hours later, they were no closer to figuring out what had happened. After a thorough search of the schoolhouse, they agreed there seemed to be no concrete evidence that explained what the hell had happened to their brothers, nor to the other four people who had gone missing from this place, so they agreed to reconnoiter to Dean's motel room to research the phenomenon they were now directly (and personally) affected by.

Other!Sam didn't recognize the motel -- apparently he and "his" Dean had checked into a different one, across town -- but he seemed relieved when he saw "his" laptop, and immediately got to work researching incidents of universe overlapping, which was his working theory of what had happened to them.

Because, as Other!Sam explained, it seemed that the schoolhouse was a kind of portal between parallel universes, and he had switched places with Dean's brother, who was presumably working on the same theory with Other!Dean in the other universe now that they had (presumably) tested each other and found their way back to Other!Dean's motel.

"This is giving me a headache," Dean announced as Other!Sam answered his gazillionth question about what he thought was probably going on in the other universe. "Because you know me, or at least the other me, well enough to know that I'm feeling like shooting something right about now."

Other!Sam glanced up at him and frowned.

"Go eat something, Dean," he ordered. "You'll feel better after you have a cheeseburger."

"Are you telling me to eat a cheeseburger?" Dean looked incredulous. "Because my Sam would never say that. He's always trying to get me to eat my veggies."

Other!Sam's frown deepened.

"Seriously, dude, I'm trying to work here," he said. "I can tell your blood sugar is low 'cause you always start pacing and threatening to shoot things when you're hungry. So go eat already and let me work!"

Dean stared at him for a moment, or rather at his broad back hunched over the computer table, dark green button-down shirt pulled tight across big muscles, sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

Nice color on him, Dean reflected. Never seen Sam wear that particular shade of green before, but it sure looked good on him. Brought out the reddish-gold highlights in his hair and looked totally amazing next to his tan skin. His hair curling down over his collar in back looked particularly soft and touchable too.

Fuck! Stop the idle admiration of Not!Brother! What the hell!

OK, definitely time to go get a burger.

"I'll be right back," he muttered, grabbing his jacket off the bed and heading to the door.

Not!Sam didn't even answer. Bastard.

* *

"My Sam eats a lot of salads," Dean announced when he got back with the take-out bags. "So I got you one."

"Thanks," Other!Sam muttered, still staring intently at the laptop screen. In fact, it looked to Dean as if he hadn't moved since he left. Not that that was unusual. Sam was intense like this, too. It usually took a power-outtage (or a blow-job) to get him to close that damn thing once he was on a hunt like this.

Huh. Wonder how that aspect of things were going in the other universe, Dean speculated as he flung himself onto the bed and pulled out his burger, setting his soda on the nightstand. He grabbed the remote and flipped on the t.v., searching the daytime channels for re-runs of Dr. Sexy, M.D.

"Dude, do you mind?" Other!Sam turned around in his chair, shooting a classic Sam-glare at Dean and gesturing at the t.v.

Dean took another bite of his burger, blinked at his Not-Brother, and shrugged.

"You should take a break," he said around a mouthful of burger.

Other!Sam winced.

"Gross, Dean," he complained. "I swear, you're like a five-year-old sometimes."

Dean grinned, still open-mouthed, and Other!Sam rolled his eyes, turned his back, bent over the laptop again, mumbling to himself.

"What's that, Sammy?" Dean demanded.

"You heard me," Other!Sam grumbled. "You need to get laid."

"I -- " Dean choked. "Are you fuckin' kidding me? Look who's talking, Mr. My-Ass-Is-Clenched-So-Tight-I-Need-A-Crowbar-to-Shit Winchester!"

Other!Sam gave a disgusted huff. "Nice image, Dean," he gritted out, proving Dean's point completely.

"Seriously, man," Dean pushed. "How long has it been? In your universe, I mean. 'Cause my Sam, he's on a pretty regular schedule. Keep those pipes clean, dude! Takes the edge off."

He finished his burger and took a long sip of his soda, watching Other!Sam's shoulders tense visibly under his tight green shirt.

Dean waited a minute, and when Other!Sam didn't answer he turned up the t.v. and watched those strong, muscled shoulders flex a little more, waiting.

A minute later, Other!Sam lifted his head, scooted his chair back, and slammed the laptop shut.

"I'm going for a run," he announced, then glanced around the room for his duffel. "Your Sam does run, right?"

Dean nodded, gesturing toward the bathroom. "His running clothes are in there," he said. "He usually goes out first thing in the morning, so they might be a little damp."

"Fuck!" Other!Sam muttered, not looking at Dean as he headed into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

Dean waited while Other!Sam crashed around in the bathroom for a few minutes, then came stomping out, passing Dean without a glance and left, slamming the door behind him.

Dean waited another minute, to be sure Other!Sam didn't change his mind, then he switched off the t.v. and grabbed the laptop, bringing it back to the bed with him to check up on Other!Sam's research.

Unfortunately, there wasn't much to find. The incidents of universe slipping, or whatever the hell Other!Sam seemed to think this was, were pretty near zilch. Unlike monsters and ghosts, travel between universes was just not something that was easy to hunt. Sure, people disappeared, but there was usually some ordinary reason for that -- like they skipped town to avoid paying child support, or they were really murdered by a wife or husband and later ended up found in a shallow grave somewhere. There were even incidents of people appearing to show up out of nowhere, but those events were usually explained when it turned out the person was suffering from amnesia or Alzheimer's.

Other!Sam had also been looking into the history of the old schoolhouse itself, and again finding bupkis. Until recently, there were no reports of missing people there or anyone showing up there who wasn't supposed to be there.

So whatever was happening, it was localized to that one place, at least in this universe, and to this one point in time, again at least in this universe.

Which begged the question, why? Why this place and time? And what the hell was happening in the other universe?

Because maybe things were different over there. Maybe this thing was happening with greater frequency and in more places there. Maybe there was some way to find an answer, but not from this side.

Which meant it was all up to Sam and Other!Dean to figure it out.

Well, if anyone could make sense of all this, Dean knew, it would be Sam. His Sam. Not this tight-assed bitchy little prig who had his brother's name and face and kick-ass body.

Even if he did look hot in green.

NEXT CHAPTER - MASTERPOST