Shoulders squared. Arms tensed. His back straightened and he stepped forward again. This time he couldn’t hide the little shudder that ran down his arm. This was- This was a whole new level of weird. Gritting his teeth, the young man bared his teeth before dragging a shuddering breath into his lungs. And then he began to growl, low and quiet. Possibly the only sound he could make with a waver.
"That’s bullshit. That’s absolute crap. That can’t be true."
"It’s not possible. It can’t be freaking true."
The knife shook again and he narrowed his eyes, glaring down at that damned blade. It wasn’t supposed to wiggle. It was meant to be strong. It was meant to be threatening. It wasn’t supposed to make him look weak, Damn it. With a shake of his head, Dean finally managed to peel his eyes away from the weapon and then he looked up at his apparent older self. Or whatever.
"Dude. You couldn’t woop my ass. I can hold my own. Hell- I’ve been able to hold my own since I was freaking ten. Now how about you stop lying and tell me who you really are."
“Oh, I can’t whoop your ass?” he posed casually, eyeing the fuming 18-year-old. “How about you stop spending all your time getting pissed at me and go about this a little smarter, huh? ‘Cause if I am tellin’ the truth, then I’ve been able to hold my own since I was ten, too, and I got a few years on ya.”
He searched Dean’s eyes. There was every reason for the boy not to believe him, but there had to be something he could say to prove that they really were the same person. “You remember that hunting trip that Bobby took you and Sam on? After you got out of that boys’ home?” he asked, hopeful. “You shot a deer, and it was the worst goddamn feeling of your life because the thing was so innocent…but the venison jerky turned out real good.”
”Or how about that chick from…Well, it had to be last year for you,” Dean said, raising his eyebrows. “Janitor’s closet every geometry class. You always had the lights off, but uh, when you had ‘em on…” he smirked. “You saw she had a pretty, uh…cool piercing.”
”You believe me yet, or am I still gonna have to rough you up some?”
Sam sighed. Sadly, Dean was right. Everything wanted to fuck with the Winchester brothers, and it didn’t seem like anything was going to change that.
”And if fire doesn’t work? We don’t need to piss it off anymore than we already have.” The last thing they needed was a flaming bitch angrily chasing after them.
“What else is gonna work if fire doesn’t?” Dean retorted, rubbing his face with calloused hands. “At least we’ll get a light show outta all of this if it turns out that fire’s a bust, too.” He tried not to grin, because it wasn’t funny…But it totally was.
”I say we torch the creep and run like hell if it doesn’t work. Or, y’know what, let’s hang the thing by the ankle, light ‘im up, and if he ain’t dead by then we can try…Somethin’ else. I dunno. Voodoo? Sacrifice? Summon a Leviathan from Purgatory to eat it?” He was grasping at straws, but he wasn’t looking forward to holing up in a motel room.
Kailan shut her eyes and groaned
in disgust at Dean’s comment
regarding what was to come up in
the little porno he was watching.
His following question shook her
away from that thought, thank god.
“Out,” she said, shrugging off her
jacket and setting it on her small,
extra large motel twin bed. Facing
Dean, she crossed her and and
grinned at Dean. “Though, I’m
surprised you even noticed that I
was gone considering your tastes
of watching TV.”
”I’ll text ya a video clip next time you’re out, since you’re so into it,” Dean said, unable to keep a smart-ass smirk from crawling onto his face.
“Well, if you’re gonna be all secretive about it…You at least grab some grub on your way back?” he asked. His chartreuse eyes looked about her trail and then her person for any signs of a takeout bag. “Aw, c’mon, not even a six pack?”
Sam sighed. “Eat three and you can have pie. Just three. And take your vitamins.”
“I’ll have pie whenever I damn well please, mother,” Dean shot back, shoveling the mush down his throat, anyway — without tasting it. He belched and searched the table for the little pills that his brother seemed to enjoy taking. “Where are these vitamins? I don’t got all day, I got some pie to eat.”
Dean was almost awkwardly silent. He was a mixture of embarrassed and ashamed, especially for lying to Sam about what he remembered. He didn’t want to have had the truth spill out in this way, and even after this episode he wasn’t going to try to burden his little brother with the nightmares in his own head.
”Yeah…” he mumbled, thankful that Sam didn’t press him. He was sure he’d have to confess sooner or later.
A shaky hand slid through his hair as he got out of the car, beelining to a corner seat in the diner. He chewed on his lip as he awaited a waitress, not being able to look in his brother’s direction even for a brief moment.
“Dean, are you okay?” He asked, his brow knit with worry. He pulled into the parking space, glancing at him again. “You look a little –” he stopped talking when his brother lost his lunch. Sam turned his head away from the flying chunks. Not that he had a week stomach, but he preferred not to see Dean’s slightly digested, chewed bacon.
“Want to hang back at the motel while I check it out, or are you good?” He popped the car door open but didn’t get out yet. His faced softened not much less worried, though he was still a little concerned. First Dean wasn’t’ sleeping, then a curse effecting firstborns, and now he he’s sick? Sam hadn’t thought of this as being related to the curse.
But when Dean brought it up as it being a coincidence he clued in and shut the door again. “We’ll go check out something else.” He sighed, not wanting to leave him behind but he couldn’t have him throw up every time they went somewhere else or worse.
”I’m fine, man,” Dean said, stepping out, over the puddle of vomit on the blacktop. “We’re here, we might as well check it out.” The door slammed with a thud behind him as he made his way into the building, unable to look back at Sam.
The floors were marble and the ceilings vaulted inside Town Hall. This was a place with quite a lot of money, and the benefactor’s face and name seemed to be all over everything. “Wow, important guy,” he mused as his green eyes drank in his surroundings. He followed a plush, burgundy carpet into a small room dubbed the “Harrison Lounge”, after the benefactor, and had a ton of the man’s belongings on display, along with museum plaques rich with Harrison’s life story.
He whipped out his phone and started snapping pictures of everything, nudging his brother. “Hey, check that stuff out. ‘Recovered from Harrison’s tomb’,” Dean told him, finally looking at him. He was still a little on the pale side, but there was a splash of color in his cheeks.
This was all too much like a well rehearsed nightmare. His chest heaved, his stomach dropped. He couldn’t breath. Stumbling back once more, Dean dragged rasping gasps of air into his tigh lungs. Every one was painful. Every one stung. His eyes itched and prickled and it took every inch of effort he had left in his body to stop himself from allowing the tears to flow freely.
"I don’t want to be one of the scariest things to walk the planet. I just want to be me."
The sound of his own voice was harsh against the startlingly crisp and cool air. He flinched back, eyes narrowing and nose wrinkling. This- This had to be a trick, right? He couldn’t turn into a demon. He wouldn’t turn into a demon. Reaching up to rub aggressively at his eyes, relishing the burn and tingle that the motion provoked, Dean shook his head.
"I don’t- I don’t care about the power. I don’t care about it. I’m not going to turn into a demon. You have to be lying. I wouldn’t let that happen. Sammy wouldn’t let that happen. Jeez- Dad wouldn’t let that happen. I would sooner let them kill me. There’s no way- That’s not going to happen.
"C’mon, man- You- If you’re me, then there has to be a little bit of me still in you, right? That knows- That knows how wrong this is. You- You are the stuff I hunt. You’re one of the monsters that Dad would gank in a second. I’m not going to be a monster. I’m not. I’m not goin’ to let- let that happen."
And then that- That thing had mentioned his Mom. His beautiful, dead Mom. He could- He could get the thing that killed her? Yellow eyes? That damn son of a bitch that killed the one happy spark he’d been allowed in his childhood. The scent of apple pies, cinnamon and and undercoat of- Oak. Woodland. Her perfume, Drifted up his nose. Dean had to bite back the automatic sob that was produced at the memory. He could practically see her. Blonde hair glowing, eyes sparkling. Oh god-
"Dont’- Please don’t talk about her. Don’t- Don’t talk about that. I- I don’t want to know, okay? I don’t… Please don’t…”
“Times change, kiddo. Just when you think you caught and fried biggest fish in the pond, there’s a bigger one takin’ its place. This job you’re doin’, it’s never gonna be over. The people you love are gonna die. When people get close to you, they die. And you’re just gonna be chasin’ the monster of the week that did it.”
Dean started circling the boy, tucking his hands behind his back. Mom was a soft spot; hell, even if he could barely remember her, the thought of her, the memory of the most loving embrace he’d ever feel in his life, was something that always hit him hard. But not this demon, no. He was wronged, and the only thing he ever felt anymore when he was wronged was unbridled anger.
”Funny thing about Sammy,” he drawled, thumbing the raised Mark of Cain on his forearm. “He had two choices: Let me die, or let me become this. I can’t say I’m mad at him.”
The serpentine smile never left his face. “I’m the scariest son of a bitch out there, ain’t nothin’ gonna mess with me or Sam ever again.”
”What do ya say, kid? Still sounds crap to you? You can gank anything that comes your way and nobody’s gonna dare touch your family.”
"No offence, Dude- But wouldn’t splashing holy water on you be a little redundant now? You just did it for me.
He mumbled, eyes flicking down to the floor. Talk about an up-himself know-it-all. Who the hell did this guy think he was and where the hell did he get off? And- more importantly, how did he know everything about Dean?
Taking one steady step forward, Dean Winchester raised the knife that he had held so loosely in his hand moments before. And then he pointed it at himself. Or rather, the completely stranger that looked a little like a male model and talked as if he’d been hunting since the day he’d been born. His arm held strong and he was definitely pleased to notice that there was not one wobble in the blade. After all, he didn’t need to show any weaknesses. If it came to a fight, and this guy was as good as he sounded, he’d probably get thrashed- And that alone was a completely different thought to the one he’d planned out in his head earlier. And the pure idea of having his lungs ripped out really wasn’t a pleasant one. It was damn scary. But he could manage it, right? He’d faced worse. Just for now he could hold his own.
"And I think, before we go any further, you should tell me who you are. And all this crap- About how I don’t read and my little brother and just knowing all this shit- You need to tell me how you know it. Right now. Or I swear to god, I am going to shove the pointy end of this pretty looking thing into your damn gut."
Every sentence, every word, was growled with as much ferocity as he could manage. Dean stepped closer to his mark, pulling his lips back ever so slightly before he began to snarl again.
"And then, if I think that I can damn well trust you and you’re not going to kill me as soon as look at me, I’ll tell you everything I know about what’s going on in this funky town. Okay? I think that’s a damn fair deal."
”You don’t know if this is actually Holy water, do ya? Did you see me get it?” he countered, waving his little bottle of the stuff at the younger Dean. He had to admire himself for the attitude, even if it was getting a little grating.
The older Winchester didn’t falter when the teen brandished the machete at him. He merely gazed back at the raging kid, remembering all too well what it was like to have that kind of frustration and no answers, and nobody to turn to for an answer. He licked his dry lips before parting them, a pause filling the dead air before he said, “Well, s’easy. I’ve been in the hunting rodeo as soon as I was old enough to shoot a gun. My mom died when I was little and my dad was hellbent on finding the thing that killed her after that. I got a little brother…Raised him myself, practically.”
A smirk flickered onto his face in spite of himself. He felt like this was going to be futile; go figure, the one time he didn’t lie, there was a chance that the person he wasn’t lying to wasn’t going to actually believe him. ”You’re not gonna believe a word of it, but you gotta. I’m you," he said. "I was in the middle of a djinn case and the next thing I know I round the corner, and I’m standin’ here."
“So…you gonna shank me? ‘Cause I gotta know if I have to prepare to whoop your ass in self-defense.”