Post by DEAN ROSS WINCHESTER on Jun 12, 2013 9:33:52 GMT -6
It was just about 7 pm and Dean was eating where he had always been -- in the parking lot of some diner, burger with extra onions in hand, in the driver's seat of his Impala. Sammy had gone out to get them drinks, leaving Dean alone to sing along to Living on a Prayer.
It had been years since he'd last done this. His body could remember not being near Sammy or any of the things that reminded him of his life as a hunter. Now that Sammy was back, it felt just like the old days. Granted, they were both married and had kids, but aside from that, it was still the same old Sammy and the same old Dean.
Another car pulled up beside him. Given that it was night, as it was driving into the parking space, its headlights shone too brightly for Dean to see what kind of car it was in his rear view mirror. He eyed it absently as it stopped, but then took a double take as its chasis finally came into view. It was the Impala.
It wasn't just the same model. Dean knew with a look whether or not a car was the Impala. Every flaw, every little bump -- he knew the Impala because it was unique. It had collected little souvenirs with it with every hunt they went on, from the almost imperceptible scratch in the fender to the way the side view mirrors easily fog up in the night. It was the Impala.
Dean got out of the Impala -- well, his Impala -- and walked over to the other Impala and found the most unexpected man waiting for him there. It was Dean Winchester. A younger, nonetheless good looking Dean Winchester.
It was a lightning connection between the two of them. Within the first second of recognizing each other as Dean, each realized the other was a Shapeshifter or Wraith or Revenant or whatever, and the silver-loaded guns were out and drawn in a blink of an eye, poised on each other's hearts.
"Who are you?" both Deans said in unison.
"I asked first," they both said together.
"I'm Dean," they both said again.
"Damn it, stop copying me!" they both said again.
Simultaneously, they both pulled the trigger. Both their guns turned out to be empty, containing only blanks. At that, the younger Dean forcefully opened the driver's side door and caused the older Dean to fall backwards into the other Impala.
Stepping out, he grabbed the older Dean's collar, but it was met with a twist and a parry, fluidly moving into an arm lock. The arm lock was met with a reverse arm lock, which was in turn met with a reverse arm lock, and that was met with a reverse arm lock, until the two Deans pushed each other apart to start over.
The older Dean -- the real Dean -- sized up his opponent. He had no idea what it was. A Shifter couldn't choose its age, and this was a younger version of himself. It wasn't a Revenant or a Wraith either, because it had mimicked him so perfectly. From fighting technique down to the minute-to-minute snap decisions he made, this younger image of himself had mimicked him perfectly.
The younger Dean charged ahead into the real Dean, silver knives in both hands. The real Dean had withdrawn his knives at the same time, meeting metal with metal and knife with knife. Dean -- the real Dean -- couldn't believe it; as far as technique went, they were perfectly matched. His punches were met with a parry, kicks met with stance shifts, techniques reversed perfectly and exactly with the counter techniques designed especially for that attack.
Being over 50, however, the real Dean's stamina and strength gave way eventually, and the younger Dean was able to toss him into the ground the way he had once tossed Jesse into the coffee table. The younger Dean still being Dean, the older Dean knew exactly what was going to happen to him in such a position -- he was going to die. He didn't ask the supernaturals questions before he killed them, not when they were too dangerous and he had the chance. Somehow, he knew this younger Dean was going to do exactly what he would do if the situation was reversed.
In a flash, it occurred to him that this younger Dean thought he was the Revenant, just as he had thought this Dean was the Revenant.
"Wait," he said. "Wait! Wait! I'm Dean Winch--"
There was no pain when the silver knife sliced open his throat and heart. But when Dean got up from bed, he was sweating profusely, heart beating heavily. He turned his head to see Lisa still asleep, gripped the metal knife below his pillow to calm himself down, and fell back to sleep.
It had been years since he'd last done this. His body could remember not being near Sammy or any of the things that reminded him of his life as a hunter. Now that Sammy was back, it felt just like the old days. Granted, they were both married and had kids, but aside from that, it was still the same old Sammy and the same old Dean.
Another car pulled up beside him. Given that it was night, as it was driving into the parking space, its headlights shone too brightly for Dean to see what kind of car it was in his rear view mirror. He eyed it absently as it stopped, but then took a double take as its chasis finally came into view. It was the Impala.
It wasn't just the same model. Dean knew with a look whether or not a car was the Impala. Every flaw, every little bump -- he knew the Impala because it was unique. It had collected little souvenirs with it with every hunt they went on, from the almost imperceptible scratch in the fender to the way the side view mirrors easily fog up in the night. It was the Impala.
Dean got out of the Impala -- well, his Impala -- and walked over to the other Impala and found the most unexpected man waiting for him there. It was Dean Winchester. A younger, nonetheless good looking Dean Winchester.
It was a lightning connection between the two of them. Within the first second of recognizing each other as Dean, each realized the other was a Shapeshifter or Wraith or Revenant or whatever, and the silver-loaded guns were out and drawn in a blink of an eye, poised on each other's hearts.
"Who are you?" both Deans said in unison.
"I asked first," they both said together.
"I'm Dean," they both said again.
"Damn it, stop copying me!" they both said again.
Simultaneously, they both pulled the trigger. Both their guns turned out to be empty, containing only blanks. At that, the younger Dean forcefully opened the driver's side door and caused the older Dean to fall backwards into the other Impala.
Stepping out, he grabbed the older Dean's collar, but it was met with a twist and a parry, fluidly moving into an arm lock. The arm lock was met with a reverse arm lock, which was in turn met with a reverse arm lock, and that was met with a reverse arm lock, until the two Deans pushed each other apart to start over.
The older Dean -- the real Dean -- sized up his opponent. He had no idea what it was. A Shifter couldn't choose its age, and this was a younger version of himself. It wasn't a Revenant or a Wraith either, because it had mimicked him so perfectly. From fighting technique down to the minute-to-minute snap decisions he made, this younger image of himself had mimicked him perfectly.
The younger Dean charged ahead into the real Dean, silver knives in both hands. The real Dean had withdrawn his knives at the same time, meeting metal with metal and knife with knife. Dean -- the real Dean -- couldn't believe it; as far as technique went, they were perfectly matched. His punches were met with a parry, kicks met with stance shifts, techniques reversed perfectly and exactly with the counter techniques designed especially for that attack.
Being over 50, however, the real Dean's stamina and strength gave way eventually, and the younger Dean was able to toss him into the ground the way he had once tossed Jesse into the coffee table. The younger Dean still being Dean, the older Dean knew exactly what was going to happen to him in such a position -- he was going to die. He didn't ask the supernaturals questions before he killed them, not when they were too dangerous and he had the chance. Somehow, he knew this younger Dean was going to do exactly what he would do if the situation was reversed.
In a flash, it occurred to him that this younger Dean thought he was the Revenant, just as he had thought this Dean was the Revenant.
"Wait," he said. "Wait! Wait! I'm Dean Winch--"
There was no pain when the silver knife sliced open his throat and heart. But when Dean got up from bed, he was sweating profusely, heart beating heavily. He turned his head to see Lisa still asleep, gripped the metal knife below his pillow to calm himself down, and fell back to sleep.
