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Dean’s pretty sure that the domestic life isn’t supposed to be so mind-numbingly boring. The thought itself is actually pretty weird because as long as Dean could think back to, he never actually did anything non-domestic. That is, not unless someone counts his early twenties. Dean doesn’t. Dean can hardly remember it. Or his teenage years, but that might actually be a blessing in disguise. Despite that, Dean doesn’t like… this. Whatever this is. It’s too monotonous, too linear, if that makes any sense. He has a routine for every week, and he had not seen a break in it for what seems like years. Hell, maybe it is years.
The routine goes like this: At 6:30 exactly, the alarm clock rings. Dean rolls over, smashes his hand on the snooze button, stumbles out of bed, gropes for some clothes (mostly whatever’s closest to him), pulls it on, staggers to the bathroom, where he takes a piss brushes his teeth wipes his face and shaves if he has to, then he goes down to the kitchen, takes a few gulps of coffee, cooks his breakfast, and eats it while staring blankly at the TV. He leaves for work in his Impala at precisely 8:00 and works as a mechanic until getting off at 4:00. Going home, taking a shower, watching television, checking his email, calling Sam. Then he eats dinner and prepares for work. If there’s some spare time left he flips through the newest issue of his car magazine or watches a game on TV. He goes to sleep at 10:00.
It’s amazing how detailed it is, and yet Dean honestly can't remember breaking from it. Not even in the weekends.
No, in the weekends he goes out with his friends, some of whom will try to pair him up with some girl, and then he goes to a bar. Sometimes he'll get a one night stand out of it, but mostly it's to drink.
Sometimes he thinks about visiting his mother's grave, or even his father's, but he could never get the courage. His mother died when he was four, in a house fire, and his dad died from a stroke after a car accident. It's just Sam and Dean now, and Sam is still in Stanford learning how to be a good lawyer.
It doesn't really matter, because in the end he's still trapped in this cycle of mind-numbing normal, and it's boring. And, as Dean lies in his bed, waiting for the alarm to ring, he vows that today he'll break the monotony and do something different. Hell, he's already kind of breaking it. He's never woken up before the alarm clock before.
The alarm clock rings. He gets up. It’s time for a new day.
***
Dean changed his mind. He wants normal now. He really, really does.
Because whatever's staring at him through that mirror isn't him. It couldn't be, because it looks nothing like him. Well, maybe they have the same... chin. Or something.
It's never occurred to Dean how different he and Sam look.
Dean places a hand on his mirror, another on his chin, staring hard at the mirror. Sam copies his movement from inside the goddamn mirror. Dean looks down at himself - he looks like himself. He knows what Sam looks like, and he doesn't look like Dean.
In fact, Dean's pretty sure that Sam's taller than him in the mirror too. What an asshole. Sam just had to be taller than his older brother, even in Dean's imagination, or dreams, or whatever the fuck this is because this is not real life.
Dean pinches himself. Ow. Okay, so maybe it is real life. But a real life that does not make sense.
"What the fuck?" Dean tries. And the Sam in the mirror repeats it. In Sam's voice. That Dean can hear. From the mirror.
Screw it, Dean thinks, and gets the hell out of there.
***
"Dean, why are you calling me?" Sam is exasperated. Dean doesn't think Sam has the right to be exasperated with him; Sam was the one in his freaking mirror!
"Where were you this morning?" Dean demands. It's his lunch break. He doesn't have that much time.
"What?"
"At 6:30," Dean clarifies.
"What? Dean, I was sleeping. Like a normal person." Sam sounds pissed. Obviously, he thinks Dean's wasting his time
"I am so goddamn sick of normal," Dean grumbles. Wait. Didn't he just want it back this morning?
Fuck it. Dean hangs up.
"You know," Sam says dryly, "You're not going to get anything from him."
What? Dean looks at his phone. It's turned off.
"Why do I have a feeling there's a mirror behind me?" He mutters.
"Because you've seen here it before?" Sam guesses, and Dean turns around.
Okay. This is weird. Sam's there, and his hair is more horrible than normal, and he's wearing plaid and flannel like Dean, instead of his normal prep-school outfits. Dean's actually kind of happy about that, those shirts cost a fortune, and the brat’s never wore anything else.
But he's in a mirror. A huge-ass, full length mirror. And Dean just talked to Sam, who's in Stanford.
"Hey." Dean says, "You changed your clothes." He can't believe he said that.
"Yeah." Sam agrees awkwardly.
"Why are you in a mirror?" Dean asks cautiously. He was thinking about maybe smashing the mirror. There is no way that's Sam. Dean looks down at himself again. He looks the same.
"I need to talk to you," Sam says urgently. "And I really am Sam, Dean."
That's what a fake Sam would say, Dean thinks. He says this.
Sam gives a bitchface. Okay, that's pretty Sam-like.
"Your name is Dean Michael Winchester, our dad was named John Eric Winchester, and our mother's maiden name was Campbell. Your car- a '67 Chevy Impala - was our dad's, and so is your favorite leather jacket. You call your car baby. Our mother died when you were four, in a fire, and you were mute for a long time after that. Your birthday is January 24th, mine is May 2nd. Your favorite songs are Ramble On, by Led Zeppelin, and Travelling Roadside Blues, by Blue Oyster Cult. You were a virgin until you were-"
"Okay!" Dean interrupts, because it's good enough. Sure, most of them are trivial, but there are a few that Dean's never told anyone. Except Sam.
And one that he never told anyone.
"How the hell do you know about the not talking thing?" Dean snaps.
"Because you told me!" Sam exclaims, exasperated. He rakes a hand through his hair.
"No I didn't!" Dean shoots back. Shit, he hopes no one is here right now. That'd be weird. And embarrassing.
"Yes. You did. You just don't remember it."
"What?"
Sam sighs. "Look. Just. I'll explain later." He frowns. "Does that mean you believe me?"
"There are two Sams." Dean says dully.
"Well, technically, there's only one Sam here. I'm talking to you through a mirror. I'll explain later."
He'll explain later? Oh no he - damn it. Sam disappeared from the mirror.
Well, at least he knows for sure that Dean's not wearing Sam's skin like it's some kind of Freaky Friday thing. He looks like himself.
Doesn't mean he might not be hallucinating. Or dreaming.
Dean pinches himself again.
Ow. Shit.
***
"Okay, this isn't real."
"Excuse me?" Dean splutters, "It feels pretty damned real to me." He should know. He still has bruises from all those pinches.
"No." Sam clarifies, "It's real but it isn't. It's wrong. No. It's the wrong reality. You're not supposed to be here."
"So what? I don't exist? I'm supposed to die?" Nice. Just what Dean needs. When he was talking about wanting something new, he wasn't talking about this!
"You exist with me. You're supposed to be with me."
Dean snorts. "Sam, I already have a you. I can't handle two of you. Hell, one of you is in a goddamn mirror."
"Look. Just let me explain." Sam starts. "This is an alternate reality. Or universe. I come from another one, the one you're supposed to be from two. In that universe, we're hunters."
"We kill Bambi?" Dean is not amused.
"What? No. We kill other things. Supernatural things."
"What like ghosts and vampires and stuff? Sam, those things don't exist."
"They exist in my world. Our world. And we hunt those things. And there are some - things. They manipulate reality. Move people. And that's what happened to you. No. You touched this cursed object - a mirror, and it transported you to another world."
Dean started blankly at Sam. "Let me get this straight. So what you're saying is that I touched a mirror and got transported to an alternate dimension and before I used to kill monsters and I don't remember any of this. And you expect me to believe this?"
Sam raises an eyebrow. "You're the guy talking to the mirror."
"Shut up." Dean retorts. "I don't even know if I believe you."
"You are talking to a mirror." Sam repeated. "Look, even if you are denying the obvious, hear me out."
Dean frowns. Sam has a point. Dean is talking to a freaking mirror. A mirror with a version of his brother in it who is apparently from another reality. Or universe, or whatever.
"Fine," he concedes grudgingly. Sam looks relieved.
"Okay. So in some lore, mirrors are used for containing someone's soul. It's the reason that people claim that you get seven years of bad luck if you smash a mirror - your soul is stuck in there. And there's the thought that mirrors are portals to the spirit world, or—"
"Wait, does that mean I'm dead?" Dean doesn't feel dead.
"What? No. I was going to say that in some other ones it's said that they're just portals to other realities. Like mirror realities, and I think that's what happened to you. When you touched this mirror."
"A mirror is a portal to another dimension." Dean states flatly. "And I am talking to my brother through a mirror. All this, while another Sam is in Stanford, studying law."
Sam sighs.
"Can you remember anything before... this? Anything?"
Dean frowns. "What do you mean? I was born in Lawrence, Kansas, to Mary and John Winchester. When I was four—"
"Yeah, I know the basics here, Dean. I was there. I mean after the age of four. Do you even remember your mother's death?"
Dean frowns, affronted, "of course I do. There was a fire, and..." he trails off. What did happen? He remembers fire, his brother's nursery, running with Sam, his father following him... and nothing else. Something. His father took him... somewhere. Where? A hotel, probably.
Sam looks infuriatingly empathic. Captain Empathy, or something. "Dean," he says gently, like Dean needs to be handled with care or something, "I think the reason you can't remember much is that whatever put you here, the mirror or whatnot, screwed up your memory to make it seem like you were supposed to be here all along, provided that you don't look too hard into it."
He can't remember his teenage years, Dean realizes suddenly. He can't remember the name of his first friend, or his first girlfriend, or the person he lost his virginity to - or even when he lost his virginity.
It dawns on Dean that he could still be a virgin. The thought alone terrifies him.
Wait. He can't be a virgin. He had sex a week ago. Or was that just a manufactured memory? What was that girl's name again? Shit. Shit. Shit. When did he come here anyway? A year ago? A month ago? A week ago? Yesterday? This morning?
This cannot be real. "But how do I know-?" Dean begins hesitantly.
"Mirror! Dean! You're not hallucinating or dreaming! This is real and we need to get you back to the right dimension!" Sam exclaims. He scrubs a hand over his face, frustrated, and turns his puppy-dog eyes towards Dean. "Dean, come on. Think. At least try to remember," he pleads, "please."
Dean blinks. Damn those puppy-dog eyes. He can never resist those damned things.
He closes his eyes and digs deep, deep into his mind, and -
He's four and his Mommy is burning on the ceiling. His Daddy is shoving his brother into his arms, saying "take your brother out as fast as you can. Don't look back! Now, Dean! Go!" and Dean runs and runs and runs until he can't feel the heat and can't smell the smoke, until the cool night air surrounds him and he looks at his house and -
He's ten. There's a monster feeding off his brother. He's supposed to look after Sammy but apparently he can't even manage that. Now his brother is going to be eaten by a witch-demon and he fucking hates witches and demons and he can't shoot what if he hits his brother, and Dad is going to be so pissed.
It's Christmas. Dad didn't come back. Sam knows the truth and he gives Dean the amulet instead of Dad. Dean can't describe how he feels, but it's amazing and heartwarming, like his heart is going to burst he’s so happy, and he says "thanks, Sam," and he means it, he really, really means it. He smiles, and Sam smiles back. It’s his best memory of Christmas, one of his best memories in all.
He's fourteen and gets his first kiss. He's eighteen and loses his virginity, to his embarrassment (should have lost it at sixteen), His brother is bullied and those fucking bastards he's going to rip their lungs out—
He meets Lisa and it's friggin amazing-
He's twenty-two and his brother left for Stanford-
He's twenty-four and he meets Cassie for the first time-
He's twenty-six and Dad hasn't been home for a few days-
He's twenty seven and his father dies. He's twenty-eight and his brother dies. Then he brings Sam back. Then he dies. Then he comes back.
It kind of sucks.
Dean blinks. He looks up, and Sam still looks way too sympathetic. Dean doesn't particularly like it.
"Why?" Dean asks. The memories are still playing through his mind - so much death and pain and betrayal... why?
"Why what?" Sam sounds confused.
"Why would I want to go back? This world... it's boring, and normal, but what the hell would I gain from going back to the one where we come from? Everyone's happy here, Sam."
"Mom and Dad are dead," Sam points out sourly.
"But they didn't suffer. Mom didn't wait in the house as a ghost. Dad didn't go to hell. You're alive and well, and nothing bad has happened to you. I bet Jess is still alive and you're all happy and going to be rich, Bobby is never bothered by us, Pamela wouldn't be blind, all those special kids would be alive-"
"People we saved would die."
Dean blinks. He hadn't thought of that. He never really thinks about that until it smacks him in the face, Dean notices.
"But what if this world doesn't have any magic? Nothing supernatural. No hell, no heaven - nothing."
Sam looks annoyed. Dean sighs.
"Look, just give me some time, okay"
Sam just looks pissed now, gives Dean an epic bitchface, "Dean, we don't have much time! This portal thing stops in a week and that mirror is pretty damned far away from Kansas, and -"
"Sam, please."
Sam sighs. "Fine. But you're coming back, even if I have to drag you by your hair."
Dean's hand flies to his hair protectively. Sam rolls his eyes, but disappears from the mirror.
Dean closes his eyes and thinks, which really isn't something he does most of the times.
He's done this before, went to an alternate world. He killed himself to get out. Maybe-
No. He'll have to sleep on it.
***
The next day, he wakes up and realizes that it never really mattered in the first place. He can angst about it and brood like some emo shit but the answer is always going to be the same. Hell, he's already done it once before, it should have been obvious.
And anyway, he would go back without any other incentive but the fact that Sam, his Sam, is in that world. Not this one.
Plus, he's probably possessing his own body.
"Sam! Sam!" Dean shouts, feeling like an idiot. "Come on! Sam! Get your ass over here."
"What?"
Dean whirls around. Sam's standing in the mirror (that's still weird) and he's scruffy-looking, tired and annoyed. Dean wonders what happened to him, but stores the thought for later.
"Fine. I'll go."
Sam grins, relieved. "Thank you! Okay. The mirror is in Ferndale. Washington."
Dean blinks. The hell were they doing in Ferndale? What kind of stupid name is that?
"Remember? We were hunting there because there were mysterious disappearances and we figured out the mirror was doing it and you touched the freaking mirror because you're an idiot?"
Right. That. "'m not an idiot," Dean mumbles. "It was an accident."
"Okay. Fine. Fine. Do I have to go to Ferndale, Washington?"
Sam nods. Dean sighs. He wonders how long it'll take to drive from Lawrence, Kansas, to Ferndale, Washington.
"Great. I'll just sit and wait in your rearview mirrors."
Dean glares. "Don't touch my baby." Sam smirks.
***
So apparently when you tell your brother not to touch your baby and don't really mean it, is the only time he actually does it. Or doesn't do it. Figures. There's a three day drive and Dean really has no idea what to do. He can only listen to his five tapes so many times, and he's never drove for three days without Sam, anyway.
He thinks, spitefully, that Sam's probably out with Ruby. Dean still really, really hates demon witches, and honestly, he's still not sure about whether or not he should go back.
The doubt weighs on his mind for the rest of those three days. Dean knows he has a job, an obligation, in his world. He knows he's supposed to save people, hunt things, stop the breaking of the sixty-six seals, all that crap. He knows this, but in this world... everyone's happy.
On the other hand Sam's alone in the other crapsack world, with Ruby and Castiel and Bobby and the rest of the asshole angels, with no one to protect him. Well, Bobby will protect him, that’s for sure. Dean’s not all that sure on Cas, though.
But this Sam... No, this Sam will be fine. Dean's probably possessing this Dean anyway. At least, Dean hopes he is possessing this Dean: if the Dean from this world came to his he'd be dead in an instant.
The next morning, he wakes up and goes through his normal routine, pondering if he should tell his boss that he's taking some time off. He thinks he should.
***
Dean shuts off the phone and revved the engine. The Impala purrs beautifully and Dean smiles, cranks up the Led Zeppelin, and drives off to the highway. It's awesome, and Dean doesn't think about stopping.
***
The mirror is way too bland to be magical, Dean swears. It's why he touched the damned thing in the first place. It looks completely innocuous, plain as hell, no decorations, dusty, and is having some slight trouble with the whole reflection thing.
Still, when Dean stares at it, his reflection is distorted and blurry, flickering like a ghost. When he raises a hand and hesitantly pokes at it, the mirror ripples like water, and before Dean can start contemplating that turn of events and how the hell a piece of glass can ripple, he feels a weird sensation, something like buoyancy that people experience when the swim, only it feels more like he's flying. Then, as quick as it started, it stops, and his knees greets the hard pavement floor.
"Shit," Dean mutters. He liked those jeans.
"You okay?"
Dean looks up. Sam's sitting on a chair, looking bored out of his mind.
"Were you here all the time?"
Sam shook his head. "Only when I have to talk to you."
Dean stands up gingerly, brushes off dust from his jeans.
"You ready to go?"
Dean hesitates, looks back at the mirror. It shifts, showing a very disorientated-looking version of himself standing up, looking around confusedly, and stumbling out of the warehouse. He sighs.
"Yeah."
-End