Family Resemblance

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or any rights to Supernatural or Dark Angel, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Summary: Reimagining of my Crossover with DA and Supernatural -AU– The Brits have TC on their hit list but when Dean intervenes he comes face to face with his clone Alec. No slash.

Author's Notes: Ok so I love Alec and the brothers together but I couldn't seem to get in the old head space of Season 3 of SN or figure out how their dynamics played out in the current seasons of SN so we're starting over fresh in Season 12. As far as Dark Angel timeline, it really picks up at the end of the series where everyone's at TC but this time the world doesn't know they exist.

I've had some requests to continue my snda crossover storylines and I'm sorry I couldn't do that exactly but I guess this is my hope that this redo in some small way honors those requests. So, not knowing if anyone wants to read this Redo that got in my head…here we go.

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Chapter 1: They are Us

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They weren't shapeshifters, no matter what Mick and his merry band of Brit Men of Letters said. No flashing eyes in the camera light, no pain at the touch of silver and no skin shedding unless they kept foolishly coming back to their same old faces over and over instead of claiming new ones, ones that could fit in with a crowd instead of having them run away shrieking in fear.

But it wasn't a snipe hunt either. He had seen some of their faces and they weren't human. So yeah, monsters but what kind and what was their threat because over the week that Dean had staked out Terminal City, the only crime he witnessed was them getting oriental food two days in a row and not picking a less noxious hideout. I mean an abandoned nuclear plant…that was so on the nose for zombie movies it was just dumb.

And sometime soon the men of letters were going to wipe these poor schmucks off the face of the earth. So yeah, his Dad had raised him with the belief that there was no such thing as a good monster, that they all needed ….deserved to be put down. But his Dad had been wrong, like the Brits were. Dean knew he'd be dead …ok, dead again like twenty times more, if it hadn't been for his alliance even friendship with said monsters. Benny ranking at the top, followed by, yes, Crowley then there was Garth and his wolf out tendencies, Ansel and his psychic abilities, heck even Cas wasn't liked by the Brit Men of Letters. Course Cas was the best of the angels so maybe he shouldn't waste his breath defending the other angels to Mick and company.

All this left Dean sitting in a forsaken office building across from the self-named Terminal City wondering what to do about the newest crappy crisis of conscience he found himself in. He knew he wouldn't be able to convince the douche bag Brits to let these "shapeshifters" in peace. He also didn't allow himself to fantasize that Sam and his Mom would side with him either, they didn't seem capable of that feat.

Cursing under his breath, Dean was about to surge out of the one good chair in the dilapidated room and go for a drive to clear his head when he sensed he wasn't alone. In one motion he pulled his gun, stood up and spun to face his visitor. But then he all out froze. The face staring back at him was his…but not. This version of him was years younger, his face…its face didn't carry the strain of stress and years on it. But the eyes that met his, they almost seemed older than his own, like they had seen worse things than he had, and that was saying something.

Then his twenty year old double smiled the smile that Dean no longer had in his repertoire: The brassy, bold, sexy, I-can-handle-anything stunning smile. Lazily, his double leaned against the far wall, arms crossed as if he didn't have a care in the world, drawled with a twinkle in his eyes now. "Watch it. You don't want to get jumpy and accidently mar this genetic mastery of beauty."

Dean realized it…he…had his young voice down too, and his friggin' swagger that he had misplaced over the years. "I don't get jumpy," he growled back, gun as steady as a rock aimed at his double's heart, silver bullet locked and loaded for shapeshifter hunting, which he might have mistakenly thought this was not.

His double narrowed his eyes. "If you say so but you look a little unhinged, which honestly, I don't get. You looked for me…you found me, so why do you look so surprised that I look like you?"

"Yeah like I was supposed to guess you were lame enough to wear my face!" Dean denied heatedly, feeling nine kinds of stupid that the Brits were right somehow and he had been too blind to accept their intel, no, too biased.

The shifter's confidence started to peter out at that, and he gave up the leaning position to take a step toward Dean, causing Dean's finger to tighten on the trigger. "Whoa, now. Easy. This is the only face I have. If you don't like it….though, you of all people should like it…."

Dean harshly cut him off. "So what? You're saying you aren't a shapeshifter?!"

"A what?" His double shot back with enough confusion to make Dean consider him either a grade A actor or…really as lost in this situation as he was.

Loosening some of the pressure on the trigger, Dean watched his double over the barrel of his gun. "Your other cult buddies aren't shifters. You a stray?"

"I've been called worse but it doesn't apply in this case. I am…as you call them…just like my other cult buddies. Though some can morph into other animals, let me tell you, it's a gag inducing sight. Not something you do at parties."

"So you looking like me, you wanna explain that?" Dean demanded, was getting a weird dread in the pit of his stomach.

The question had the double paling. "You really didn't know anything about me? Weren't looking for me?"

"I came to gather intel on your freak community. I didn't know I'd been running into a younger version of myself."

"Younger and better version, actually," the double cockily corrected but by Dean's cold stare the man wasn't going to acknowledge that any time soon. Sighing, he explained, "Ok, in case you aren't bullcrapping me…I'll recap the situation for those slow to understand." Recognizing that his insult was causing Dean to rethink his notion of shooting him, he cut to the chase. "Someone stole your DNA, Dean Winchester, swirled that and some feline DNA in a petri dish and, presto magic, here I am. Some would say I'm a Chinese knockoff of you but come on, look at me?! I'm not second rate by any standards," he couldn't help brag.

The information was slamming into Dean like doing a header into a cement wall…and he so knew how that felt first hand. "Wait, are you saying….you are a clone. My clone? With my DNA. You're a Frankenstein creature in my image? But how? I don't give blood donations and I sure didn't join the "let's build your own freak" club."

"Ok, that was a little harsh. Freak? This body? This face?" The clone protested. "Don't hate on yourself like that."

But Dean's patience was at an end for this science fair bullcrap. Rushing forward, he slammed the clone against the wall and pressed his gun barrel into its chest and bit out. "How. Did. They. Get. My. DNA?!"

Sensing that the time for not taking Dean's deadliness seriously was in the past, the clone suddenly stilled under Dean's hands and answered Dean's inquiries truthfully. "Colonel Lydecker, friend of your father's. He got it."

Dean swallowed hard because that made sick sense, was plausible …well as plausible as cloning humans was. Course the proof was under his hands, staring back at him, wasn't it. "My blood…I was just a kid, got clawed up by a possessed cougar."

"Clawed by a what now?!" the clone questioned, brows creased in disbelief that he had heard the other man correctly.

Dean found himself starting to explain, "Possessed Cougar. This ghost could …never mind. So you're a junior version of me. Why? The colonel couldn't have a mini-soldier like my dad had in me so he got jealous? Started going all Mary Shelley?"

"Call it in his job description. Place Lydecker worked for, Manticore, was in the business of making super soldiers. Guess he saw something in you that he liked."

"Wow, that's all ways creepy and ….gives me the willies." Dean gave a shiver of revulsion before he put that mental picture in his do-not-open-ever mental Rolex and got back to the present disturbing info. "So the others in Terminal City…"

"Experiments, like me. Some with more animal DNA than mine," the clone supplied, gaining hope that his DNA doner would soon remove his gun barrel from his chest.

"More animal DNA?! That's why some are….furry and …other disturbing things?"

"Yeah. I think I lucked out with feline DNA. I mean, who doesn't like long naps, having an acute sense of smell, able to see at night, have the ability to jump high and…"

"Have fleas and cough up fur balls?" Dean interjected but if he hoped it would get his clone angry he was disappointed. Instead the clone smirked.

"Only on Wednesdays. Bath day you know."

But Dean was stuck on the details of this crazy tale, even for Winchester's sense of crazy. "Hold up. I don't see any of you being soldiery let alone super. Unless eating take out is your super power."

The clone shrugged. "Yeah, well, we revolted, took down Manticore, ran for the hills and holed up at the extravagant hotel Terminal City. So no more missions to save the world…just one last one to try and save ourselves." At that declaration, Dean saw some crack in the clone's bravado, something that spoke to Dean and his own need to keep him and Sam and the ones he loved safe from a very unsafe and unloving world.

Then the Clone was trying to regain his devil may care persona. "Needless to say, we wouldn't be a welcome addition to the species list so we're not doing any tell all talks on Oprah."

"Oprah's off the air," Dean deadpanned back.

The clone huffed in indignation, "You get my point."

Finding he trusted the clone's words, Dean uncocked the gun and lowered it. "Well I hate to be the bearer of bad news but you haven't stayed under the radar as well as you thought you did."

"Why, because you found me…us?" the clone challenged, confidence that his DNA donor wasn't a threat to him…or his kind. Didn't know where this faith in the man before him came from but it was there. Maybe that's the way a kid felt about his parents, that they were connected, wouldn't purposefully do one another harm. 'Course what would you know about family connections?! The last family you witnessed you purposefully shattered apart,' the clone chastised himself for again forgetting what he was, and what he wasn't. The sins he couldn't atone for, no matter how hard he tried to pretend he wasn't a monster.

"I'm the least of your problems," Dean darkly predicted. "There's this group, the British Men of Letters and they know about your hideaway."

"So what, are they going to do a BBC production about us?" The clone laughingly taunted before adopting a thick british accent. "Shou'd I wor' on my British accent, gov'n'r."

"No, you jerk. They hunt and kill monsters and you're next on their to-do list," Dean growled, needed the kid to start taking things seriously and fast.

"And you know this how?" his clone challenged, dark suspicions growing fast in his gut.

Dean shifted on his feet, shame carrying in his next words. "I kinda sort of have been doing jobs for them." Hating himself for that more in that moment than before, like he was sick at losing some of his clone's good opinion of him…if he had such a thing before.

The clone tensed. "Jobs like annihilating anything different from human standards?"

Dean smart mouthed back, "Only on the weekends," wanting to ease the tension, knew it would blow up in his face whenever he tried it on Sam.

But his clone didn't blowup…he laughed. "Touche," he smirked, appreciated their like-minded sense of humor amid the most awkward situations even as his next sentence proved that he read the hard core soul under Dean's humor. "So what? You're the advance scout? Now will kill me to keep me quiet so I can't warn the others what's coming for them?"

Dean flinched at his clone's predictions, because that's what he had volunteered to do, to be the Brit's advance scout. But not to set Terminal City up to be eliminated, to see for himself if they needed eliminated. And if they didn't….heck, he was just starting to formulate what to do now that that seemed the case.

But before he could explain that to his clone, another male voice entered the conversation, causing him and his clone to jerk their heads to the door to see the room's second uninvited guest cross the threshold.

"You aren't going to be reporting back to those British Men of Letters. Actually, you're not leaving this room," the voice vowed that belonged to a humanoid figure with the brown and white spotted fur of a cheetah covering his animalist face and hands that were displaying claws worthy of Wolverine. Then with the speed that his cheetah DNA gifted him with, he sprang for Dean, teeth and claws bared and excited to tear apart fragile human flesh.

Even as Dean raised his gun, he knew he was going to be too slow, his reflex's no match for a freakin' Cheetah man. Bracing himself for a repeat of what the hellhounds did to him, he vowed to not scream this go around when his clone was suddenly between him and certain death.

Then it is his clone that the cheetah man's teeth and claws find. Seconds later, they are on the floor, wrestling for survival, growls emanating from both "men". Unwilling to stand idly by, Dean pulled a knife free of his boot and joined the fray. But he was instantly knocked backward by a flaying leg before he can strike a blow. Slamming into the wall, he bit back a cry of pain then pushed himself off the wall and determinedly approached the tangled limbs of the two clones on the floor. But he knew that he was a second to late plunging the knife into the Cheetah man's neck when he heard his clone cry out in agony, watched as the Cheetah man's razor sharp teeth sink into his clone's neck.

Ripping the knife free and watching the Cheetah man collapse dead onto his clone, Dean dropped to his knees and started to gently yet urgently pry the Cheetah's teeth from his clone's neck. Found the clone's hands joining his own before the locked jaw hinged open and Dean was able to roll the Cheetah dude from off his clone. Cursing at the sight of the gushing blood coming from the bite marks, Dean clamped his hand down on the puncture wounds on his clone's neck. "What the hell were you thinking?!" he roared, eyes searing into his clone's pained hued gaze.

"Saving …you," his clone choked out, fighting for breath as he continued to bleed out.

"You don't even know me! You thought I was going to kill you two seconds ago!" Dean pointed out savagely as he pressed harder on the wound, without knowing why, he desperately didn't want this look alike to die.

But his clone wasn't showing any regret for his actions, was holding Dean's gaze with unexpected fondness. "Figured…in some….screwed up way….we are… brothers."

The clone's sentiment pierced right through Dean's toughest fortifications…eerily like Sam always could. "Crap, just hold on! It's not that bad," the lie he told Sam in Cold Oak coming easily. Pressing harder, hoping to slow the blood flow he tried to distract his clone from the pain he knew he was in, thanks to his own hellhound run in years prior. "So if we're brothers, I should at least know your name."

"Alec…short for…Smart Aleck," his clone wheezed out.

Dean snorted. "Yeah, I can see the sense in that." Lifting his hand he tried to inspect the wound and hoped he didn't pale as much as he felt he did at the sight of the savage wound and his clone's survival chances he just calculated. Meeting his clone's…Alec's gaze head on, he calmly announced, "Ok, we have to get you to a hospital."

But panic flared in Alec's eyes. "Can't…what I am…."

Dean put a reassuring hand on Alec's chest. "Trust me, Alec. I know about avoiding hospitals like they are the plague but we've got no choice, ok. But it there's one thing my family's pretty good out besides the family business, it's knowing when it's time to leave before your accommodations get downgraded to a jail cell…or, in your case, you becoming a notch on Ketch's gun belt.

"Who… is… Ketch?" Alec asked, though he knew it didn't matter, didn't have much hope he'd survive the night let alone have to worry about getting out of the hospital with his DNA particularities undetected.

"Brit's top monster exterminator. He's got zero sense of humor but he's really good at killing things," Dean grimly admitted as he raised Alec's hands to his wound. "Ok, press there for me." Then when he felt Alec obeying, Dean stripped off his coat and his button down shirt and pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket. Then he was lifting Alec's hand, pressing the handkerchief in its place and replaced Alec's hold. Then he wound his button down shirt around Alec's neck and tied it in place to hold the makeshift bandage in place, hated that Alec whimpered in pain as he tied the knot tight.

Then Dean slid his hands behind Alec's back and legs and picked the younger version of himself up into his arms. For once Dean understood why Sam always griped that he needed to lose weight when he had to heft his carcass around because he was heavy! Knew it wasn't the lack of pain that action caused that kept a cry of pain from escaping Alec but his clone's stubborn refusal to be weak. 'Like DNA donor, like clone,' Dean commiserated then was making his way out of the room and down the flight of stairs toward the Impala parked around back. "So any more clones of me running around?" he conversationally asked.

"Were…but… the rest …are dead," Alec supplied, though his words were terse, either because he hated the topic or was in agony….probably both.

"Best clone takes all?" Dean guessed, nearly avoiding catching Alec's legs on the door frame as he exited onto the parking lot.

"What?" Alec asked in confusion before he got Dean's meaning. "No…none died by…my hand."

"Because they were your brothers," Dean surmised as he gently dropped Alec's legs so the clone could come to a standing lean against the side of the Impala. Opening the locked door with one hand, Dean kept his clone upright with his arm around Alec's waist.

"Not …brothers!" Alec huffed in indignation, braced himself with a hand on Dean's shoulder and stood his ground as Dean went to manhandle him into the black car. He met his DNA donor's eyes, felt it was important to make sure there was no misunderstanding about this. "They were…raving lunatics. Bad brews before they got it…right with me."

"Modest, aren't you," Dean teased as he tugged Alec's hand from his shoulder and eased the injured clone into the Impala's passenger seat with much of the same gentleness he always managed with an injured Sam.

"Just stating…facts," Alec defended but Dean had already shut the car door, was running for the driver's side.

Then Dean was in the car, starting the engine, gunning the car into a skilled back around and speeding forward maneuver the next second. Then with one hand on the steering wheel, he reached out his right hand to clamp around Alec's wound as he noted the dark hue of the makeshift bandage indicated blood already soaked through the two layer fabric. Eyes divided between road and clone, Dean implored, "Stay with me, Alec. Stay with me."

Rolling his head on the head rest to view his DNA donor, Alec tried to sound nonchalant, like he didn't know already that this was probably his last hurrah. "Aawww…I knew…you'd like me…if we ever met." And that wasn't exactly true, thought his DNA donor would hate him on sight. Didn't envision the gunplay exactly, more like streaming and shrieking and being brained by a frying pan maybe. Certainly not Dean's….acceptance, …his current concern. It made something in Alec spark alive even as he knew his life was ending.

Eyes shifting from the road back to Alec, Dean asked, his voice more vulnerable than he intended, "That something you wanted? Us to meet?"

"Sure…especially on…Hallmark's Clone Donor Day," Alec smart mouthed, hoping to live up to his name to the bitter end.

"Whoever named you Alec had your number," Dean shot back not with censure but approval of Alec's brand of humor when everything seemed it's bleakest.

"A hot girl… with anger issues…gave it.. to me," Alec supplied, felt a pang of regret he wouldn't be seeing Max again but maybe she wouldn't even realize he was gone. But then his brain kicked in and he tensed, tried to sit up, "I have to…warn them. You said…"

But Dean's hand slid to his chest, pressed him back to sink deep into the seat again. "We'll warn them. We have a couple days…maybe a few weeks to relocate them."

For Alec it wasn't expected, to feel this relief, wasn't his style to trust, at all, let alone so completely. Then a word repeated in his head, "We?" he asked, studied the profile of his DNA donor before Dean turned his attention again to him and smiled.

"Yeah…we…unless you're gonna take the chicken's way out and die on me," Dean challenged, needed Alec to fight, to not go, had hopes that this clone might actually like spending time with him, unlike his brother and mother lately.

Alec fought to pull on a smile. "I'm happy…to say…got no chicken…in my cocktail."

"Does that mean you're not going to give up on me?" Dean cross-examined, wanted to make Alec promise to stay, for Alec to not be another loss he had to suffer, another failure to add to his tally.

And the only one that had ever asked Alec to stick around was Max…and that was probably more to do with needing numbers to take on Manticore than actually wanting him there. But Dean…his request was different, felt different, felt real, personal. Garnered from him a vow he didn't even know if it was in his power to keep. "Yeah..won't."

"I'm going to hold you to that," Dean sternly shot back, wasn't all that reassured when only silence was Alec's reply. Looking over to his right, he saw the clone was passed out cold, the blood still seeping from the wound under his hand the only proof that he wasn't chaffering a dead clone of himself in his car.

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TBC

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I hope I have some people out there willing to give this story a shot.

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.