Author's Notes: This story is based on the Buffy the Vampire Slayer episode "The Weight of the World", although it is not a crossover and it will take on a slightly different turn after this chapter.
Disclaimer: Supernatural is owned by Eric Kripke, Buffy the Vampire Slayer created by Joss Whedon.
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"I don't know about you," said Dean, flopping onto the bed on the far side of the motel room, "but I'm beat." The bed creaked as he shifted on it, and Sam nodded, sitting down on the other one.
"Yeah, me too."
"Okay well we'd better hit the sack, 'cause we got a long day ahead of us tomorrow," said Dean.
"Right," Sam answered.
A few hours later, the room was entirely darkened. Sam was exhausted beyond belief, but he had been tossing and turning for the longest time, unable to get to sleep. He closed his eyes and began to count, just as Dean had taught him to do when he was little: "Count to a million, Sammy, and by the time you're done Dad's gonna be home."
One. Two. Three, began Sam. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine…Ten. This isn't gonna work. He rubbed his eyes tiredly and opened them—but when he did, he realized that he wasn't in the motel room in the bed any longer.
All of a sudden he was standing in a very different room, clean and well-lit. He blinked in confusion and looked around. He seemed to be in a small child's room; there was a dresser with some framed pictures on the top and toys strewn across the floor. A wooden bed was positioned against the far wall, right next to a bookshelf. Sam stepped forward and examined the pictures on top of the dresser, and as he did he realized exactly where he was.
"Hi Sammy." A voice came from behind Sam, a voice he hadn't heard in the longest time but recognized nonetheless. Sam turned around to see a small boy sitting at a table. He was holding toy soldiers and staring up at the taller man.
"Hey, Dean." Sam crouched down to level himself with his brother.
"What are you doing here, Sammy?" asked Dean innocently.
"I'm, uh…" Sam let out a short laugh and looked down at the ground. "I have no idea. I think I'm dreaming." Dean shook his head.
"I don't think so. You like soldiers, right?" Dean held up a toy soldier for Sam to take, and Sam frowned.
"Dean, why are you here? What's going on?" Dean shrugged and picked up another toy soldier.
"I like it here." He moved the plastic figurines around the table.
"I don't get what's happening," said Sam. "I was just in the motel room, and now I'm here." Dean was still playing with the soldiers, seeming to ignore Sam. "Dean. Can you help me?" The little boy shook his head.
"No. I don't have time. It's a big day for me," he said.
"What?" asked Sam. There was the sound of the front door opening from downstairs, and Dean's face lit up with excitement.
"Mommy! Daddy!" He raced out of the bedroom and down the stairs, and Sam followed, confused. At the sight of his parents, his heart began to pound. His dad stood next to his mother beaming proudly, and Mary was holding a bundled up baby. "You're back, you're back!" exclaimed Dean.
"Hey, buddy." John knelt down to ruffle his son's hair. "How's my boy?" Dean smiled at him.
"Dean, are you ready to meet your new brother?" asked Mary, holding out baby Sam. All of a sudden, the excitement vanished from Dean's face. He folded his arms and backed away, looking upset.
"Oh come on, Dean, he's nothing to be afraid of." Dean shook his head violently.
"Don't you want to be the big brother?" asked Mary. Dean continued to shake his head.
"No I don't. I want to be the baby. You're going to forget all about me and pay more attention to him."
"Oh, Dean…" said Mary. She knelt down and held out Sam, who cooed and made baby noises. Dean turned towards the older Sam, who was watching from a few feet away.
"Don't you look funny?" he asked. "Like a wrinkly old grandpa." Mary gently placed baby Sam into Dean's arms and showed him how to hold him.
"We're calling him Sam," she said. Looking down at his brother's face, Dean smiled.
"Maybe…" he began. "Maybe if you needed help sometimes, I could be the one to look after him? I could take care of him, right? And make sure he's okay?" Mary smiled and kissed the top of Dean's head.
"Of course you can."
Sam watched this scene, almost oblivious to the tears that were forming behind his eyes. All of a sudden the scene cut to Dean sitting on the bed that Sam recognized as the one he was sleeping on in real life. This Dean, however, was quite conscious. He had a black cloth and was wiping down one of his rifles.
"Oookay," said Sam, confused. Dean stopped wiping the rifle and stared at it for a few seconds, lost in thought. Sam turned to his right and saw another Dean, walking away from him and down a long hallway. Sam began to follow him, leaving the other Dean behind. "Where are you going?" he asked. His older brother kept walking down the hallway. "Come on, Dean. I can't keep following you around like this. I don't know what the hell is going on, and I've gotta get out of here." Dean stopped in front of a numberless door, opened it, and entered. A spacious room lay before them, carpeted with grass. In the corner, there was a gravestone. Dean walked over to it.
John E. Winchester
Staring at the grave, a single tear trickled down Dean's face.
"I'm sorry," said Sam quietly. Dean shook his head, and walked over to a bed that was on the other side of the room. Sam saw himself sleeping in it. Calmly, Dean picked up a pillow from next the sleeping Sam's face. He then held the pillow over Sam's mouth, smothering his younger brother, and Sam saw his own eyes widen in terror as the doppelganger flailed his arms and legs ineffectively. Muffled sounds came from beneath the pillow, and all Sam could do was stare in horror as he watched his own brother murder him. "Dean, what the hell?" he shouted. "What are you doing?" The second Sam was lying lifeless on the bed. Dean simply reached into his pocket and took out a gun. Staring Sam straight in the eye, he cocked it and put it to his own head.
Sam didn't hear the gunshot, but he saw the light in his brother's eyes go dark and the body crumple to the floor. "DEAN!" he bellowed. But all of a sudden the scene changed again. "Okay, now this is weird," muttered Sam, looking around and finding himself back in the child's bedroom.
"Hi, Sammy. What are you doing here?" asked a four-year-old Dean Winchester.
"I'm still not sure." Sam frowned.
"You like soldiers, right?" Sam shook his head.
"No, and Dean, why are we here?" Young Dean frowned.
"Don't you like it here?" he asked.
"Dean, we don't have time." Dean's face lit up.
"Mommy! Daddy!" He raced out of the room and downstairs, and Sam had no choice but to go with him.