Double Cross
K Hanna Korossy

Sam was worried about his brother.

That was not an unusual state of affairs in itself. He'd pretty much worried about Dean every day since he was ten. But it had been a while since Sam had feared something he himself had done had messed up things between them. Since the last great awful round of secrets—Gadreel and the Mark and the spell to get rid of the Mark—they had finally mostly renounced lying to each other. Okay, yeah, so Sam hadn't told Dean right away about getting infected with the Darkness, and Dean had been a little cagey at first about Amara's influence on him. But once things quieted down, they spilled their secrets and dealt with them together, and it had been so much better that way that Sam wondered why they'd ever tried to hide things in the first place.

So he probably should've just told Dean he wanted to try working with the British Men of Letters instead of making up stories about computer algorithms and news alerts. Dean had been so betrayed when their Mom had signed up with the Brits, and Sam never wanted him to feel that way about his brother.

This wasn't better.

"Fine," Dean had finally said. He hadn't gotten mad, just thought about it a minute, then agreed, conditional to quitting if something felt wrong. Which was probably what he'd have said if Sam had asked two weeks before, but now he knew Sam had been lying about it to him for two weeks. And still he didn't seem to be mad, or hurt. He was just…quiet.

Which disturbed Sam. Not long before, Dean had snapped at Sam to pick a side. Had he picked wrong?

Sam finished his conversation with Mick, telling him they needed a day or two before setting out on a new hunt. He was just putting his phone away when Dean passed him on the way to the door, jacket in hand.

"Where are you going?" Sam asked, trying not to sound as plaintive as he felt.

"Out." Dean's momentum flagged three steps up, and he paused. Without turning to Sam, he added, "I'm just gonna go have a few drinks."

It was an olive branch, and Sam took it. "Give me a call if you need a ride home."

Dean nodded shortly and continued out, footsteps ringing on the metal stairs, door clanging shut behind him.

Yeah. Sam was still worried.

00000

Dean turned the shot glass in a slow circle on the scarred bar, staring into the whiskey. Sometimes he just needed to get out of the bunker. And, okay, away from Sam.

He knew from the dismay on his brother's face that Sam was scared he'd screwed things up with Dean and…well, maybe there was a little of that. It had certainly stung to find out Sam had not only agreed to work with the sons of Brit bitches, but then had lied about it for weeks. Dean thought they were united on that front. But, well, Sam was the one with the real ax to grind with the BMs, so if he wanted to give them a chance, Dean would follow his lead. He just wished Sam had told him first.

And that Mom had told them first, and listened to their answer.

And that Dean didn't have to worry now about Sam and Mom and the Brits and Rosemary's Baby. He was just so freakin' tired of it all.

The phone buzzed in his pocket, probably Sam fussing about where he was. Dean rolled his eyes and pulled it out, ready to tear Sam a new one for not giving him space. But there was no name on the screen, and he froze when he saw the source of the number.

Cicero, Indiana.

Dean flinched. Lisa?

He'd never erased her contact info. Even though she didn't remember him, even though he never expected to talk to her again, hadn't done so in years. She and Ben were still in there because Dean did not have a lot of people that mattered to him, but they did. It wasn't her number coming up now; it could still be someone else calling. But from Cicero?

He thumbed the phone on, lifting it numbly to his ear. "Hello?"

"Dean? Is this Dean Winchester?"

He'd have known her voice even if he hadn't already been braced for it. Dean still dreamed it sometimes. "Lis?"

She sighed in relief. "Dean. Hey. Long time."

"Uh, yeah." Years since he'd asked Castiel to take her memories of him.

"Hey, are you still in Lebanon? I, uh…I'd like to see you."

Was this a dream—was he dreaming? How did she even know about Lebanon and the bunker? "Yeah…?"

"Great! I'm, uh, actually pretty near you. Could I maybe…stop by? Grab a drink and talk?"

Dean shook his head, trying to clear it. He'd only had one whiskey; it was memories fogging his brain. "Uh, okay, sure." He glanced around the pub. Not here. He thought for a second. "What would you say to some pizza?"

"I'd say, just like old times." He could hear the smile in her voice.

Old times, right. "Hey, uh, how do you…?" How did you even ask this?

"…remember you?" she finished unexpectedly, her voice dry. "That's one of the things we should talk about. So, you wanna give me an address?"

An hour later, he was in a corner booth at the pizzeria, far from the few other customers. A cooling meat lovers' pizza sat in front of him, but Dean only had eyes for the door. Was she going to walk through it? Or was this some kind of prank? Djinn fantasy? Hallucination? Dream? There was no way Lisa—

—appeared in the doorway looking just like the last time he'd seen her, her hair up loose like he liked, in that blue silk shirt and jeans that looked awesome on her. She looked around the room, saw him, and honest-to-God blushed. She headed his way.

Dean stumbled to his feet like he'd forgotten how to stand. His face felt hot, his hands freezing. She still lit a fire in him, but he couldn't even process her being here. Love and fear constricted his throat.

She stopped about two feet away from him, eyes tracing him up and down. "Hi."

He cleared his throat. "Hi."

They stared at each other another moment. Then she leaned forward, slowly so he could retreat if he wanted, and kissed him, gentle and sweet.

Something long frozen in him thawed a little, and he let himself kiss her back, just as soft.

They pulled back by degrees, just looking at each other. Up close, Dean could see a few more lines around her eyes, a few strands of white in her dark hair. It just seemed to make her more beautiful. He wondered what she saw. Shadows left by the Mark, Purgatory, being a demon, dying again?

But she just brushed a hand through his hair. Dean found himself leaning into it, closing his eyes just a moment and savoring the touch.

When he opened his eyes, Lisa was smiling, a little sad. All she said was, "Still meat lovers?"

God, he'd forgotten how easy it was with her. "Of course."

"I'm starving."

The way she said it made him want to get her out of there, but Dean swallowed it and waved her to the bench seat across from his.

"So," she said, smiling almost shyly. "Fancy meeting you here."

"Yeah," was all he could manage, still stunned by her nearness, the way seeing her turned him inside-out.

They made small talk. Sam was doing okay. Ben was a senior and looking at colleges. The Winchesters had settled permanently in Lebanon—Lisa had known Sam was based there, and made the leap that Dean was, too. The Braedens were still in Cicero. Mary Winchester was back from the dead. Lisa hadn't married. The usual.

She'd changed some in the years since he'd seen her. But her smile, her eyes, her humor were just the way he'd remembered. It filled his head with so much emotion, he could barely think.

Lisa packed away four slices of pizza—one of the things Dean had always loved about her—before pushing her plate away with a sigh. "Anyway. You're probably wondering how I'm even here."

He swallowed his last bite with difficulty and dropped the rest of the piece onto his plate.

"I know what you did," Lisa said soberly. "I mean…not how. But you just…cut yourself out of our lives, right? No memories, not even from when we first met. What was it, some kind of spell, or, I don't know, potion?" For the first time she sounded a little bitter.

"An angel, actually," Dean said, almost huffing a laugh.

She blinked. "An angel. Of course. Anyway, your angel kind of forgot a few things. Like your stuff all over our house. And all the people who knew you. Third person asks you about some guy you've never heard of, you start getting suspicious, you know?"

Dean's phone buzzed. For the fourth time since he'd sat down, but he ignored it. He had bigger things to worry about than Sam's need for reassurance. But… "I thought Sam explained that." His brother had actually been pretty clever, introducing himself as CIA to Lisa without Dean's knowledge, explaining all about the undercover agent she'd hosted for a year and how the bad guys had drugged her and Ben to make them forget. It had given her an explanation and a contact in case she needed help, and Dean loved his brother for that even as he'd chewed him out for it.

"You mean Agent Poirot?" she said wryly. "He did. And I believed his story for a couple of years…mostly. But then I started having these…dreams. About you and me. And it turned out Ben was having them, too. So I started digging, and the more I dug, the more came back."

"Friggin' Cas," Dean muttered under his breath. The angel was officially on his blacklist now along with Sam.

"For a long time I didn't know if I should try to contact you, you know? I mean, take a girl's memories, she kinda gets the hint." Lisa smiled wanly. "But…I missed you. We both have. And I remembered how good we could be, all the great parts. The feelings stayed even when the memories didn't, you know?"

Oh, God, did he know. Every woman, whether he acknowledged it in the moment or not, he compared to her. The picture of her and Ben was buried deep in his wallet. He knew Sam kept track of her, and Dean avoided asking questions. But in his stray thoughts and dreams… She was the one who got away. Whom he'd pushed away but never stopped wanting.

His phone buzzed again. Dean reached into his pocket and shut it off while he shook his head. "Lis…I…"

"I'm not saying come back with me," she quickly interrupted. "Just…maybe we can figure something out? I'm not…I'm not okay with what you did. I mean, talk about consent issues? But…over time…I got it. Enough to be willing to move past it." Another small smile. "And I tried, Dean, I really did, but memories or no, I never got over—"

"Dean!"

Dean blinked, his fantasy bubble popped by his brother's voice. He looked up to see Sam looming over them. He hadn't even noticed his approach. "What—?"

"I need to talk to you. Both of you," Sam rushed on, giving Lisa a look, but Dean couldn't help notice he didn't seem surprised. "Not here. Outside."

"Sam!" Lisa said, and at least she seemed as startled as Dean did. "Hey! I—"

Sam ignored her, refocusing on Dean. "Please. It's urgent."

Dean felt his jaw set. Six years it'd been since he'd given up Lisa, and Sam couldn't give them an hour to talk? Did he have to ruin everything? "Sam—"

"Dean, please." Sam hesitated. "It's Mom."

That struck home. Dean quashed his irritation and glanced back at Lisa, who just looked confused. He offered her his hand. "Come with me?"

She only hesitated half a second before slipping her hand into his. He helped her stand, and didn't let go of her as he followed Sam out the back entrance, into the alley. Seriously, what was going on?

When the door closed behind them, shutting them out in garbage-scented darkness, Sam rounded on them. His face was harder now, his eyes sharp-focused on Lisa.

Dean felt himself pull her behind him a little, drawing Sam's attention. "Okay, Sam, what about Mom? Is she all right?"

"She's fine," Sam said shortly. "I lied, okay? This is about her," he pointed at Lisa. "Dean, that's not Lisa. She's a siren."

Her hand spasmed in his, and Dean tightened his grip. He knew that hand, knew every inch of her. He gave his brother a cold look. "Seriously, Sam? That's the best you could come up with? She's a siren?"

Sam's eyes softened when they looked at him. "You think I'd make this up? Dean, Mick called. The siren we killed, he thinks it had a sibling."

"Oh, well, if Mick called…"

"And I checked," Sam pushed on. "I looked in the window and I saw…her, so I made a call. Dean, I just talked to the real Lisa, who's in Cicero, with Ben, and who still doesn't remember any of this. This is not her."

"Dean?" came the familiar whisper behind him. It had been a beacon to him a hundred nights when he'd been lost in grief. It was Lisa; it had to be Lisa.

"I know her, Sam," he told his brother flatly. "I think you should go before—"

"Before what, Dean?" Sam lifted both hands. "Look, I know I messed up, okay, and that you're probably having a little trouble trusting me right now. I get that. But I'm still asking you. Trust me on this. It's not her. I know you want it to be, but it's not."

He did want it to be. And she was. His finger slid over hers, to find the thin scar on her ring finger where she'd sliced it once cutting up cucumbers. Her hand was the right weight and length and softness, and it trembled a little in his. Dean could feel his face cloud over.

"Sam—"

"You know what, I'll prove it to you. You can see their true form in mirrors, right?" Sam fumbled for his phone.

"Dean, you two are scaring me," Lisa said from behind him. "If he's not leaving, I will."

This was not freaking happening. Dean squeezed her harder even as his breath tightened. He couldn't lose her again. "No, I…"

"Please don't let him—"

"Look, man, it's—"

She looked panicked, stirring every protective instinct in him. But so did Sam, his face was full of honest desperation and certainty and fear.

With a growl, Dean yanked the knife out of the sheath under his jacket and jabbed the point into the meat of his forearm. Not even registering the pain, he turned to face Lisa.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, gutted by the look of horror on his face, as he drew the blade along her exposed wrist. Not deep; it didn't have to be deep to tell him what he needed to know.

She gasped, which was expected. Shaking him off so hard that he stumbled back was a little more of a surprise. Her eyes were huge…and they were changing color even as she looked at him.

"You shouldn't've…It's not…How…?" And then she shuddered and was falling, into his arms.

No, no, no. Not again. Dean took it all back.

But Lisa—not-Lisa—arched in his grip. "Why…?" she got out. And then she went slack.

She was dead. Lisa was dead.

No, not Lisa, Dean tried to tell himself. A siren, which would've eventually killed him. But, God, it was her face, her body. As he pressed his face into her neck, it was her smell, her hair brushing against his face.

"Dean…"

He opened an eye to see Sam hovering helplessly beside him, phone in one hand. Dean could see a blob of gray on the screen, knew it would show a nightmare creature instead of the woman he still loved. And he couldn't bear to look at it. He turned away so Sam couldn't see the wetness of his eyes.

His brother didn't say another word.

Eventually, Dean finally stood, hoisting the body in his arms. Sam silently hurried ahead of him, holding open the door of the Aston-Martin Dean had borrowed from the garage in place of the trashed Impala. Dean handed him the key without meeting his eyes, and Sam gave him a handkerchief to tie off his still-bleeding arm and drove them home. Sam only broke the quiet when they reached the bunker and he watched Dean collect the body.

"I can take care of her."

Dean shook his head once. "I'll do it," was all he said, and he headed into the woods with his burden.

Sam didn't follow. Even if he would've, Dean knew he would have felt utterly alone.

00000

Sam was worried about his brother.

Dean had returned about an hour after they got home, smelling like smoke, his eyes hollow. He'd passed Sam in the library without a word or glance to go shower and then retreat to bed.

Sam called Mick to tell him the second siren was taken care of, then got a little drunk before he also turned in. He kinda doubted Dean got any more sleep than he did.

There was half a pot of fresh coffee waiting when he stumbled into the kitchen sometime the next…morning? Afternoon? Didn't really matter when there were no windows. Sam drank a cup, ate a bowl of cereal without tasting it.

They hadn't screwed up. There'd been no reason to think they were hunting two sirens, which were usually solitary creatures. Sam had saved his brother's life by alerting Dean to what she really was, and Dean had shown amazing strength in overcoming the siren's influence long enough to test her. The last time a siren had gotten to them, they'd nearly killed each other. This was a major win.

But Dean wouldn't see it that way. Sam had studied his brother through the pizzeria window; he'd seen the way Dean looked at the woman he'd lived with for over a year. The love was still there, and the memories had to be raw. If Sam had spent time with a miraculously returned Jess, only to kill her…

He fried a pair of eggs, made a sandwich, and filled another mug with coffee. Then Sam headed to the garage.

Dean was exactly where Sam had expected to find him, hard at work on the Impala. The hellhound had warped her body and broken the windshield front and back, and Dean was currently trying to pry a mangled window free.

Sam set the sandwich and coffee down on the garage floor next to the car, grabbed a crowbar, and joined in.

Dean paused. He looked at Sam.

Sam looked back. He hoped his brother could see in his face everything he felt.

Maybe he did. Or maybe he didn't need to.

Dean started in on the window again, working with Sam to pry it out. And when they were done and Sam grabbed a broom and started to sweep up the glass, Dean sat down on a ledge and ate the sandwich and drank the coffee.

Not a word was exchanged all afternoon as they worked. But Sam stopped worrying so much.

The End