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It’s weird, seeing this other version of himself. It’s really goddamn fucking weird.
When the Dostoevskian nightmare finally manages to die down into just a really, really unsettling waking dream, Dean finds that it’s not exactly as fun as it should be. It is, in fact, decidedly unfun. This is Freaky Friday level stuff, and him and Bizarro Dean should be having a ball right now, but they are not. Because it’s weird.
“You’re… calm about this,” observes Dean, actual Dean, Numero Uno Number One. He’s got a beer in his hand because all possible alcohol is welcome at this point, but he reckons Bizarro Dean is just itching to break out the whiskey, he recognises the way his fingers twitch for a glass, like Dean does in withdrawal. Well, Amen to that, brother. Bring it on.
“Not our first rodeo with the Mirror Verse,” admits Other Dean, focusing on swilling around his beer so he doesn’t have to look up. Dean didn’t realise it was so obvious when he did that, that so much of this shit read on his face. He’s gonna have to work harder. “Never done a Freaky Friday stint this bad, though.”
“Tell me about it,” says Dean, and laces his fingers around the bottle, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the kitchen table. It makes it harder for Other Dean to avoid his eyes, which was the aim— not that Dean’s particularly thrilled to be going down this avenue, but they haven’t got much else to do. Plus, sue him for this, but Dean’s interested. “Like, actually do, for real. ‘Cause I gotta say, you’re… I mean, this is weird, man. It’s weird. Right?”
“Oh, yeah,” says Other Dean, with a huff of laughter. It’s a little strained, but it looks alright. It’s a mind-bend and a half seeing himself flipped the wrong way around with a stupid haircut to top it off, but it’s close enough to what he sees in the mirror that there’s no other word for it but fascinating. And like, objectively speaking, Other Dean’s not looking too bad for someone about to cross the bridge to forty. Dean feels weirdly proud of himself. “It’s goddamn fucking weird.”
Dean laughs too, at that, even as his eyes won’t stop cataloguing the differences, cosmetic as they are. Hair styled back versus brushed down, the flannel versus the trim tan jacket, the manly man’s watch versus the beaded bracelets. It’s— well, it’s horrible, actually, to see a version of himself that’s like this. His gut's all twisted up.
“We should get back to it,” Other Dean says, probably all anxious to get away from this, if Dean’s own feelings are any indication. “I ain’t made enough fun of Sam yet.”
“Good luck with that,” snorts Dean, following after, because his Sam is just fine, thanks. That thought then gets derailed because it turns out that he and Dark Dean have even got the same frigging walk. Other Dean’s legs bow out at the knees just like his, and he doesn’t know if that’s reassuring or not, but probably not. He wonders if Other Cas put those ones back together, too, or if it was some other angel. He doesn't wanna ask.
Cas and Jack are back now, too, sitting across from Sam and Sam respectively at the map table (now that’s a mind-meld) and Dean’s ridiculous, pounding heart leaps up a little at that, waving it’s stupid flag up and down like Cas! Cas! Cas is here!
Shut the fuck up, thinks Dean, but he’s always been useless at actually following through on that. Maybe he could get Other Dean to give the order, maybe hearing it aloud would actually do something, or maybe not. Maybe Other Dean’s head does the exact same thing.
He’s trying hard not to notice the way Cas keeps taking the chance to stare intermittently at the two of them, focusing instead on swapping stories. It’s not like it’s weird, he’s certainly been doing his own share of staring, but he’s just— aware of it. He’s gotta wonder what Cas is thinking, if he’s feeling the same spinout. Maybe he’s just so angelified that it doesn’t bother him, or maybe he and Other Dean’s souls are too similar for Cas to be able to see the differences, but he hopes, stupidly, that Cas is able to. He hopes, stupidly, that Cas likes him better.
Well, fat chance of that. Other Dean is cool.
Yeah, obviously, it’s stupid to be jealous of one’s self. Yada, yada, yada, Dean gets the picture that he’s being ridiculous, which is totally not fair when Other Dean’s walking around in that outfit. Their worlds are too different to think that John Winchester’s death did all of this, ‘cause the stones were in motion way before dear old Dad even had anything to do with it, but it stings, seeing a suggestion of what Dean could’ve been. If this hadn’t happened, if that didn’t suck so bad, then maybe he’d be a bit more like that.
To be living out of Dad’s shadow, to be allowed to have things, to have Cas—
Dean needs to speed up on shutting up, actually. This is stupid, he’s being stupid. He wouldn’t trade his version of Sam for all of this, Cas included, so it’s no good moping about it. It’s just rough. Other Dean’s got this self-assuredness that Dean still covets, with his masc-butch wardrobe and his John Wayne drawl, the kind Dean used to mimic off of old movies when he was a kid. He never quite perfected it, assimilated into Dad’s business instead, all private jets and business suits, and it’s making his chest ache to see that here he followed through, made himself into the man he wanted to be.
And, like, Dean’s not— he is who he is, and that’s okay. He’s pretty long accepted that. But lazing around, drinking beer, driving that wicked car— he’s allowed to want that. Allowed to know that those parts of him are there, that the four year old kid who just wanted to be a fireman and the twelve year old who was gonna be a rockstar didn’t just cut out on him entirely. It’s kinda nice to see that they got a chance at becoming that in this other Dean. Bizarro Dean reminds him of the Action Man toys he had as a kid, and whatever kind of nostalgia or sympathy kicks up looking at him aches in his chest. Bet the bastard hasn’t got the eagle eyes, though.
He looks up over the table, and this, this is like looking in the mirror. Dean knows the expression that meets him well.
It’s just weird, is all. Just really fucking weird.