Who? Dean & Sam What? Pie, alcohol, and totally breaking the anti-chick-flick moment rule stoic manliness. Where? Kitchen, in the Team-Good-Guy HQ. When? Immediately after this. Rating? Not terrifying?
Dean wasn’t sure this was a good idea at all - but, then, what else was he supposed to do? As much as seeing this colder, wrong Sam hurt, he couldn’t just pretend he wasn’t here. It hurt worse to not see him, made images of his brother laying on a bare mattress, slowly turning gray, flash up behind his eyes whenever his brother’s name passed through his mind, and he’d rather have an image of a wrong Sam than a dead one, thanks.
It was probably a good thing Sam was in a different room, he was starting to think. He didn’t know if he’d be able to handle watching his brother act like someone else all the time.
Dean had taken to keeping a stash of various alcohols under his bed - it wasn’t really hidden, what with the lack of privacy in the room, the angels in there with him who could probably read his mind, and his lack of discretion when he took it out sometimes, but it was in easy reach without having to go find something when he needed it, and it wasn’t like he’d paid for it, so if some went missing, whatever - and he took a long couple swigs from one of the nearest bottles. He had a feeling he was going to need the warm hazy feeling to help him get through even just the start of this; whatever he’d drink once he got down there would need a head start. He slid the bottle back into place, and headed out to the kitchen.
He didn’t linger or dawdle to get to the kitchen. He just went straight there, even though there was a large part of him that wanted to drag the trip out, linger in the halls or just take off altogether, go back to his room, or head outside and never stop until he found himself back home, just keep walking like he’d always spent his live driving. He wasn’t going to do that, though, he couldn’t because there was nowhere to go, and even if there was, he’d be alone, and that was half the problem. So he arrived in the kitchen on time, for the most part, to find his brother already there. Even knowing this wasn’t the same Sam he’d left behind, just seeing him standing there was like seeing his Sam, Sammy standing up after days of being cold and dead, and he had to fight not to grab the impostor in a hug.
Instead, he just offered a nod, arms folded tight across his chest to keep from reaching for his brother or a weapon, when the wrong wrong wrong chill started to creep in. “Hey.”