Sam tapped on the keyboard of his computer and looked at the screen in dismay. Dean, sitting on his bed, brooding, his arms folded, saw Sam's worried look and asked, "What is it?"
"Something's wrong here," Sam said, his worried hazel eyes never leaving the screen.
Dean feigned a look of shock. "You think?" he dicho sarcastically.
Sam shook his head. "No, I mean, something's really wrong."
His tone caught Dean's attention, made the hairs on his arms stand on end. "Like what?"
Sam took a deep breath and looked up at Dean. "Like, I've done a buscar on Samantha and Deanna Winchester, and they're real. They have the exact same history as ours: parents are John and Mary Winchester, Mary died in a house fuego in 1983, both children attended Truman High School for one mes when they were teenagers, and Samantha was studying pre-law at Stanford universidad in California when she dropped off the map."
Dean's head was spinning. "So, what, they're stealing our identities, tryng to turn into us?"
Sam looked grim. "If that's the case, they're doing a hell of a job."
Dean was getting scared. "What do tu mean?"
Sam looked back at the computer screen, raised his hand, let it drop back on the table, and shook his head. "I've looked through every database I can find, and we're not even listed. Anywhere. Under any alias."
"It's like we've never existed, but those girls always have."
"What the hell...?"
Sam just sat staring at the screen and shaking his head.
Dean felt anxious and restless, and he started pacing the room. "What kind of a creature would do that?"
Sam shrugged. "I don't know. But we can be sure of two things: they're not demons o shapeshifters. tu did know there was a devil's trap under the rug, right?"
Dean smiled smugly. "Of course I did. That's why I made sure to walk into it. Did tu notice that the pen Sammy-girl gave tu was plated with silver?"
"How'd tu know she had it, anyway?"
"Cuz I have one," Sam dicho simply.
Dean looked curious. "Where'd tu get yours?"
Sam looked a little sheepish. "You remember when we first met Zachariah, about a año and a half ago?"
They were interrupted por a knock at the door. Dean went to the door and looked through the peephole. Satisfied, he unlocked and opened the door.
Samantha stood outside, holding a pizza box. Dean grinned. "The pizza delivery girl."
"No, this is for me and Sam," Samantha said. "You can división, split with D for the other one, if tu get over there before she eats it all."
Dean was somewhat intrigued. "And tu and Sam...?"
"Got some preguntas to ask him," Samantha answered. "D's got some for you, too."
Dean smiled. "Fine. Come on in. Just let me get my jacket." Dean snatched his chaqueta off the cama and shrugged into it. As he passed Sam, he thumped his brother's shoulder and whispered, "Go for it, Sammy!"
Sam furrowed his brow. "What?"
"She's cute. Have fun! Anyway, I'm going to."
"Dean!" scolded Sam.
Dean smiled and winked at Samantha on his way out, closing the door behind him.
Sam groaned deep in his throat and looked up at Samantha apologetically, running a hand through his tousled, dark hair. "I'm sorry, about my brother-"
Samantha held up her hand and said, "Don't apologize. I already know what it's like. Hungry?"
Sam shook his head. "No, not really."
Samantha tossed the pizza box on Dean's bed. "Me, either." She sat down on the edge of the cama and looked at Sam, who still sat in the chair por the table. The two of them just looked at each other for a moment, and Sam found his gaze travelling over Samantha's soft, golden hair.
"What is it?" asked Samantha, seeing the way he was looking at her.
Sam's cheeks reddened, and he stammered, "Ah, I... you... look so much like my mother." He smiled very slightly, and very nervously. "She was beautiful, too."
Samantha smiled back, feeling herself blushing a little. "Thanks. If your mother looked like my mother... well, yes, she was beautiful."
Sam glanced back at the computer screen, chewing on his lip, not even realizing that the screen had turned itself off because it had been idle for too long.
"So," Samantha said, breaking the silence, "I take it you've discovered the, uh... discrepancy por now."
Sam laughed mirthlessly. "If that's what tu call finding out that I'm not real and tu are... yeah, I found it." He looked up at Samantha. "So now you're ready to stake and burn us, o find and burn our bones o something, right?"
"Me, no," Samantha said. "D is, though, and I'm sure Dean is the same."
"So tell me something about yourself," Samantha said. "I know tu went to Stanford. Why'd tu leave?"
Sam glanced down at the floor sadly.
Sam looked up abruptly. "How did you-"
"I lost my boyfriend in a fuego in our apartment," Samantha confessed. "Jesse Lee Moore."
Sam shook his head. "Everything's the same. Only the genders are backwards. And not even that. I mean, you're parents weren't Mark and Joan, o anything like that."
"Only a few minor changes to make your lives essentially the same as ours," Samantha mused. "I just don't get it."
Sam looked pensive. "I have a theory, but it's pretty wild."
Samantha spread her hands invitingly. "Shoot."
"How much do tu know about parallel worlds?"
Samantha raised her eyebrows.