Chapter Text
Jared woke with a start. His head hurt a little and the light was dim, and he wasn't quite sure where he was. When had he fallen asleep?
"More nightmares?"
He turned at the sound of Jensen's voice and saw him sitting on the other ratty motel room bed, sharpening a knife. "No. Just…"
Wait. Were they on set? Those were Dean's clothes, those were Dean's motions, that was Dean's low pitch and Dean's hard expression, shading toward concern - but why didn't it look right? What were his lines? Shit, had he fallen asleep during a take? Why didn't they cut? He glanced over at the director, but no one was there. The room had four solid walls, covered in peeling, dingy paper. There were no cameras. The only other person in the room was Jensen. No, Dean.
Dean.
"You okay, Sam?" That was Dean's worried tone, and when Jared looked back at him, he could see the softening in his eyes, the stillness and then the twitch that meant he was about to get up and check on his brother.
"Yeah, I'm fine. I… I gotta piss," Jared said, temporizing.
He'd been in his trailer before, so clearly he'd fallen asleep and this was a dream. Okay, he could play along with this. He could pretend to be Sam, no problem, he did that all the time. Jared stood up, smoothing a hand over his t-shirt, realizing he was wearing just that and boxers, and stumbled into the little bathroom, ignoring the mold along the corners of the walls.
Grabbing the edge of the counter, Jared stared into the mirror.
That wasn't him.
It looked a lot like him, but it wasn't him. The hair was shorter, brushed back from his eyes. The mole on his cheek was gone, replaced by an almost invisible white line of scarring. His eyes were darker, solid brown, and they stared out at him wildly from the reflection. Everything was just a tiny bit off, and something in the line of the jaw and nose echoed… Dean's face.
Jared dropped his head, and that brought his gaze down to his arms. The left forearm had a raised pucker of scar running down the side and over the back of his hand, bisected by the leather cords tied around his wrist. The fingernails he was staring at were bitten and ragged in a way that made Jared want to clip them right away.
He looked back up at the mirror and stared at Sam Winchester.
Well, shit.
This was one crazy dream. He'd tell Jensen all about it later, when they got a makeup touch-up; they'd laugh, and the makeup artists would laugh, because Jared was always entertaining them.
But right now, he was not going to run any cold water and splash it on his face, much as he wanted to, just in case it felt too real. Instead, he was going to go out there and talk to Dean, and then they'd kick some monster ass or something. Since this was a dream, it would be fun, no heavy emotional issues or real danger, no need to be worried.
Jared clutched the counter a moment longer, then straightened up and left the bathroom. Dean was still sitting there on the bed. He was wearing a t-shirt and jeans, feet bare, and he was staring down at his knife, slowly smoothing the edge of the blade back and forth across the whetstone, making a soft 'shhhck' noise each time. Jared stared for a minute. Dean didn't look exactly like Jensen, either. The shape of his face was slightly more like Sam's, and the muscles in his arms, shifting as he repeated the motion of the knife, were bigger, and his hair was a shade darker.
Dean looked up, and there were hard lines at the corners of his eyes. He didn't smile. "Everything alright?"
Jared walked back toward the bed, noticing the duffel bag on the floor beside it. "Everything's fine. What's the next step?"
"Now that we know where the sucker is, we go get him. Simple."
Yeah, real simple, only Jared didn't know what they were fighting, since it sure didn't sound like the resurrected dead girl story they were currently filming, and he couldn't exactly just ask. He glanced around the room, but he didn't see any pages of research stuck to the walls. Maybe this was some other episode, and he'd know the plot. But which point in the storyline? Maybe he should ask to go over the notes again. Or ask how Dean was feeling.
"Hey, Dean… I was just wondering… Can I…" He trailed off, unable to figure it out. "How are you holding up?"
Dean cocked his head to the side, his arms stilling. His face was blank.
Smooth, Jared, he chided himself. Real smooth. That's Dean's favorite question right about now, isn't it.
"What do you mean?" Dean asked.
"You…" That wasn't Dean putting up walls, that was Dean being honestly confused. Okay, not current. It might be back in Season 1, or some other story completely. He shook his head. "Nothing."
Jared bent down to the duffel to pull out some pants and give himself a moment. As he was standing up, something hit him in the side, knocking his breath out and sending him careening down to the bed, and suddenly Dean was on top of him. Jared could feel his legs pinned beneath Dean's, his arms under Dean's chest, and the edge of the knife pressed into his throat, about to break the skin.
"You're not my brother. What are you? What did you do to him?"
"Dean…"
"Tell me." The knife pressed a little harder.
Jared lowered his voice to sound as soothing as possible. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm just a person, a human. You won't believe this, though." Or maybe he would, since it was all a dream. People always believed things in dreams. Jared didn't even try struggling.
"Where's Sam?"
"Hopefully he's where I… came from."
Dean stared down at him, face cold and hard with anger. "Where's that?"
"Are you going to take the knife off me?"
"No." The knife pressed down a hair more and started to sting.
Jared winced. "Shit. You're going to go bugfuck insane, the way you always do when Sam's missing." Dean was so predictable then, and it wasn't good for whoever was in his way, and right now that was Jared.
Dean glared, and Jared winced again. "Stop playing with me and tell me where my brother is and who you are."
"Um." Jared tried for a shy smile. "Hi, Dean. I'm Jared. Jared Padalecki. I'm an actor, on a TV show you've… probably never heard of. Because it's about you. Well, really it's about me, Sam, I mean, and you're the second character, so…"
"What the fuck are you talking about?" Dean still looked ready to skin him alive, but the knife eased off just a tad, and Jared swallowed.
"…So I woke up here and I think that means Sam is in Vancouver being me while I pretend to be him, even though you're supposed to just be fiction, and I am so having a talk with Kripke about what this all means once I wake up." He realized he was babbling, but who cared?
"Sam's in Vancouver? Canada? How'd you get to Iowa, then?" Dean had a thoughtful expression, like he believed at least some of it and was trying to figure out what to do next. Which didn't look to be slitting Jared's throat right then and there. Jared scrambled to think. Iowa? Was this Salvation? No, Dean didn't seem desperate enough for that.
"I don't know. But we could try calling my cell phone." It seemed like a sensible plan, call Sam up, have him tell Dean he was okay. There was a flaw in the logic somewhere, Jared knew, but he was too distracted by the knife at his throat and Dean's weight pinning him down to figure out what it was.
"I'd have to let you up. You might attack me."
"Point a gun at me or something." Normally Jared would never suggest that Dean Winchester point an actual loaded gun at him, but this wasn't normal. Dean reached his left hand behind him, and suddenly there was a gun at Jared's temple. Then Dean was standing up, gun still pointed at Jared, dropping the knife on the other bed and transferring the gun to his right hand, left bracing his wrist.
"Sam's phone is on the bedside table there. Move slow."
Slow as molasses, Jared reached over and picked up the phone. He dialed his own number. It was out of service. He shook his head, and Dean's eyes narrowed. Then Jared dialed Jensen's number. No answer, not even voice mail. Kripke's number, also out of service. Sandy's number, and that was Bob and Lisa's house, leave a message after the tone and we'll get back to you as soon as possible. Have a good day, and remember, Jesus loves you.
Jared looked back up at Dean, shoulders slumping. "I think I don't exist here. Which means Sam's… a little too far away to drive. Or even fly."
"So let me get this straight. You're from some sort of alternate reality, where me and Sam are a TV show, and you're an actor who plays Sam, and now suddenly the two of you have switched places, but you don't know how or what you did or how to do it again. Is that right?"
Jared stared at Dean incredulously. "How did you… wait, what?"
Dean rolled his eyes. "I've seen science fiction movies before. Did you think I was an idiot?" As Jared started to open his mouth, Dean held out his left hand. "Don't answer that."
"Okay, but you're actually wrong. This is a dream."
Dean barked with laughter. "No, it's not. I can cut you up some if you want me to prove that." He tossed the gun down beside the knife and sat down, staring at Jared. "This is a little different from what I normally deal with."
"Yeah."
"And Sam's safe enough in your Vancouver?"
Jared nodded. "No monsters, no psychos, nobody ought to be trying to kill him. That doesn't happen to me."
"Right." Dean folded his arms across his chest, and Jared noticed the scars circling his right bicep, parallel pale lines. His arms were really strong, and his hands were calloused and tough. Jared focused on them. "So I need to go finish this job and get those kids out, then figure a way to get Sam back."
"What's the job?"
"Doesn't matter. You're staying here."
"Don't you want to keep an eye on me?" The job could very well be dangerous, but Jared didn't want to be left behind. He wanted to at least watch. He was here, he should take his chance to experience this fully.
Dean stared at him, then shook his head briefly. Jared tried the big puppy dog eyes that always worked on Dean when Sam used them. Dean stared for a moment more, silent, and Jared was about to give up. Finally, Dean sighed. "I guess so. But you'll have to stay out of the way. You don't know how to handle yourself, and I don't want you getting hurt."
That was good. That meant Dean didn't think Jared was really a monster. Jared picked up the fallen pair of jeans and slipped them on. As he was doing so, he noticed a set of pockmarks across Sam's right knee, patterned as if something acidic had splattered on him and burned away the skin. He threw on a hoodie and shoes as Dean put on a black leather jacket and boots, gathered up his weapons, and handed Sam's cell and the laptop to Jared.
Jared followed Dean out the door. The weather was spring-like, but there was a cool breeze, and Jared was glad of the hoodie. The first thing he saw was the Impala, gleaming black in the rays of the sunset. Jared smiled at the sight. Dean stashed the weapons in the trunk while Jared waited, and then he got in and unlocked the doors. Jared smushed himself in, folding his legs up. This was a sweet car, but he hated the size of the seats.
Dean put his hand on the stick and threw the car into reverse, then flipped on the stereo. Blue Oyster Cult blasted out of the speakers. He glanced over at Jared. "You gonna complain about the music?"
"Nah, I like it." They drove for a few minutes without talking, then Jared had to ask. "What are we hunting? Is it a ghost?"
Dean's mouth twisted. Jared thought he would complain about the 'we', but he didn't. "Not a ghost. Something that used to be a person, before it went too far. Now it's just a predator."
"Kinda like a wendigo?"
"Yeah, kinda. It goes after little kids." His voice was tight when he said that, and Jared nodded. He got it. He couldn't think of anything that had targeted kids other than the shtriga, though, and it clearly wasn't that. Dean turned a corner too sharply, his shoulders tense. "So you and Sam switched places."
"Well, our minds did. This is definitely his body, though. We look similar, but not quite identical, and I certainly don't have all his scars."
"Yeah, you probably wouldn't. You don't sound quite like him, either. Got a bit of an accent." Before Jared could reply to that, they screeched to a stop in front of a ramshackle house. "We're here."
Jared got out and went around to the back to watch Dean pop the weapons compartment in the trunk. It was full of haphazard piles of guns and sheathed blades, with a few other blades strapped to the top. Garlic and a rosary hung from the corners of the lid. Dean pulled out two odd tazer-like devices and handed one to Jared.
"I want you to stay as out of the way as possible, but if it jumps you, zap the fucker with this."
Jared stared down at it. He'd seen this before, but... no, couldn't be. He tried to tell himself that if Dean owned these, he must have multiple uses for them, but he was really starting to worry.
He followed Dean inside. The door was unlocked, so they just walked right on in. Partway down the hall they could hear scrabbling and kids crying behind another door. Dean gestured to Jared to open it, while he covered both the door and the hall with his deliberate gaze. Jared pulled the door open to reveal a closet, and inside were a little boy and girl, hands bound. They heard a roar from deeper in the house.
"You take the kids outside. I'll get it."
Dean started to stalk away, and Jared reached out and grabbed his wrist. "Dean, no." The house wasn't identical, and it wasn't all happening quite the same, but he knew what this story was.
"Why not, Sa- The fuck do you think you're doing?"
"If you go after it, you'll die." The kids were still screaming.
Dean stared coldly at Jared. "You wouldn't kill me off on your show. I'm too handsome." He pulled his wrist free.
Jared shook his head. "You'll be dying. And I won't be able to do what it'll take to save you, and neither will you, if you know what it is."
Frowning, Dean glanced back along the hallway. "What, then? I'm not just letting that thing get away."
Jared bent to untie the kids, but they scrambled away from him. Dean came over and managed to calm them down with his soothing "talking-to-kids" voice and confidence, working the ropes off. They sent the kids running outside. Dean tried to push Jared after them, but he held his ground, so Dean took the lead, and they continued down the hallway. Jared held the tazer in front of him, ready to shoot, but it was so different from all the other times, following Jensen along fake hallways with guns full of blanks, stalking a stick with a rubber ball on it. It was different from shooting bottles out on someone's ranch, or going game hunting. His heart was pounding, and he could hardly focus on Dean's back, let alone any danger there might be.
Which was probably why the thing was able to come up behind him, and he only noticed when its claws sunk into his shoulder and it roared right in his ear, echoing his own scream.
Dean was there then, pulling him free, and Jared slammed into the wall. He blinked, saw the thing swiping at Dean's stomach, Dean grappling at its neck.
"Shoot it, Jared!"
"Not while you're right there!" Jared wasn't going to risk zapping Dean, no way, no how. Dean twisted, got a booted foot up, shoved the thing just a foot away. Jared shot. He watched in shock as the tazer leapt across the hall at the monster, trailing its wire, and electrical jolts ran over its scabby, nasty body until it fell to the floor. Dean and Jared stared at each other, leaning against opposite walls, panting, until Dean walked over and kicked the creature's body, flipping it over. It didn't respond.
"Damn straight," he muttered.
"Oh, fuck." Jared slumped down to the floor. "Fuck." He'd saved Dean's life, but he'd totally screwed up the plot, and only halfway through the first season, no less. Now what would happen?
"Hey, hey." Dean was right in front of him, hands on his shoulders, leaning in, expression worried. Jared pulled away as Dean's hand came down where the thing had clawed, making it burn. Dean grimaced and slid his hands down Jared's upper arms, squeezing. "You still with me?" He leaned in closer, and Jared saw that it had gotten him across the mouth, blood dripping down over his lips. His face was so close, blurring, looking more like Jensen, and Jared reached out and ran a thumb over his lower lip, wiping away the red stain, leaning in himself, opening his mouth to kiss-
"Jesus Christ." Dean pulled back. "You're my brother."
Jared blinked. What the hell? "I'm not your brother."
"You're in his body, so don't invite me to be." He sat back, letting go of Jared's arms. Jared just stared at him stupidly, feeling lightheaded. "That what you do with the guy who plays me?"
Jared nodded, throat tightening. This was all getting too confusing, and it wasn't fair of Dean to make him think about this stuff.
"What's his name?"
"Jensen." He wondered what Jensen and Sam were doing just then.
"Well, no wonder, with a pansy-ass name like that."
Jared blinked again. "Wow, you really are a jerk."
Dean didn't say anything, just stood up and grabbed Jared's uninjured arm, yanking him up as well. He stomped down the hallway, leaving Jared pretty much no choice but to follow him. They drove back to the motel slowly, Dean's face shuttered. Still, Jared could tell he was really hurt, the way he hunched a little, turned the wheel gingerly, took every corner gently, had blood soaking his shirt. The kids had disappeared, hopefully run back home, and the fact that Dean hadn't even tried to look for them emphasized how completely upset he was. Shit shit shit shit, Jared kept repeating to himself the whole way back.
It was dark when they pulled up in front of the motel. Dean gathered up his laptop and some stuff from the trunk, locked the car, and went into the motel room, Jared trailing dejectedly after him. He'd really messed things up. A lot.
He slumped down on his bed. Dean opened a battered metal tackle box and walked over, dumping it down next to Jared. "Let me see where it got you."
Jared looked up at him, uncertain. Dean waved a hand in front of his eyes. "Hey, Jared. Snap out of it, man." Jared batted the hand away. Dean continued talking, as slowly as he had to the frightened kids, but instead of the reassuring tone there was annoyance in his voice. "Just take off the shirt so I can clean up those claw punctures, okay?"
Jared sighed. "Dean, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…" He trailed off, not quite sure how to say anything without making it worse.
"Yeah, yeah. Whatever."
"Right." Jared pulled the shirt off over his head.
Dean grabbed a bottle from the tackle box. "Holy water. This shouldn't sting." He poured some over Jared's shoulder, and Dean was right, it didn't sting, nor was it cold, just wet. It dripped down on the bed, getting into the blanket. Dean wiped at Jared's shoulder with the shirt, then grabbed another bottle. "Whisky. This'll sting."
"Whisky? Haven't you ever heard of rubbing alcohol or hydrogen peroxide?"
Dean shrugged. "Ran out of that drugstore shit." He dumped a bunch of whisky on the cuts, swiping the shirt over them again. It did sting, and Jared flinched, rolling his head back. Dean pressed the cloth down for a minute, then he was pulling off his own shirt and flopping onto the bed next to Jared. Jared turned toward him.
"Holy fuck."
Dean had wiped the blood from his mouth long ago, but the wounds on his stomach were red and brown, the blood dried but not yet scabbed, broken open and bleeding again from the force of his fall to the bed.
"It's not that bad."
The white lines of older scars were visible curving around his side, over his heart, in addition to the ones Jared had noticed earlier around his bicep. Another line, raised and bumpy, traced over his left hipbone and disappeared under his jeans.
"What do I do?"
"Same as I just did to you."
So Jared poured the holy water and then the whisky over Dean's stomach and all over the bed - his bed, he thought, somewhere in the back of his mind. Dean kept his eyes closed, mouth pressed shut, but his face went just a little white when Jared started wiping away blood and water and alcohol with Dean's shirt. In the end he had to use Sam's shirt, too, which wasn't very hygienic, since it was already covered in someone else's blood - but Jared didn't think Dean would mind, as it was Sam's blood.
Dean lay still when Jared was done, and Jared started to wonder if he was going to fall asleep. He kept examining Dean. It was creepy how much he looked like Jensen, but totally distinct, much more so than the difference between Jensen-as-himself and Jensen-in-character. Even with his eyes closed and stomach covered in cuts, he looked completely wary, on edge, ready to leap up and into the fray at the slightest provocation. Jensen would be more relaxed and indolent.
Eventually Dean stood up and disappeared into the bathroom without a word, taking a roll of bandages with him. Jared tossed the bloody t-shirts over into the only corner that had nothing else strewn in it and dumped the sopping blanket on top of them. Luckily, most of the mess had soaked into the top blanket, so the bottom blanket and the sheets were only a little wet. The mattress seemed fine.
When Dean came out, he stalked to the far side of his bed, hands on his hips, midriff swaddled in white cloth, glaring at Jared. Jared stared back at him, and Dean's eyebrows slowly lifted.
It was hard to tell exactly which part of this little situation had him looking like that, so Jared figured he'd just ask. "What's bothering you so much?"
"I wouldn't mind a guy ogling my ass, if it weren't my brother."
"I'm not your brother. You said so yourself."
"Now you're just reminding me that you're the one who made him go missing."
Jared flung out his arms in exasperation. "I didn't exactly ask to be here. I'd much rather be living my own life, with my girlfriend, and my friends and family, and my job. The hours may be just as bad as yours, but at least the pay's better."
"Then go the fuck back there."
"I can't. And dude, if I weren't here, you'd have been electrocuted, and you'd be sitting in a hospital right now, dying of heart failure, leaving Sam desperate."
That got a response, and suddenly Dean was up in his face again. "You don't know what you're talking about. You don't know anything," he growled.
Jared leaned in, yelling back. He wasn't going to give in to Dean, and Sam's voice could growl just as well. "I know that you used to crawl into baby Sammy's crib to sleep with him. When he got attacked by the shtriga, you thought your dad blamed you, and you blamed yourself, and you've followed orders ever since. You told Cassie the truth because you needed someone to care for, but she dumped you, and then even Dad left, without a word to you until-"
Dean's eyes blazed with rage, and he slammed Jared back against the wall, hands around his upper arms again. "Shut. Up." Jared was actually surprised he'd gotten as far as he had before Dean did anything like that.
"Oh, yeah, that's something else you do. You get angry to cover the pain."
Dean's hand came up, drawing back to punch him.
"Go on, give your brother a black eye to come home to."
The grin was cold and sharp. "He'll understand."
Shaking his head, Jared refused to back down. Dean's anger was just pissing him off even more, and he really felt he could keep on like this forever. "No, he won't. You two never understand each other. All the same things happen to you, and you never see them the same."
"And you think because some guy wrote a TV show, you know all about me and my family? You're just some idiot who can't do anything real." Dean was shaking, but he dropped his fist and pressed his hand against Jared's chest, holding him there to the wall. Jared's back hurt now, too. He could see the creeping emptiness in Dean's eyes, the same emptiness Sam never noticed until it was almost too late.
"I know you'd do anything for them, including put up with me."
Dean turned away, touching his fingers to his temples, wiping his palm down over his face. "Just stop trying to pull that psychoanalysis bullshit, okay?"
Quotes from previous episodes kept flashing through Jared's head, and he could hear Jensen's voice murmuring, "fucking fixated when he gets like this." He nodded, but Dean wasn't looking at him anymore, was gazing off at the peeling wallpaper on the other side of the room instead. Jared pushed past him into the bathroom, staring at Sam's face in the mirror, finally splashing that cold water all over. At least Sam's skin didn't seem as dry as Jared's. When he used the toilet he really tried not to think of it as someone else's piss coming out. He also tried not to think about it while he brushed his teeth with what he figured was Sam's toothbrush, the one with the shaped bristles and ergonomic handle, rather than the cheapest plain one that anyone could possibly get laying beside it. Sam clearly didn't get his teeth bleached as regularly as Jared did. He checked his back for bruises, but it was too soon to tell, and all he could see were more scars. How had Sam explained all of those to Jess? What sorts of crazy stories about dirt bikes and neighbors' dogs and wacky dares from his older brother did he make up to fool her, trying to turn them true if he repeated them enough?
Jared closed his eyes for a minute. There were really dead women in this world, and killer demons on the loose.
When he finally went back out, Dean was in bed, buried under the blankets, back turned to him. Jared stripped off the stained jeans and crawled into his own damp bed, turning out the lights. It had been around lunch when he woke up here, and he was still hungry, but he was tired, too, and there didn't seem to be anything else worth doing. He thought about his dogs, wanted them there to help him sleep.
Eventually he rolled over. "Dean?"
There was a low mumble from the dark.
"Do you snore?"
"You'll find out." The teasing humor rang clear through Dean's voice, the vicious anger gone.
Jared smiled and punched his pillow back into shape, snuggling deeper and feeling a little better, though he still fell asleep wanting his dogs.