No Place Like Home
ETA 12/19/2011: Now you can download the PDF! Thanks to weeping00willow! :)
Title: No Place Like Home, Part 1 (of 2)
Pairing: J2
Rating: R
Word Count: 15,416
Warnings: Spoilers up to 4.14, hurt!Jared, angst
Disclaimer: They own themselves. And my soul.
Synopsis: When Jared wakes up injured in an abandoned building, he has no memory of how he got there. Help shows up in the form of Sam and Dean Winchester. They help him find a way back home, where he's reunited with Jensen, only to find that nothing is as it seems.
Notes: This fic was bugging me, and I finally managed to finish it and make some sense of it. Now the first part doesn't seem so weird and random. It was going to contain some actual smut, but...somehow, that didn't work out.
Banner by ala_tariel
He doesn’t know how long it’s been. He doesn’t know how he got here, or whether or not his best friend is still alive. Hell, at this point, he’s not even sure if he’s still alive.
He’s not sure what’s real and what’s not anymore, even though he’s struggling to keep his hold on what he thinks is real. He’s struggling, because if he doesn’t - if he loses his grip - he just might be lost forever.
****
He woke up on the upper floor of an old abandoned building, the windows broken and the floorboards worn. Cold air forced its way through jagged glass holes, and his entire body shivered. He could feel the chill of the rotting hardwood through the thin fabric of his t-shirt where he lay on his back on the floor.
Fear crept up on him slowly, his mind in a deep fog. He’d managed to get himself up on his bare feet, the floor creaking dangerously beneath them, before the full panic of I don’t know where I am set in beneath the dull throb of his head. Reaching a hand up to the back of his skull, he felt a warm wetness that made his heart beat a little bit faster, bile rising up in his throat.
I don’t know where I am, and my head is bleeding.
He stared at the blood on his fingers for long seconds, shivering and beginning to feel dizzy. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, swallowing against his nausea and telling himself to calm down, he could figure this out. Reaching back for the last thing he could remember, he found a large black gap of nothingness in his memory. He had no recollection of danger, pain, or how the hell he could have ended up here, alone.
Alone? The word wormed its way into his thoughts and wedged itself into his brain, pulsing its panicked reminder that he hadn’t seen or heard any sign of human life since he’d woken up. He opened his eyes and looked around the room. It was empty and, from what he could see in the moonlight filtering through the windows, almost completely devoid of color, the whole of it washed out in a dull gray. It was crumbling and somewhat tilted, the building’s foundation clearly unstable.
He shivered again and pressed the heel of his hand against the ache in his forehead, his body jumping violently when a sudden burst of gunfire erupted from the floor below him. He cried out and backed up until he hit the wall, suddenly eyeing the door that hung open on its frail hinges, hoping that he hadn’t been loud enough for whoever was downstairs to hear him. He heard feet pounding on the lower floor, running, chasing, and he held still and held his breath, praying that he wouldn’t be found. After a few muffled shouts, doors creaking noisily open and slamming shut, there was silence; complete deafening silence.
He wasn’t sure how many minutes he allowed to tick by before he was moving, slowly, each creak and groan of the floor echoing in his ears. His only focus now was the only thing he could think to do, which was find a way out of this place and head for help. He knew that he was hurt and that somebody had to have been looking for him. At least, that was what he hoped. But he couldn’t stay here; not after he’d heard gunshots in the very same building. If whoever opened fire downstairs came back for another sweep of the place, he’d be a sitting duck.
The hallway was infinitely darker than the room he’d been in, as it was nearly devoid of windows. One small circular window above the stairs to his left allowed a thin beam of light to shine down upon them. He made his way to the banister, bracing himself on the wall as he went. It nearly broke apart when he set his hand down upon it, cursing when he almost ended up with a palmful of splinters. He stared down at the stairs and their accompanying railing, and was overcome by a strong sense of vertigo, closing his eyes and stumbling back against the wall behind him. Of all the things he had to deal with right now, it had to be a fucking spiral staircase.
He kept a firm grip on the railing as he made the slow descent, bits of it crumbling beneath his fingertips. He did his best to concentrate on each single step, the big picture making his head swim and his stomach twist. It was a relief to finally reach the bottom, counting himself lucky not to have cut his hands or bare feet up on the rotting wood. He paused and looked around, the lower floor faring little better than the upper floor in terms of upkeep. It was a bit brighter, with more windows set into the walls, everything still the same dull gray color, an entryway leading deeper into the building off to his right and a large crooked door to his left.
Peering through the windows by the door, he looked out onto a porch, and felt both relieved and anxious that he’d found an exit. He paused, listening intently for any signs of life. Hearing nothing, he grasped the doorknob, bracing himself for the blast of cold air he could already feel over his bare feet beneath the crack at the bottom of the door.
The door was heavier than he’d expected, and he strained through pain and fatigue to open it, cringing against the squeal of its hinges. He stopped, panting, after finally forcing the door fully open, and took one small step out onto the porch, his feet freezing in the night air. He hugged his arms to his body as he started shivering uncontrollably and took a few more steps, taking in his surroundings. He choked back a sob when he realized that outside was even less comforting than the interior of the foreign building. There was nothing out here. He was surrounded by a vast sloping lawn on all sides of the porch, backed by what seemed to be rather dense woods. Under the light of the full moon, he could just barely make out a small dirt road past the short dead grass of the lawn leading back into the woods. God only knew where it went.
Get it together, Jared. You can figure something out.
He pushed his emotions aside long enough to notice the tire tracks leading from the dirt road up onto the lawn, vanishing behind the sloping side of it. He walked gingerly over to the right side of the porch, peering over the hill there, and gasped loudly, shrinking back when he saw a dark figure leaning against a dark vehicle. If that was one of the gunmen, he was screwed. Forcing his fear down again, he crept back up to the side of the porch, watching the man at the bottom of the hill.
The man’s back was to him, and he was reaching inside his jacket for something that he hastily lifted to his lips, as if his life depended on it. He watched as the man turned around and realized just how hard he must have hit his head to not have realized who it was sooner. His heart leapt, fear subsiding, and, ignoring the pain in his head, he scrambled off the porch and broke into a run.
“Jensen!” he shouted, running as fast as he could with his vision blurring, the distance between them seeming to grow instead of lessen. “Jensen!”
Jensen turned to him, hastily shoving what might have been a flask inside his jacket and regarding him with confusion when he finally stopped, breathing heavily and trying to keep his balance.
“The hell?” Jensen rasped, raising an eyebrow. “Sammy? The hell happened to your clothes?”
Jared couldn’t answer, bending nearly in half as a strong wave of nausea flooded his system, grasping his throbbing head in his hands. Strong hands were on him immediately, holding him up and steadying him.
“Sam?” Jensen spoke urgently, voice filled with concern.
Jared was trying to speak, trying to shake his head, but that run had done more damage than good. He had no idea what was going on, and Jensen wasn’t helping, treating this as if it was part of the scene; a scene Jared hadn’t been aware they were filming.
“Sammy?!” Jensen said again, and Jared wished he had the strength to throttle his friend. Jensen of all people should be able to tell the difference between Jared and his character, and he was in pain, dammit. “What’s goin’ on? Talk to me. Please don’t tell me those freaky visions are back.”
“Dean, I checked around back, there’s no sign o-”
Despite his pain, Jared jerked upwards at the sound of that voice, Jensen’s warmth drawn quickly back. He stared, slack-jawed and uncomprehending for a few seconds at himself, coming around from the back of the building, dressed in Sam’s clothing.
Jared was sure he was dreaming, his double staring back at him in shock that quickly turned to malice. The fear was back, a rush of adrenaline bypassing the symptoms of his probable concussion and enhancing his reflexes. A click reverberated in his ears, and he turned just in time to see Jensen pointing Dean’s gun at his chest. He turned and flung himself downward, hitting the ground and scrambling for the back of the car - the Impala, he realized - shots sounding off and whizzing past him. He’d just reached the Impala’s taillight, and gripped the car to slide around the back of it for shelter, but his burst of speed was waning, and he shouted in surprise as pain exploded in his right shoulder, a bullet burrowing deep into the muscle there. He flopped uselessly onto his back, hand grasping at the bleeding wound, and tried his best to shuffle backwards, around the edge of the car.
He laid on his back, tears pricking his eyes, unable to stop their flow when Jensen - Dean - rounded the back of the car and stood over him with a hunter’s glare and a menacing smirk, gun once again leveled at his chest. He would’ve been relieved when he heard the empty clicks of a spent weapon, until Dean called for Sam, who was close behind. Sam had a gun of his own.
“Finish him, Sam. I’m all outta silver bullets.”
“Wait…”
“Wait?! What do you mean, ‘Wait’?”
“Is he…”
Jared was only half aware of the exchange going on above him, his vision blurred by tears and pain. Nausea hit him again, full force, and this time he couldn’t stop it, his upper body reflexively pulling upwards as his stomach heaved, bile burning its way out of his body. He coughed a few times before his body finally settled back again, sniffling and whimpering like a sick child. He would’ve been embarrassed about that if he hadn’t busted his head open and been fucking shot soon after.
“Son of a bitch!” He looked up to see Dean grimacing and kicking his foot out to the side before attempting to scrape it along the grass, and realized he’d just managed to puke all over Dean’s boots. “This supposed to be some sorta defense mechanism??”
“I don’t know,” Sam said, staring down at Jared, though taking the time to spare an amused glance at his clearly disgusted older brother. “Dean, he’s…” Sam leaned over a bit. “He’s crying.”
“Please,” Jared sputtered, looking up at Sam and seeing a faint glimmer of sympathy beneath his curiosity. “Please…”
“Nah, sorry, pukey,” Dean cut in, glaring down at him. “You don’t get to beg for your life now. ‘Specially not after using me as your own personal toilet.” He nudged his brother. “Finish him, Sam.” Sam’s gun hand twitched at his side, and he frowned, squinting down at Jared. Dean rolled his eyes. “Listen, vanity, I get that you like lookin’ at yourself, but we don’t have time for this! We have to kill this thing!”
“He’s not a thing, Dean!” Sam snapped in annoyance, tucking his gun in the back of his jeans and kneeling down over Jared. “He’s a person.” Sam reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out his cell phone, opening it up and holding it out over Jared’s face. Jared flinched against the tiny flash of light in front of his eyes. Sam stood, studying the picture before handing it over to Dean. “See for yourself.”
“Okay…” Dean said slowly, his impatient huff and posture fading a bit. “So he found a way to disguise the eye flare, or something. Like a…Like an adaptation. Like I said, defense mechanism!”
“No,” Jared choked out, his throat suddenly feeling like sandpaper. He was all too aware of the blood seeping out of his shoulder, his eyelids growing heavy. “‘M not a shapeshifter.”
“And how do you even know what that is?” Dean asked, voice low and menacing as he crouched down over Jared. Jared shivered. He’d seen Jensen play up Dean’s dark and violent side enough, but it was different being on the receiving end of that look of a hunter gleefully closing in on its prey. “You just gave yourself away, smartass.”
“…Know what you did in Hell.”
Jared wasn’t sure what had possessed him to say it, but his fatigued mind was grasping at straws to get him out of this mess. While trying to think of a way to prove himself, those words somehow slipped out, and he watched Dean’s expression change, the smug satisfaction there faltering.
“You don’t know anything about that,” Dean said quietly, a glimpse of fear and shame flitting through his eyes before they went cold again.
“I do,” Jared said, after Dean had stood and taken a small step back, taking advantage of the hesitation. “I know about Alistair, and the souls, and the tortu-”
“Dean!”
Jared heard Sam’s shout, heard the struggle of Sam trying to hold his brother back after Dean’s boot had crashed into his ribs without warning, Jared turning over onto his side and curling up against the pain. His brain was going hazy again, his eyes closing, slowly losing his fight to stay awake and defend himself.
“How could he know that? How could he know that, Sam??”
“I don’t know!”
“He’s a goddamn shapeshifter! Give me the gun, and I’ll do it!”
“No!” Jared was merely listening to what was going on above him until he felt Sam push him onto his back again, and he opened his eyes to find Sam kneeling beside him, coat thrown off, tearing the sleeve off of his shirt and tying it around Jared’s shoulder in an effort to put pressure on the bullet wound. “He’s a person, Dean. And he’s hurt. If we’re gonna get anything out of him, we need to help him.”
He could hear Dean protesting, going on about the shapeshifter in Missouri that could download thoughts, and what if this was the same deal? He was fading out, beginning to lose consciousness, when he heard Sam insisting that this was different. Arms were gripping him, and he couldn’t help the pained groan that escaped his lips when they lifted him up onto his feet. He tried to stay with it enough to help them move him, fading in and out of blackness as he did so, and eventually gave up, figuring he’d done more harm than good when Dean grunted a gruff, “Easy!” in his ear.
The feel and smell of the leather in the Impala were the last things he registered before he lost control completely, his fate suddenly in the hands of the Winchester brothers.
****
If anybody were to ask him later, Jared would never be able to describe how unsettling it is to wake up and see your own face staring back at you without a mirror being involved. Because this was more than just seeing his twin, which would have been startling enough. Waking up with a bit less pain and a bit more clarity, he could see the difference in Sam.
Sam sat by his bed, a hunter lying in wait. Jared knew that he had a different look about him when he played Sam, but this? This was Sam. And Sam in the flesh was a lot darker and more intimidating than Jared had expected. It was his face, but there was no trace of him in it. There was no sympathy in those eyes at the moment; only anger and suspicion. Sam sat backwards in a chair, his head resting in his arms, which were curved over the wood. It was ordinarily a relaxed position, but there was something in the set of Sam’s jaw and the latent energy in Sam’s body that told Jared the obvious gun on the small round table by the bed was no joke; one wrong move, and he’d be dead in seconds.
“Who are you?”
Sam’s voice was just as cold as the look in his eyes, and Jared swallowed through the dryness in his throat.
“Ja-Jared,” he sputtered, coughing harshly afterwards, setting off a throb in his head and shoulder again.
Sam reached into his left shirt pocket and withdrew a small flask, tossing it onto the bed. Jared cautiously grabbed for it, opening it and lifting it to his lips, water splashing out of it. He nearly moaned in relief, emptying three quarters of it before remembering himself and lowering the flask, closing it and turning his eyes back on Sam. Sam, whose eyes now held a glimpse of sympathy and reassurance.
“Holy water?” Jared asked, his voice working much better now that he was somewhat hydrated.
“Yeah,” Sam nodded, head tilting slightly. “How did you know?”
Suddenly, the throbbing in Jared’s head and shoulder were more pronounced. He looked away, hesitating.
“Look, I don’t even know how I got here,” he said finally, toying with the flask in his hands. “I don’t…I’m not supposed to be here. This isn’t supposed to be real.”
“How did you know about Dean?” Sam asked, his voice going hard again, bypassing the non-answer Jared had given him. “How did you know about what he did in Hell?”
“That’s what I’d like to know.”
Dean suddenly appeared in the doorway, leaning against it before walking further into the room. Dean’s heated glare was locked on Jared, and it pained Jared to see that there was no sign of Jensen in those eyes. He closed his own eyes briefly, breathing through the pain in his body and holding back tears. This wasn’t right. None of it was. He felt like screaming, begging to have his life back. A small part of him wanted to call cut, as if that would somehow break this spell he was under. His whole world had been turned upside down in what seemed like a flash, and it was almost torture to have Dean standing before him, taunting him with what he needed so desperately right now; a truly familiar face.
He didn’t answer any of their questions when he opened his eyes again, instead taking in the room he was in for the first time. There was obviously the bed, crisp white sheets covering his body. The room was a bit dull, but at least an improvement from the one he’d first woken up in. It wasn’t falling apart, for one thing. And it was clearly still in use. What he could see of the walls was pale beige, the ceiling a shade lighter, the slightly dusty ceiling fan above him unmoving. There were a few round wooden tables in the room, including the one by his bed. Aside from Sam’s gun on that one, the tables were mostly occupied with books. They were old books, thick, with worn and torn pages, and what seemed like hundreds more filled some bookcases along the walls, two small windows allowing the sunlight in. He could feel Sam and Dean watching him as he looked around, not answering. He could feel the tension, their impatience, growing. And, suddenly, it hit him, and he turned to look back at Sam, hopeful that he at least knew something about this world he’d been thrust into.
“Are we in Bobby’s house?”
Sam’s eyes went a little wide before his eyebrows drew together, and he looked over at Dean, who now stood on the other side of the bed Jared was in. Jared turned to look, too, when he felt a slight dip in the mattress, Dean’s hand pressing into it as he leaned over Jared to look him dead in the eye with vehement stare.
“You better start talkin’.”
Jared shrunk back without fully realizing it, and Dean straightened back up slowly, holding Jared’s gaze for a few more seconds. The intensity of the situation hit him again. It was one thing to become these characters, figure out how their minds worked, and act out their scenes. It was another thing to have them staring you down. Jared would readily admit his fear. The Winchester boys were dangerous. Both of them were. He knew they were good guys at heart, of course. But if you were considered something to hunt, it was smarter by far to turn tail and run than to challenge them. And, right now, Jared was walking a fine line. He hesitated again, not knowing where to start and Sam sighed impatiently and spoke up.
“You said you didn’t know how you got here. What’s the last thing you remember?”
It took a few minutes for Jared to get a hold of that last memory. He remembered things, sure. He knew who he was, what he did, he remembered his family and friends. But it was hard work to set things up and figure out the last sequence of events that he could conjure up in his brain.
“Jensen,” he said finally, his heart once again aching for his friend. “At home, on a Sunday, playing video games.”
Dean’s eyes narrowed, and Jared knew that Dean must have remembered Jared calling him Jensen when he first saw him. He stood back, leaning against a bookcase, and crossed his arms over his chest.
“What the hell’s a Jensen??”
“Never mind that,” Sam snapped, taking control of the conversation again. “Where’s home?”
“Vancouver,” Jared answered, Sam’s eyebrows rising in response. “And he’s my best friend,” he said, turning back to Dean. “We, uh…We work together.”
“This doesn’t make any sense,” Dean muttered, walking over and sitting at the foot of the bed. “How do you know Bobby, if you’re from Vancouver? How do you know anything that you’ve mentioned since we found you? Or since you found us? And why the hell do you look so much like my brother?”
He knew his silence and hesitation was really starting to piss the boys off, but at least he’d given them something. But if they thought what he’d already told them didn’t make any sense, they sure as hell weren’t going to believe his explanation for everything Dean had just asked him. He fidgeted, trying to think of something to say, anything that wasn’t the truth. He felt the pull of a bandage over the throb in his right shoulder, and knew the guys must have patched him up while he was still out of it. He winced a little, the reminder of what had happened bringing the pain back to him at a higher level, and Sam tossed a bottle of pills at him. He nodded gratefully and opened them up, downing a couple with the last of the holy water in the flask.
“Any idea what caused the head injury?” Sam asked, the more pressing questions averted for a few more seconds. Jared shook his head.
“Dean?”
The voice sounded from downstairs. Bobby’s voice, Jared recognized. Dean turned his attention to the open doorway and called down after him.
“Up here, Bobby.”
Bobby’s entrance into the room was quiet. He didn’t say a word, just walked in, saw Jared lying in the bed beside Sam sitting in the chair, and his eyes widened almost comically. Then he reached inside his jacket for a flask. Dean huffed impatiently, rolling his eyes, and pushed off of the bed, grabbing the flask from Bobby and dousing Jared, Sam, and himself with holy water before handing it back.
“Y’happy?”
Bobby narrowed his eyes, cocked his head at Dean’s sarcastic tone, and stepped forward, emptying the rest of the flask’s contents into Dean’s face. Dean coughed and wiped his face, spitting out the excess and standing with his head lowered and his hands on his hips.
“I am now,” Bobby answered, the faint hint of a smirk on his lips. Dean nodded slowly before looking back up at him.
“Fair enough.”
“You get any information yet?” Bobby asked, moving on and nodding towards Jared.
“Not nearly enough,” Dean answered, turning back to Jared and settling back down on the edge of the bed. “But we were just getting to that, weren’t we, Jared?”
****
In the end, Jared could do nothing else but tell them the truth. He was surprised by their silence while he told his story, expecting some protests and accusations whenever he paused to take a breath. He could see Bobby’s brain working as he spoke, trying to piece facts together while editing out the crazy that Jared was spewing. Sam was also listening and trying to figure out a more reasonable explanation for all of this, until his attention was drawn away by Dean. Dean, who became more sullen, a heavy gloom falling over him. There were undeniably bad thoughts running through Dean’s brain, and Sam was tense as he watched the emotions flicker on Dean’s face, worry lining his own features.
Dean didn’t utter a word when Jared had finished. He’d merely gotten up and walked out of the room, silent and drooping, all the bravado Jared had been faced with before suddenly gone. Sam’s glare was enough to shut Jared up for another month, the other man standing and growling out, “That’s enough,” before following Dean out of the room, Bobby close behind. The door was closed and locked. Jared heard it click.
This was all in his head. It had to be. But every time he tried to think about what had happened or how to get out of it, he’d end up more frustrated and confused than before. He’d already passed out and woken up in the same place. He’d already tried squeezing his eyes shut and willing himself to wake up to the real world. Nothing worked. And now he was locked in a bedroom in a fictional character’s house guarded by fictional characters that were pissed and could easily kill him. It didn’t take much for him to start hyperventilating, kicking against the sheets in frustration. Why the hell was this happening to him?
He didn’t remember falling asleep again, but apparently he had, though he wasn’t sure for how long. He couldn’t see a clock in this room. At this point, it was hard to make out anything, the sun beginning to go down, less light coming in through the windows. He swallowed, feeling that his mouth had gone dry again, his stomach also rumbling its complaints. He had no way of knowing how long it’d been since he’d eaten.
He sat up slowly, easing himself through pain and dizziness. He made his way to the door with baby steps, and poised himself to knock before trying the knob, out of curiosity. It must have been unlocked at some point, probably the boys checking up on him and making sure he was out cold. He opened it to a dimly lit hallway, beige walls and hardwood floors, small lamps lit along the way. The downstairs was brighter, and he found Sam sitting at one end of the long dining room table with a pile of books, a rather large one opened up in front of him.
Sam looked tired. Not just tired, but weary. And when Jared followed Sam’s sad glances into the living room, he saw Dean, slouched low in an old cushioned chair, one bottle in his hand and others strewn on the floor. Jared took one more step forward, and Sam heard it, his head automatically swiveling to catch him in an accusing glare. But Sam turned away just as quickly as he’d looked, his face buried back in the book in front of him.
“We got takeout,” he said flatly, and Jared noticed boxes and bags of food at the other end of the table. “You can get yourself some water.”
Jared didn’t say anything in response, just did as Sam suggested, seating himself across from his darker double and opening up the food. Everything he touched seemed to make an incredible amount of noise, the silence in the house thick and filled with tension. Boxes opened and bags crinkled, and Jared swore he saw Sam stiffen and clench his jaw with every offending sound. Jared guiltily helped himself to some greasy pizza and fries, not sure if it would help at all with the nausea he’d experienced before they’d brought him here, but he had no other choice. Needless to say, he cut himself off earlier than he normally would, his body protesting what he’d already eaten. He flinched when Sam slid the bottle of pills across the table to him.
“Thank you,” he said awkwardly, his eyes flicking to Sam’s face. Sam’s eyes didn’t move from his book. “Where’s Bobby?”
“Out,” Sam said tersely, still not looking up at him. “We’re trying to find a way to send you back wherever the hell you came from.”
The conversation, if it could be called that, was cut short by Dean getting up and stumbling his way out to the kitchen, grabbing at the fridge. Sam watched him, sadly setting his book aside and following him. Dean had another beer in his hand before Sam could stop him, cracking it open with his ring and letting the cap fall to the floor.
“Dean, come on,” Sam pleaded, trying to sound at least a little bit authoritative and failing. He stood in front of Dean, blocking his way, and reached for the beer, which Dean hastily drew away, spilling half of it on himself and the floor. “I think you’ve had enough. Why don’t you just go lie down?”
“Can it, Sammy,” Dean slurred, pushing Sam out of his way and stumbling forward. “Doesn’t matter anymore.”
“Dean,” Sam pressed, but Dean ignored him, trying his best to move his body back in the direction of the living room. Sam caught him when he nearly fell, more beer spilling out over his hand, Dean shoving him away and practically shouting out an “I’m fine!” before collapsing back into his chair.
Jared watched it happen in silence, keeping his eyes averted as Sam turned back towards him and slumped back down in his chair at the other end of the table. He didn’t look over at Sam, but kept his eyes on Dean. Dean, who looked like hell, his eyes red and glassy, staring off into nothing as he raised the bottle to his lips.
“Leave him alone.”
“I-I wasn’t…Sorry!” Jared stuttered. Sam’s low command drew his attention, and when he turned, he could practically see Sam’s anger boiling beneath his skin. “Sorry,” he repeated, looking down at his hands. “I just…I feel ba-”
“He doesn’t need your pity,” Sam spat, and Jared leaned back in his chair and held his hands up.
“I know that,” he said quickly. “I know that. It’s just…” He trailed off, unsure of how to continue. If he said anything to Sam about knowing how he felt, he was sure to end up with another injury. “It’s just that…when Jensen plays Dean…”
“‘Plays?’” Sam scoffed, pushing his books aside in annoyance and nodding towards Dean. “This is fun for you?”
“No,” Jared said seriously, staring back at Sam, who went oddly quiet. “No, it isn’t. I mean, we’ve always loved our jobs, but times like this…Other people write the stuff, we just act it out, tell the story. We have to become you. And I’ve watched Jensen become Dean at times like this. When he’s…” Jared shrugged, gesturing vaguely in Dean’s direction. “And it sucks. Sometimes he gets lost in it, and I have to pull him out. I just…I hate seeing him like that.”
“You’re close?” Sam asked, some of the heat gone from his words.
“Yeah,” Jared nodded, “Yeah, real close. We’re practically family. That’s why it’s so hard sometimes. But he’s done the same for me.” He cleared his throat, pausing before continuing, not sure how far he could take this. “He was there for me when, um…” He realized episode titles wouldn’t mean anything to Sam, and spoke his next words slowly and carefully. “Madison, the Trickster, and…when the Hellhounds came for him.” Grief replaced the anger in Sam’s eyes, and Jared looked away. “Getting there emotionally was just terrible.”
Sam kept quiet, reaching for the books again and opening the one he’d been studying.
“Look, I’m really sorry if I caused any trouble…”
“Trouble?” Sam looked up at him and raised an eyebrow, quickly glancing over at Dean again. “Why do you think he’s like this? You know what he’s been through, right? The things he’s done, how bad he feels? And now you show up and tell him that he’s not even real.”
“I’m sorry,” Jared repeated, feeling a deep pang of regret in his heart. “I didn’t mean to cause any of this. I don’t even know how or why I’m here. I just wanna go back home.”
“We’ll find a way.”
Jared found himself going through the books with Sam, careful when he stole glances at Dean, who’d eventually passed out in his chair. Jared couldn’t help but wonder if, wherever he was, Jensen was feeling any of the pain Dean was right now. He wondered if that was even possible, just by their association. And he hoped not. And even though he could see the difference in Dean, and knew that there was no trace of Jensen there, it still took everything he had to not go over to Dean and comfort him the way he would if it were Jensen. An arm around the shoulder. Shit, even though they were guys, they weren’t past hugs. He’d wrapped Jensen up in one after an emotional scene enough times for it to be a completely normal occurrence for them. But, knowing Dean (and Sam), he’d probably just get a busted jaw in return.
He sighed, the ancient words and diagrams in front of him beginning to blur. He was tired again, the meds dragging him back under. And he couldn’t keep his mind focused, hoping that Jensen was okay. It had suddenly occurred to him that his last memory had been with Jensen. What if Jensen was trapped somewhere in this strange world, too? What if…
****
“It was a werewolf,” Dean groaned through his hangover, head resting on the dining room table. “And it sure as hell wasn’t wearing my face, so I’m pretty sure we didn’t kill your friend.”
“He could still be trapped in there, in that building,” Jared said in a rush, remembering the dilapidated state of the place he’d woken up in. And he’d woken up with a concussion. A million thoughts suddenly ran through his head. “Oh, God, what if he’s hurt?”
“Bobby’s on it,” Sam cut in, hanging up his cell phone as he strolled into the room, sipping at a cup of coffee before handing it off to Dean. “He’s gonna check the place out, make sure we didn’t leave anybody behind.”
“He have any leads on our friend here?” Dean asked, savoring the coffee as he gulped it down.
Jared listened as Sam explained what Bobby had told him about alternate realities, and how there had been cases of people traveling between them, sometimes not knowing how they’d even managed it.
“Okay,” he said slowly, “So how do we send me back to my reality?”
“Well,” Sam sat down at the table and sighed, “The truth is, we don’t know. In these cases, the tricky part was always getting back, and it isn’t even known if anyone ever managed it. People tried, but it seems like once you’ve left your own reality, it’s nearly impossible to get back into it. If there’s a way to do it, it hasn’t been documented anywhere, and hasn’t even been handed down in any oral traditions.”
“So, I’m stuck here?” Jared felt his heart drop, felt his breath catch in his throat. He couldn’t do this. This couldn’t be happening. There had to be a way out. The thought of being stuck here for the rest of his life without ever seeing his family and friends again was unbearable.
“We’ll find a way,” Sam said, repeating his words from the night before, and Jared took comfort in the reassuring tone that was evident this time around. They’d find a way. They had to.
Dean fared a little better that day, at least being of more use than he had been so far. He hit the books as hard as he could, probably with his head throbbing as much as Jared’s had been the day before. As it was, Jared was starting to feel less and less of his pains, and he took that to mean he was healing. That was some good news, at least. But he couldn’t let go of the fact that, according to what Sam had said, they were continuing to study the books in vain. There was no answer there. He couldn’t deny that it made him feel better to look, though. Just to make sure. It never hurt to double check.
All three of them looked up when the front door opened, Bobby entering. Jared hooked him with a hopeful gaze, and when Bobby shook his head, Jared almost took that to mean the worst, holding his breath and releasing it only when Bobby started talking.
“Nothin’ there,” Bobby confirmed. “No sign of your friend, or anyone else. Looks like you’re the only one who made it through the veil.”
****
The veil. What veil? Jared had accepted this, was coping, trying to work through it. But it had been…well, he didn’t know how long it had been. He reluctantly hadn’t kept track, and was wondering if it even mattered. They’d all been reading, searching, working themselves to the bone, and nothing to help him had come up. He was stuck in a reality that wasn’t his, if it was even a reality at all. It couldn’t be. That was what he was thinking now. He’d either lost his mind or was in the process of steadily losing it. Or he was dead and just not accepting it, like one of the spirits on the show. Maybe he should. Maybe he should just let go.
And yet, he couldn’t. He struggled to keep hold of what he had, doing his best to remember his life back at home. Every moment that he had to spare, he thought about each and every person he knew, running through their names and faces, sometimes closing his eyes to picture them better in his mind. Of course, he didn’t have to work hard to picture Jensen with Dean around, and he was oddly grateful for that now, though he’d been bothered by it at first. It was better to have a vivid image of someone he was that close to. It was more of a reminder of what he was missing, what he was longing for. He had to fight for that. He had to find a way.
It scared him sometimes, when he went to sleep. He didn’t really sleep. He just drifted through periods of blackness, nothingness, and he was terrified that, if he slept for too long, he’d never wake up. He tried his best to keep awake, keep at it, but he was so tired that it almost hurt, sometimes, pains in his head and shoulder coming back to haunt him, trying to lull him into sleep.
He kept trying, kept fighting sleep, fighting insanity, fighting hopelessness. And then, Ruby showed up, walking through the door and carefully avoiding the Devil’s Traps on the ceiling and hidden on the floor. She listened to Jared’s story, listened to all three of them neglect to find a solution. And then she turned on Sam and gave him a look; a look that made Dean tense uncomfortably.
“You can fix this, Sam,” she said evenly, watching him for a reaction he didn’t give, his expression set in stone. “You can fix this, and you know it. You know what you have to do.”
“Wait a mi-”
“It’s okay, Dean,” Sam said, cutting his brother off in a sharp tone, his eyes set on Ruby. “I’ve already told you, I’m not doing that anymore.”
“So you’ll just leave him here?” she challenged. “Trapped forever?”
“We won’t,” Dean spoke up, and Jared turned to him, catching a reassuring glance from him. “We’ll help him.”
“Okay, great,” Ruby said, turning to Dean and nodding, arms crossing over her chest. “Any idea how?” She sighed and turned back to Sam when Dean remained silent. “Sam,” she pleaded, “Come on. You can do this. And you need the practice.”
“Ruby?” Dean made his way over to her, blocking her from Sam and giving her a half smile. “Could you excuse us for a few minutes?”
“What for?” she countered. “You do this every time, Dean, always holding Sam back to try and figure out another way, and you know that never ends well.”
Dean stepped closer to her, his stance threatening, his eyes going cold and hard.
“Ruby, you caught me in a generous mood, and I suggest you take advantage of that before I force you outta here.”
She bristled but looked past Dean to glance at Sam, who nodded. Without another word, she turned and walked out the door, Dean immediately rounding on Sam.
“What can you do? And don’t lie to me,” Dean growled when Sam opened his mouth. “You said your powers only worked on demons.” He gestured over to Jared. “How the hell are they supposed to work on him?”
Sam took a deep breath to compose himself, and Jared looked on, feeling every bit the third wheel. The room was dead quiet, and yet Jared had to strain to hear Sam when he finally started talking.
“My powers can work on more than just demons, alright?”
“How?” Dean asked, facing Sam but not quite looking at him, body stiff.
Sam took another deep breath, hesitating and fidgeting, looking downright ashamed, before reaching for the collar of his shirt and pulling it down. Dean caught the movement and focused on it, as Jared did. Slowly, Sam revealed his tattoo, the one that matched Dean’s and was used to ward off possession. Jared stepped closer, trying his best to do it discreetly, and squinted at the detail. Dean stepped back abruptly, and Jared had to move so that they didn’t collide.
“Sammy,” Dean breathed, his eyes wide. “What…”
“I can let her in,” Sam explained. And that’s when Jared saw it. The barely noticeable pink scar at the bottom edge of the tattoo, breaking the circle. “I can control it. The possession, I mean. I can control her. I can control demons, Dean. I can take her out of the body she’s in and bring her into mine, and then, when I’m…when I’m done…I can take her out and put her back. I’m…I’m stronger when I’m…”
“Possessed?? Dean exclaimed, his voice high-pitched and wavering. “Sammy, what…When you’re done? When you’re done what? Sam, what the hell have you been doing?”
Jared watched Dean hurriedly back away, saw the anguish and fear in his eyes. Sam reached out to him, pleaded with him to just listen. But Dean shook his head and flinched away, heading out the door just as Ruby had, without a single word.
****
Awkward silence between him and Sam was becoming a regular thing for Jared. It was even more awkward when Ruby came back, contributing to the silence herself, just a third presence in the room, waiting impatiently for something to happen. Occasionally, she would speak up, the sound of her voice making Jared jump in the quiet of the room, telling Sam to just give it up on the books he was reading, already. He wasn’t going to find an answer there. Sam ignored her, not looking up from the books in front of him until the door opened again and Dean returned.
Dean once again looked like hell, but he was at least half sober. He took slow steps, as if paying careful attention to each one, his eyes on the floor as he walked. Jared was sitting at the far end of the table, away from Dean, and he could still smell the smoke and booze that Dean was carrying around on his clothing. He stopped a few feet away from the table.
“Help him, Sam.”
Sam’s hopeful look turned confused, Dean’s voice barely audible. Then realization dawned, and the scrape of Sam’s chair against the floor sounded throughout the room, Sam standing and taking a step forward.
“Dean, are you su-” He paused, looking stricken when Dean flinched and took a step back.
“It’s the only thing we’ve got, Sam. We can’t just leave him here.” He smiled sadly, still not looking at anyone in the room. “I know what it’s like to be trapped in another world. I know what that does to people.” He finally lifted his head, his eyes roaming the room before chancing a glance at Sam, laughing without humor. “Just no fancy tricks, like sending me back there, okay?”
“Dean…” Sam looked pained, and Jared could almost feel the emotion on Sam’s face, knowing from experience how much it killed Sam for Dean to be so afraid of him. “I would never…”
“Just help him,” Dean said, cutting him off. “Please, just…get it over with, okay?”
Sam nodded slowly, blinking a few times before turning to Ruby, who’d known enough to stay quiet up until now. She crossed the room to stand next to Sam and looked over at Dean, trying to look sympathetic.
“You’re doing the right thing, Dean. You don’t have to be afraid of this.”
“Yeah,” Dean laughed bitterly, eyes back on the floor. “Yeah, thanks. That’s real comforting.”
“Alright,” Sam said softly, turning to look at Jared. Jared stood, nervous butterflies flitting around in his stomach. “Are you ready?”
“I-I don’t,” he stuttered, his heart beating rapidly. He had a million questions running through his mind, but couldn’t seem to form them on his now dry lips. Had Sam ever done this before? What exactly would be happening? Would it hurt? What if something went wrong? “Are you sure it’ll work?”
“It should,” Sam said. “But we’ll be here if anything goes wrong. We’ll help you. Just…let me know if anything feels wrong, and we’ll stop, okay?”
He felt like an idiot, standing there silently, as if he hadn’t been driving himself and them crazy trying to get back home. Now that he had a way back, he was scared to use it. Sam and Ruby were looking at him expectantly, but Dean was looking down, shoulders hunched. Jared took a good long look, seeing the sadness and vulnerability there. Jensen. He turned back to Sam and nodded.
Sam moved closer to Ruby, placing his hand on her head and closing his eyes. The possession wasn’t the violent kind that Jared was used to seeing, a thick pillar of black smoke forcing its way down someone’s throat. It was slow, controlled, Sam just quietly breathing her in. It took longer, but he could see when Ruby had completely left her own body, the form going limp in Sam’s hands. Sam gently lowered it to the floor and then stood back up, turning black eyes on Jared. Those eyes carefully flicked over to Dean for a moment, and Dean looked back at his brother, swallowing and taking another step back.
“Just relax,” Sam instructed, lifting his left hand in Jared’s direction.
A sudden terrifying thought struck Jared, and that was that Sam might not know where exactly to send him. If there were a number of alternate realities, how could he know which one to leave him in? Sure, Jared had told him where he’d come from, but it wasn’t as if Sam had a number or an address to work with. How did anyone identify which realities were which?
He opened his mouth, but didn’t have time to speak, his body beginning to pulse and vibrate with this alien force pressing in around it. His mouth snapped shut, and he started to panic, his heart hammering wildly in his chest. He wanted Sam to wait, to stop, but he couldn’t move, his eyes squeezing themselves shut after one feeble blink. He felt a strong pull on his entire body, and then Sam’s voice a whisper in his brain: “Focus.”
For a moment, he wasn’t sure what it meant, adrenaline and fear pulsing through his veins. But then he understood, and he did his best to calm down, clear his mind, and picture what he so desperately needed. Home. Texas. Family. Vancouver. Set. Home. Dogs. Jensen.
“Sammy, what the hell’s goin’ on?!”
Dean’s panicked voice broke into his thoughts, and he lost his mental footing, hearing Sam shushing his brother, telling him he just needed to concentrate.
“Focus!”
Sam had said it out loud this time, and Jared tried again, an image of Jensen floating into his mind before pain shot through his body. He couldn’t cry out, wasn’t thinking, wasn’t picturing anything anymore, and he could hear Dean shouting for him, shouting at Sam. Something must have gone terribly wrong.
****
He woke up slowly in a darkened room, his mouth incredibly dry, his brain in a fog. He felt warm, a cushioned pillow behind his head, and was glad that the Winchesters were still taking care of him, at least. He wondered where they were, what went wrong, until he turned his head, surprised to see Dean sleeping in a chair beside his bed, a blanket thrown over his body. Jared almost grimaced, knowing that the position Dean was in could never be comfortable. But Dean slept anyway, though Jared couldn’t say it looked like a peaceful sleep. Even though he wasn’t awake, Dean looked tense in the low light filtering in through the partially open door, lines of worry creasing his features. Jared wondered where Sam was, if the two of them had fought after whatever had happened with Sam’s powers.
Jared tried to swallow and almost couldn’t, his throat feeling like sandpaper. He hated to wake Dean up, figuring the guy could use all the sleep he could get, whether it was soothing or not. But he needed help. He reached out, his arm feeling like lead, grunting with the effort. His fingers landed on the lump of soft blanket covering Dean’s knee.
“Dea-” Jared’s voice sounded like gravel, and when he tried to use it, he broke off into a loud cough. He both saw and felt Dean’s body jump, startled awake, and then Dean was leaning forward, grasping Jared’s hand in his own, Dean’s other hand reaching out to rest gently on Jared’s chest.
“Jared??” Dean rasped sleepily, concern lacing his voice.
“Dean,” Jared said, after coughing once more. “Dean, I…”
Jared trailed off when Dean leaned closer, the hand resting on Jared’s chest moving up to smooth the hair back off of his forehead, a gentle smile pulling at the corners of Dean’s mouth.
“We’re not on set, dude.” Jared blinked in confusion, his head swimming, and he watched as Dean frowned and then reached to push a button by his bed. “You’re still burning up a little.” The hand was back on his head, and he looked up into caring, familiar eyes, and felt a lump spring to his throat. He swallowed around it and tried to speak, his dry mouth still not fully cooperating.
“‘Ensen?” he whispered, hopeful.
“Yeah,” Jensen smiled down at him. “Yeah, it’s me, Jay.”
“Jensen…” Jared cut himself off with a quiet sob, tears blurring his vision. “Jensen.”
“Hey,” Jensen said softly, soothingly, fingers carding through Jared’s hair. Then light slowly filled the room, the adjustment not too harsh for Jared’s eyes, and a pair of nurses entered the room. Jensen greeted them and moved away, and Jared immediately felt his absence.
The nurses were checking him, asking him questions, taking his temperature. He tried to stay calm, tried to be a good patient, but he was still stunned by the fact that he was back home, still unable to fight the tears in his eyes. He heard one of them ask him something else, but was only vaguely paying attention, his eyes searching the room.
“Jensen?”
“Right here, man.”
Jensen was leaning in the doorway, and walked back in when Jared called out for him, the nurses pausing in what they were doing. Jensen politely asked the nurses if they could just give him a few minutes, told them Jared was still a little confused from waking up. Then he sat on the edge of Jared’s bed, leaned down, and carefully lifted Jared into a hug. Jared jolted forward, welcoming the feel of Jensen’s arms around him and pulling Jensen closer.
“Easy,” Jensen cautioned, rubbing small circles into Jared’s back. “Easy. It’s okay.”
Jared felt pain return to both his head and his shoulder, as well as a dull ache pulsing in his body. It confused him even more, still trying to come to terms with what was real and what wasn’t. He buried his head against Jensen’s chest, breathing in deeply and sobbing quietly, tears wetting his cheeks. Jensen’s arms tightened around him. He tried to stop, not wanting to embarrass himself too much, but he couldn’t help it. He didn’t know what the hell had happened, and he clutched Jensen, his safety and warmth. It was almost too warm, now. Jared could feel it now, the fever raging beneath his skin, causing the ache he was feeling. He was hot, sweaty, and Jensen’s own natural body warmth only made him feel even hotter, but he didn’t care. Not now. Because he had to reassure himself that this, right here, was real. He could feel Jensen’s chest rising and falling with each steady breath, the strong beat of Jensen’s heart. Thank God.
“You’re gonna be alright, Jay,” Jensen whispered. “But you need to let the nurses look you over, okay? I’ll be right here.”
Jared nodded against Jensen’s chest, and Jensen gently laid him back down on the bed and stepped away, the nurses taking over again.
Part 2
Title: No Place Like Home, Part 1 (of 2)
Pairing: J2
Rating: R
Word Count: 15,416
Warnings: Spoilers up to 4.14, hurt!Jared, angst
Disclaimer: They own themselves. And my soul.
Synopsis: When Jared wakes up injured in an abandoned building, he has no memory of how he got there. Help shows up in the form of Sam and Dean Winchester. They help him find a way back home, where he's reunited with Jensen, only to find that nothing is as it seems.
Notes: This fic was bugging me, and I finally managed to finish it and make some sense of it. Now the first part doesn't seem so weird and random. It was going to contain some actual smut, but...somehow, that didn't work out.
Banner by ala_tariel
He doesn’t know how long it’s been. He doesn’t know how he got here, or whether or not his best friend is still alive. Hell, at this point, he’s not even sure if he’s still alive.
He’s not sure what’s real and what’s not anymore, even though he’s struggling to keep his hold on what he thinks is real. He’s struggling, because if he doesn’t - if he loses his grip - he just might be lost forever.
****
He woke up on the upper floor of an old abandoned building, the windows broken and the floorboards worn. Cold air forced its way through jagged glass holes, and his entire body shivered. He could feel the chill of the rotting hardwood through the thin fabric of his t-shirt where he lay on his back on the floor.
Fear crept up on him slowly, his mind in a deep fog. He’d managed to get himself up on his bare feet, the floor creaking dangerously beneath them, before the full panic of I don’t know where I am set in beneath the dull throb of his head. Reaching a hand up to the back of his skull, he felt a warm wetness that made his heart beat a little bit faster, bile rising up in his throat.
I don’t know where I am, and my head is bleeding.
He stared at the blood on his fingers for long seconds, shivering and beginning to feel dizzy. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, swallowing against his nausea and telling himself to calm down, he could figure this out. Reaching back for the last thing he could remember, he found a large black gap of nothingness in his memory. He had no recollection of danger, pain, or how the hell he could have ended up here, alone.
Alone? The word wormed its way into his thoughts and wedged itself into his brain, pulsing its panicked reminder that he hadn’t seen or heard any sign of human life since he’d woken up. He opened his eyes and looked around the room. It was empty and, from what he could see in the moonlight filtering through the windows, almost completely devoid of color, the whole of it washed out in a dull gray. It was crumbling and somewhat tilted, the building’s foundation clearly unstable.
He shivered again and pressed the heel of his hand against the ache in his forehead, his body jumping violently when a sudden burst of gunfire erupted from the floor below him. He cried out and backed up until he hit the wall, suddenly eyeing the door that hung open on its frail hinges, hoping that he hadn’t been loud enough for whoever was downstairs to hear him. He heard feet pounding on the lower floor, running, chasing, and he held still and held his breath, praying that he wouldn’t be found. After a few muffled shouts, doors creaking noisily open and slamming shut, there was silence; complete deafening silence.
He wasn’t sure how many minutes he allowed to tick by before he was moving, slowly, each creak and groan of the floor echoing in his ears. His only focus now was the only thing he could think to do, which was find a way out of this place and head for help. He knew that he was hurt and that somebody had to have been looking for him. At least, that was what he hoped. But he couldn’t stay here; not after he’d heard gunshots in the very same building. If whoever opened fire downstairs came back for another sweep of the place, he’d be a sitting duck.
The hallway was infinitely darker than the room he’d been in, as it was nearly devoid of windows. One small circular window above the stairs to his left allowed a thin beam of light to shine down upon them. He made his way to the banister, bracing himself on the wall as he went. It nearly broke apart when he set his hand down upon it, cursing when he almost ended up with a palmful of splinters. He stared down at the stairs and their accompanying railing, and was overcome by a strong sense of vertigo, closing his eyes and stumbling back against the wall behind him. Of all the things he had to deal with right now, it had to be a fucking spiral staircase.
He kept a firm grip on the railing as he made the slow descent, bits of it crumbling beneath his fingertips. He did his best to concentrate on each single step, the big picture making his head swim and his stomach twist. It was a relief to finally reach the bottom, counting himself lucky not to have cut his hands or bare feet up on the rotting wood. He paused and looked around, the lower floor faring little better than the upper floor in terms of upkeep. It was a bit brighter, with more windows set into the walls, everything still the same dull gray color, an entryway leading deeper into the building off to his right and a large crooked door to his left.
Peering through the windows by the door, he looked out onto a porch, and felt both relieved and anxious that he’d found an exit. He paused, listening intently for any signs of life. Hearing nothing, he grasped the doorknob, bracing himself for the blast of cold air he could already feel over his bare feet beneath the crack at the bottom of the door.
The door was heavier than he’d expected, and he strained through pain and fatigue to open it, cringing against the squeal of its hinges. He stopped, panting, after finally forcing the door fully open, and took one small step out onto the porch, his feet freezing in the night air. He hugged his arms to his body as he started shivering uncontrollably and took a few more steps, taking in his surroundings. He choked back a sob when he realized that outside was even less comforting than the interior of the foreign building. There was nothing out here. He was surrounded by a vast sloping lawn on all sides of the porch, backed by what seemed to be rather dense woods. Under the light of the full moon, he could just barely make out a small dirt road past the short dead grass of the lawn leading back into the woods. God only knew where it went.
Get it together, Jared. You can figure something out.
He pushed his emotions aside long enough to notice the tire tracks leading from the dirt road up onto the lawn, vanishing behind the sloping side of it. He walked gingerly over to the right side of the porch, peering over the hill there, and gasped loudly, shrinking back when he saw a dark figure leaning against a dark vehicle. If that was one of the gunmen, he was screwed. Forcing his fear down again, he crept back up to the side of the porch, watching the man at the bottom of the hill.
The man’s back was to him, and he was reaching inside his jacket for something that he hastily lifted to his lips, as if his life depended on it. He watched as the man turned around and realized just how hard he must have hit his head to not have realized who it was sooner. His heart leapt, fear subsiding, and, ignoring the pain in his head, he scrambled off the porch and broke into a run.
“Jensen!” he shouted, running as fast as he could with his vision blurring, the distance between them seeming to grow instead of lessen. “Jensen!”
Jensen turned to him, hastily shoving what might have been a flask inside his jacket and regarding him with confusion when he finally stopped, breathing heavily and trying to keep his balance.
“The hell?” Jensen rasped, raising an eyebrow. “Sammy? The hell happened to your clothes?”
Jared couldn’t answer, bending nearly in half as a strong wave of nausea flooded his system, grasping his throbbing head in his hands. Strong hands were on him immediately, holding him up and steadying him.
“Sam?” Jensen spoke urgently, voice filled with concern.
Jared was trying to speak, trying to shake his head, but that run had done more damage than good. He had no idea what was going on, and Jensen wasn’t helping, treating this as if it was part of the scene; a scene Jared hadn’t been aware they were filming.
“Sammy?!” Jensen said again, and Jared wished he had the strength to throttle his friend. Jensen of all people should be able to tell the difference between Jared and his character, and he was in pain, dammit. “What’s goin’ on? Talk to me. Please don’t tell me those freaky visions are back.”
“Dean, I checked around back, there’s no sign o-”
Despite his pain, Jared jerked upwards at the sound of that voice, Jensen’s warmth drawn quickly back. He stared, slack-jawed and uncomprehending for a few seconds at himself, coming around from the back of the building, dressed in Sam’s clothing.
Jared was sure he was dreaming, his double staring back at him in shock that quickly turned to malice. The fear was back, a rush of adrenaline bypassing the symptoms of his probable concussion and enhancing his reflexes. A click reverberated in his ears, and he turned just in time to see Jensen pointing Dean’s gun at his chest. He turned and flung himself downward, hitting the ground and scrambling for the back of the car - the Impala, he realized - shots sounding off and whizzing past him. He’d just reached the Impala’s taillight, and gripped the car to slide around the back of it for shelter, but his burst of speed was waning, and he shouted in surprise as pain exploded in his right shoulder, a bullet burrowing deep into the muscle there. He flopped uselessly onto his back, hand grasping at the bleeding wound, and tried his best to shuffle backwards, around the edge of the car.
He laid on his back, tears pricking his eyes, unable to stop their flow when Jensen - Dean - rounded the back of the car and stood over him with a hunter’s glare and a menacing smirk, gun once again leveled at his chest. He would’ve been relieved when he heard the empty clicks of a spent weapon, until Dean called for Sam, who was close behind. Sam had a gun of his own.
“Finish him, Sam. I’m all outta silver bullets.”
“Wait…”
“Wait?! What do you mean, ‘Wait’?”
“Is he…”
Jared was only half aware of the exchange going on above him, his vision blurred by tears and pain. Nausea hit him again, full force, and this time he couldn’t stop it, his upper body reflexively pulling upwards as his stomach heaved, bile burning its way out of his body. He coughed a few times before his body finally settled back again, sniffling and whimpering like a sick child. He would’ve been embarrassed about that if he hadn’t busted his head open and been fucking shot soon after.
“Son of a bitch!” He looked up to see Dean grimacing and kicking his foot out to the side before attempting to scrape it along the grass, and realized he’d just managed to puke all over Dean’s boots. “This supposed to be some sorta defense mechanism??”
“I don’t know,” Sam said, staring down at Jared, though taking the time to spare an amused glance at his clearly disgusted older brother. “Dean, he’s…” Sam leaned over a bit. “He’s crying.”
“Please,” Jared sputtered, looking up at Sam and seeing a faint glimmer of sympathy beneath his curiosity. “Please…”
“Nah, sorry, pukey,” Dean cut in, glaring down at him. “You don’t get to beg for your life now. ‘Specially not after using me as your own personal toilet.” He nudged his brother. “Finish him, Sam.” Sam’s gun hand twitched at his side, and he frowned, squinting down at Jared. Dean rolled his eyes. “Listen, vanity, I get that you like lookin’ at yourself, but we don’t have time for this! We have to kill this thing!”
“He’s not a thing, Dean!” Sam snapped in annoyance, tucking his gun in the back of his jeans and kneeling down over Jared. “He’s a person.” Sam reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out his cell phone, opening it up and holding it out over Jared’s face. Jared flinched against the tiny flash of light in front of his eyes. Sam stood, studying the picture before handing it over to Dean. “See for yourself.”
“Okay…” Dean said slowly, his impatient huff and posture fading a bit. “So he found a way to disguise the eye flare, or something. Like a…Like an adaptation. Like I said, defense mechanism!”
“No,” Jared choked out, his throat suddenly feeling like sandpaper. He was all too aware of the blood seeping out of his shoulder, his eyelids growing heavy. “‘M not a shapeshifter.”
“And how do you even know what that is?” Dean asked, voice low and menacing as he crouched down over Jared. Jared shivered. He’d seen Jensen play up Dean’s dark and violent side enough, but it was different being on the receiving end of that look of a hunter gleefully closing in on its prey. “You just gave yourself away, smartass.”
“…Know what you did in Hell.”
Jared wasn’t sure what had possessed him to say it, but his fatigued mind was grasping at straws to get him out of this mess. While trying to think of a way to prove himself, those words somehow slipped out, and he watched Dean’s expression change, the smug satisfaction there faltering.
“You don’t know anything about that,” Dean said quietly, a glimpse of fear and shame flitting through his eyes before they went cold again.
“I do,” Jared said, after Dean had stood and taken a small step back, taking advantage of the hesitation. “I know about Alistair, and the souls, and the tortu-”
“Dean!”
Jared heard Sam’s shout, heard the struggle of Sam trying to hold his brother back after Dean’s boot had crashed into his ribs without warning, Jared turning over onto his side and curling up against the pain. His brain was going hazy again, his eyes closing, slowly losing his fight to stay awake and defend himself.
“How could he know that? How could he know that, Sam??”
“I don’t know!”
“He’s a goddamn shapeshifter! Give me the gun, and I’ll do it!”
“No!” Jared was merely listening to what was going on above him until he felt Sam push him onto his back again, and he opened his eyes to find Sam kneeling beside him, coat thrown off, tearing the sleeve off of his shirt and tying it around Jared’s shoulder in an effort to put pressure on the bullet wound. “He’s a person, Dean. And he’s hurt. If we’re gonna get anything out of him, we need to help him.”
He could hear Dean protesting, going on about the shapeshifter in Missouri that could download thoughts, and what if this was the same deal? He was fading out, beginning to lose consciousness, when he heard Sam insisting that this was different. Arms were gripping him, and he couldn’t help the pained groan that escaped his lips when they lifted him up onto his feet. He tried to stay with it enough to help them move him, fading in and out of blackness as he did so, and eventually gave up, figuring he’d done more harm than good when Dean grunted a gruff, “Easy!” in his ear.
The feel and smell of the leather in the Impala were the last things he registered before he lost control completely, his fate suddenly in the hands of the Winchester brothers.
****
If anybody were to ask him later, Jared would never be able to describe how unsettling it is to wake up and see your own face staring back at you without a mirror being involved. Because this was more than just seeing his twin, which would have been startling enough. Waking up with a bit less pain and a bit more clarity, he could see the difference in Sam.
Sam sat by his bed, a hunter lying in wait. Jared knew that he had a different look about him when he played Sam, but this? This was Sam. And Sam in the flesh was a lot darker and more intimidating than Jared had expected. It was his face, but there was no trace of him in it. There was no sympathy in those eyes at the moment; only anger and suspicion. Sam sat backwards in a chair, his head resting in his arms, which were curved over the wood. It was ordinarily a relaxed position, but there was something in the set of Sam’s jaw and the latent energy in Sam’s body that told Jared the obvious gun on the small round table by the bed was no joke; one wrong move, and he’d be dead in seconds.
“Who are you?”
Sam’s voice was just as cold as the look in his eyes, and Jared swallowed through the dryness in his throat.
“Ja-Jared,” he sputtered, coughing harshly afterwards, setting off a throb in his head and shoulder again.
Sam reached into his left shirt pocket and withdrew a small flask, tossing it onto the bed. Jared cautiously grabbed for it, opening it and lifting it to his lips, water splashing out of it. He nearly moaned in relief, emptying three quarters of it before remembering himself and lowering the flask, closing it and turning his eyes back on Sam. Sam, whose eyes now held a glimpse of sympathy and reassurance.
“Holy water?” Jared asked, his voice working much better now that he was somewhat hydrated.
“Yeah,” Sam nodded, head tilting slightly. “How did you know?”
Suddenly, the throbbing in Jared’s head and shoulder were more pronounced. He looked away, hesitating.
“Look, I don’t even know how I got here,” he said finally, toying with the flask in his hands. “I don’t…I’m not supposed to be here. This isn’t supposed to be real.”
“How did you know about Dean?” Sam asked, his voice going hard again, bypassing the non-answer Jared had given him. “How did you know about what he did in Hell?”
“That’s what I’d like to know.”
Dean suddenly appeared in the doorway, leaning against it before walking further into the room. Dean’s heated glare was locked on Jared, and it pained Jared to see that there was no sign of Jensen in those eyes. He closed his own eyes briefly, breathing through the pain in his body and holding back tears. This wasn’t right. None of it was. He felt like screaming, begging to have his life back. A small part of him wanted to call cut, as if that would somehow break this spell he was under. His whole world had been turned upside down in what seemed like a flash, and it was almost torture to have Dean standing before him, taunting him with what he needed so desperately right now; a truly familiar face.
He didn’t answer any of their questions when he opened his eyes again, instead taking in the room he was in for the first time. There was obviously the bed, crisp white sheets covering his body. The room was a bit dull, but at least an improvement from the one he’d first woken up in. It wasn’t falling apart, for one thing. And it was clearly still in use. What he could see of the walls was pale beige, the ceiling a shade lighter, the slightly dusty ceiling fan above him unmoving. There were a few round wooden tables in the room, including the one by his bed. Aside from Sam’s gun on that one, the tables were mostly occupied with books. They were old books, thick, with worn and torn pages, and what seemed like hundreds more filled some bookcases along the walls, two small windows allowing the sunlight in. He could feel Sam and Dean watching him as he looked around, not answering. He could feel the tension, their impatience, growing. And, suddenly, it hit him, and he turned to look back at Sam, hopeful that he at least knew something about this world he’d been thrust into.
“Are we in Bobby’s house?”
Sam’s eyes went a little wide before his eyebrows drew together, and he looked over at Dean, who now stood on the other side of the bed Jared was in. Jared turned to look, too, when he felt a slight dip in the mattress, Dean’s hand pressing into it as he leaned over Jared to look him dead in the eye with vehement stare.
“You better start talkin’.”
Jared shrunk back without fully realizing it, and Dean straightened back up slowly, holding Jared’s gaze for a few more seconds. The intensity of the situation hit him again. It was one thing to become these characters, figure out how their minds worked, and act out their scenes. It was another thing to have them staring you down. Jared would readily admit his fear. The Winchester boys were dangerous. Both of them were. He knew they were good guys at heart, of course. But if you were considered something to hunt, it was smarter by far to turn tail and run than to challenge them. And, right now, Jared was walking a fine line. He hesitated again, not knowing where to start and Sam sighed impatiently and spoke up.
“You said you didn’t know how you got here. What’s the last thing you remember?”
It took a few minutes for Jared to get a hold of that last memory. He remembered things, sure. He knew who he was, what he did, he remembered his family and friends. But it was hard work to set things up and figure out the last sequence of events that he could conjure up in his brain.
“Jensen,” he said finally, his heart once again aching for his friend. “At home, on a Sunday, playing video games.”
Dean’s eyes narrowed, and Jared knew that Dean must have remembered Jared calling him Jensen when he first saw him. He stood back, leaning against a bookcase, and crossed his arms over his chest.
“What the hell’s a Jensen??”
“Never mind that,” Sam snapped, taking control of the conversation again. “Where’s home?”
“Vancouver,” Jared answered, Sam’s eyebrows rising in response. “And he’s my best friend,” he said, turning back to Dean. “We, uh…We work together.”
“This doesn’t make any sense,” Dean muttered, walking over and sitting at the foot of the bed. “How do you know Bobby, if you’re from Vancouver? How do you know anything that you’ve mentioned since we found you? Or since you found us? And why the hell do you look so much like my brother?”
He knew his silence and hesitation was really starting to piss the boys off, but at least he’d given them something. But if they thought what he’d already told them didn’t make any sense, they sure as hell weren’t going to believe his explanation for everything Dean had just asked him. He fidgeted, trying to think of something to say, anything that wasn’t the truth. He felt the pull of a bandage over the throb in his right shoulder, and knew the guys must have patched him up while he was still out of it. He winced a little, the reminder of what had happened bringing the pain back to him at a higher level, and Sam tossed a bottle of pills at him. He nodded gratefully and opened them up, downing a couple with the last of the holy water in the flask.
“Any idea what caused the head injury?” Sam asked, the more pressing questions averted for a few more seconds. Jared shook his head.
“Dean?”
The voice sounded from downstairs. Bobby’s voice, Jared recognized. Dean turned his attention to the open doorway and called down after him.
“Up here, Bobby.”
Bobby’s entrance into the room was quiet. He didn’t say a word, just walked in, saw Jared lying in the bed beside Sam sitting in the chair, and his eyes widened almost comically. Then he reached inside his jacket for a flask. Dean huffed impatiently, rolling his eyes, and pushed off of the bed, grabbing the flask from Bobby and dousing Jared, Sam, and himself with holy water before handing it back.
“Y’happy?”
Bobby narrowed his eyes, cocked his head at Dean’s sarcastic tone, and stepped forward, emptying the rest of the flask’s contents into Dean’s face. Dean coughed and wiped his face, spitting out the excess and standing with his head lowered and his hands on his hips.
“I am now,” Bobby answered, the faint hint of a smirk on his lips. Dean nodded slowly before looking back up at him.
“Fair enough.”
“You get any information yet?” Bobby asked, moving on and nodding towards Jared.
“Not nearly enough,” Dean answered, turning back to Jared and settling back down on the edge of the bed. “But we were just getting to that, weren’t we, Jared?”
****
In the end, Jared could do nothing else but tell them the truth. He was surprised by their silence while he told his story, expecting some protests and accusations whenever he paused to take a breath. He could see Bobby’s brain working as he spoke, trying to piece facts together while editing out the crazy that Jared was spewing. Sam was also listening and trying to figure out a more reasonable explanation for all of this, until his attention was drawn away by Dean. Dean, who became more sullen, a heavy gloom falling over him. There were undeniably bad thoughts running through Dean’s brain, and Sam was tense as he watched the emotions flicker on Dean’s face, worry lining his own features.
Dean didn’t utter a word when Jared had finished. He’d merely gotten up and walked out of the room, silent and drooping, all the bravado Jared had been faced with before suddenly gone. Sam’s glare was enough to shut Jared up for another month, the other man standing and growling out, “That’s enough,” before following Dean out of the room, Bobby close behind. The door was closed and locked. Jared heard it click.
This was all in his head. It had to be. But every time he tried to think about what had happened or how to get out of it, he’d end up more frustrated and confused than before. He’d already passed out and woken up in the same place. He’d already tried squeezing his eyes shut and willing himself to wake up to the real world. Nothing worked. And now he was locked in a bedroom in a fictional character’s house guarded by fictional characters that were pissed and could easily kill him. It didn’t take much for him to start hyperventilating, kicking against the sheets in frustration. Why the hell was this happening to him?
He didn’t remember falling asleep again, but apparently he had, though he wasn’t sure for how long. He couldn’t see a clock in this room. At this point, it was hard to make out anything, the sun beginning to go down, less light coming in through the windows. He swallowed, feeling that his mouth had gone dry again, his stomach also rumbling its complaints. He had no way of knowing how long it’d been since he’d eaten.
He sat up slowly, easing himself through pain and dizziness. He made his way to the door with baby steps, and poised himself to knock before trying the knob, out of curiosity. It must have been unlocked at some point, probably the boys checking up on him and making sure he was out cold. He opened it to a dimly lit hallway, beige walls and hardwood floors, small lamps lit along the way. The downstairs was brighter, and he found Sam sitting at one end of the long dining room table with a pile of books, a rather large one opened up in front of him.
Sam looked tired. Not just tired, but weary. And when Jared followed Sam’s sad glances into the living room, he saw Dean, slouched low in an old cushioned chair, one bottle in his hand and others strewn on the floor. Jared took one more step forward, and Sam heard it, his head automatically swiveling to catch him in an accusing glare. But Sam turned away just as quickly as he’d looked, his face buried back in the book in front of him.
“We got takeout,” he said flatly, and Jared noticed boxes and bags of food at the other end of the table. “You can get yourself some water.”
Jared didn’t say anything in response, just did as Sam suggested, seating himself across from his darker double and opening up the food. Everything he touched seemed to make an incredible amount of noise, the silence in the house thick and filled with tension. Boxes opened and bags crinkled, and Jared swore he saw Sam stiffen and clench his jaw with every offending sound. Jared guiltily helped himself to some greasy pizza and fries, not sure if it would help at all with the nausea he’d experienced before they’d brought him here, but he had no other choice. Needless to say, he cut himself off earlier than he normally would, his body protesting what he’d already eaten. He flinched when Sam slid the bottle of pills across the table to him.
“Thank you,” he said awkwardly, his eyes flicking to Sam’s face. Sam’s eyes didn’t move from his book. “Where’s Bobby?”
“Out,” Sam said tersely, still not looking up at him. “We’re trying to find a way to send you back wherever the hell you came from.”
The conversation, if it could be called that, was cut short by Dean getting up and stumbling his way out to the kitchen, grabbing at the fridge. Sam watched him, sadly setting his book aside and following him. Dean had another beer in his hand before Sam could stop him, cracking it open with his ring and letting the cap fall to the floor.
“Dean, come on,” Sam pleaded, trying to sound at least a little bit authoritative and failing. He stood in front of Dean, blocking his way, and reached for the beer, which Dean hastily drew away, spilling half of it on himself and the floor. “I think you’ve had enough. Why don’t you just go lie down?”
“Can it, Sammy,” Dean slurred, pushing Sam out of his way and stumbling forward. “Doesn’t matter anymore.”
“Dean,” Sam pressed, but Dean ignored him, trying his best to move his body back in the direction of the living room. Sam caught him when he nearly fell, more beer spilling out over his hand, Dean shoving him away and practically shouting out an “I’m fine!” before collapsing back into his chair.
Jared watched it happen in silence, keeping his eyes averted as Sam turned back towards him and slumped back down in his chair at the other end of the table. He didn’t look over at Sam, but kept his eyes on Dean. Dean, who looked like hell, his eyes red and glassy, staring off into nothing as he raised the bottle to his lips.
“Leave him alone.”
“I-I wasn’t…Sorry!” Jared stuttered. Sam’s low command drew his attention, and when he turned, he could practically see Sam’s anger boiling beneath his skin. “Sorry,” he repeated, looking down at his hands. “I just…I feel ba-”
“He doesn’t need your pity,” Sam spat, and Jared leaned back in his chair and held his hands up.
“I know that,” he said quickly. “I know that. It’s just…” He trailed off, unsure of how to continue. If he said anything to Sam about knowing how he felt, he was sure to end up with another injury. “It’s just that…when Jensen plays Dean…”
“‘Plays?’” Sam scoffed, pushing his books aside in annoyance and nodding towards Dean. “This is fun for you?”
“No,” Jared said seriously, staring back at Sam, who went oddly quiet. “No, it isn’t. I mean, we’ve always loved our jobs, but times like this…Other people write the stuff, we just act it out, tell the story. We have to become you. And I’ve watched Jensen become Dean at times like this. When he’s…” Jared shrugged, gesturing vaguely in Dean’s direction. “And it sucks. Sometimes he gets lost in it, and I have to pull him out. I just…I hate seeing him like that.”
“You’re close?” Sam asked, some of the heat gone from his words.
“Yeah,” Jared nodded, “Yeah, real close. We’re practically family. That’s why it’s so hard sometimes. But he’s done the same for me.” He cleared his throat, pausing before continuing, not sure how far he could take this. “He was there for me when, um…” He realized episode titles wouldn’t mean anything to Sam, and spoke his next words slowly and carefully. “Madison, the Trickster, and…when the Hellhounds came for him.” Grief replaced the anger in Sam’s eyes, and Jared looked away. “Getting there emotionally was just terrible.”
Sam kept quiet, reaching for the books again and opening the one he’d been studying.
“Look, I’m really sorry if I caused any trouble…”
“Trouble?” Sam looked up at him and raised an eyebrow, quickly glancing over at Dean again. “Why do you think he’s like this? You know what he’s been through, right? The things he’s done, how bad he feels? And now you show up and tell him that he’s not even real.”
“I’m sorry,” Jared repeated, feeling a deep pang of regret in his heart. “I didn’t mean to cause any of this. I don’t even know how or why I’m here. I just wanna go back home.”
“We’ll find a way.”
Jared found himself going through the books with Sam, careful when he stole glances at Dean, who’d eventually passed out in his chair. Jared couldn’t help but wonder if, wherever he was, Jensen was feeling any of the pain Dean was right now. He wondered if that was even possible, just by their association. And he hoped not. And even though he could see the difference in Dean, and knew that there was no trace of Jensen there, it still took everything he had to not go over to Dean and comfort him the way he would if it were Jensen. An arm around the shoulder. Shit, even though they were guys, they weren’t past hugs. He’d wrapped Jensen up in one after an emotional scene enough times for it to be a completely normal occurrence for them. But, knowing Dean (and Sam), he’d probably just get a busted jaw in return.
He sighed, the ancient words and diagrams in front of him beginning to blur. He was tired again, the meds dragging him back under. And he couldn’t keep his mind focused, hoping that Jensen was okay. It had suddenly occurred to him that his last memory had been with Jensen. What if Jensen was trapped somewhere in this strange world, too? What if…
****
“It was a werewolf,” Dean groaned through his hangover, head resting on the dining room table. “And it sure as hell wasn’t wearing my face, so I’m pretty sure we didn’t kill your friend.”
“He could still be trapped in there, in that building,” Jared said in a rush, remembering the dilapidated state of the place he’d woken up in. And he’d woken up with a concussion. A million thoughts suddenly ran through his head. “Oh, God, what if he’s hurt?”
“Bobby’s on it,” Sam cut in, hanging up his cell phone as he strolled into the room, sipping at a cup of coffee before handing it off to Dean. “He’s gonna check the place out, make sure we didn’t leave anybody behind.”
“He have any leads on our friend here?” Dean asked, savoring the coffee as he gulped it down.
Jared listened as Sam explained what Bobby had told him about alternate realities, and how there had been cases of people traveling between them, sometimes not knowing how they’d even managed it.
“Okay,” he said slowly, “So how do we send me back to my reality?”
“Well,” Sam sat down at the table and sighed, “The truth is, we don’t know. In these cases, the tricky part was always getting back, and it isn’t even known if anyone ever managed it. People tried, but it seems like once you’ve left your own reality, it’s nearly impossible to get back into it. If there’s a way to do it, it hasn’t been documented anywhere, and hasn’t even been handed down in any oral traditions.”
“So, I’m stuck here?” Jared felt his heart drop, felt his breath catch in his throat. He couldn’t do this. This couldn’t be happening. There had to be a way out. The thought of being stuck here for the rest of his life without ever seeing his family and friends again was unbearable.
“We’ll find a way,” Sam said, repeating his words from the night before, and Jared took comfort in the reassuring tone that was evident this time around. They’d find a way. They had to.
Dean fared a little better that day, at least being of more use than he had been so far. He hit the books as hard as he could, probably with his head throbbing as much as Jared’s had been the day before. As it was, Jared was starting to feel less and less of his pains, and he took that to mean he was healing. That was some good news, at least. But he couldn’t let go of the fact that, according to what Sam had said, they were continuing to study the books in vain. There was no answer there. He couldn’t deny that it made him feel better to look, though. Just to make sure. It never hurt to double check.
All three of them looked up when the front door opened, Bobby entering. Jared hooked him with a hopeful gaze, and when Bobby shook his head, Jared almost took that to mean the worst, holding his breath and releasing it only when Bobby started talking.
“Nothin’ there,” Bobby confirmed. “No sign of your friend, or anyone else. Looks like you’re the only one who made it through the veil.”
****
The veil. What veil? Jared had accepted this, was coping, trying to work through it. But it had been…well, he didn’t know how long it had been. He reluctantly hadn’t kept track, and was wondering if it even mattered. They’d all been reading, searching, working themselves to the bone, and nothing to help him had come up. He was stuck in a reality that wasn’t his, if it was even a reality at all. It couldn’t be. That was what he was thinking now. He’d either lost his mind or was in the process of steadily losing it. Or he was dead and just not accepting it, like one of the spirits on the show. Maybe he should. Maybe he should just let go.
And yet, he couldn’t. He struggled to keep hold of what he had, doing his best to remember his life back at home. Every moment that he had to spare, he thought about each and every person he knew, running through their names and faces, sometimes closing his eyes to picture them better in his mind. Of course, he didn’t have to work hard to picture Jensen with Dean around, and he was oddly grateful for that now, though he’d been bothered by it at first. It was better to have a vivid image of someone he was that close to. It was more of a reminder of what he was missing, what he was longing for. He had to fight for that. He had to find a way.
It scared him sometimes, when he went to sleep. He didn’t really sleep. He just drifted through periods of blackness, nothingness, and he was terrified that, if he slept for too long, he’d never wake up. He tried his best to keep awake, keep at it, but he was so tired that it almost hurt, sometimes, pains in his head and shoulder coming back to haunt him, trying to lull him into sleep.
He kept trying, kept fighting sleep, fighting insanity, fighting hopelessness. And then, Ruby showed up, walking through the door and carefully avoiding the Devil’s Traps on the ceiling and hidden on the floor. She listened to Jared’s story, listened to all three of them neglect to find a solution. And then she turned on Sam and gave him a look; a look that made Dean tense uncomfortably.
“You can fix this, Sam,” she said evenly, watching him for a reaction he didn’t give, his expression set in stone. “You can fix this, and you know it. You know what you have to do.”
“Wait a mi-”
“It’s okay, Dean,” Sam said, cutting his brother off in a sharp tone, his eyes set on Ruby. “I’ve already told you, I’m not doing that anymore.”
“So you’ll just leave him here?” she challenged. “Trapped forever?”
“We won’t,” Dean spoke up, and Jared turned to him, catching a reassuring glance from him. “We’ll help him.”
“Okay, great,” Ruby said, turning to Dean and nodding, arms crossing over her chest. “Any idea how?” She sighed and turned back to Sam when Dean remained silent. “Sam,” she pleaded, “Come on. You can do this. And you need the practice.”
“Ruby?” Dean made his way over to her, blocking her from Sam and giving her a half smile. “Could you excuse us for a few minutes?”
“What for?” she countered. “You do this every time, Dean, always holding Sam back to try and figure out another way, and you know that never ends well.”
Dean stepped closer to her, his stance threatening, his eyes going cold and hard.
“Ruby, you caught me in a generous mood, and I suggest you take advantage of that before I force you outta here.”
She bristled but looked past Dean to glance at Sam, who nodded. Without another word, she turned and walked out the door, Dean immediately rounding on Sam.
“What can you do? And don’t lie to me,” Dean growled when Sam opened his mouth. “You said your powers only worked on demons.” He gestured over to Jared. “How the hell are they supposed to work on him?”
Sam took a deep breath to compose himself, and Jared looked on, feeling every bit the third wheel. The room was dead quiet, and yet Jared had to strain to hear Sam when he finally started talking.
“My powers can work on more than just demons, alright?”
“How?” Dean asked, facing Sam but not quite looking at him, body stiff.
Sam took another deep breath, hesitating and fidgeting, looking downright ashamed, before reaching for the collar of his shirt and pulling it down. Dean caught the movement and focused on it, as Jared did. Slowly, Sam revealed his tattoo, the one that matched Dean’s and was used to ward off possession. Jared stepped closer, trying his best to do it discreetly, and squinted at the detail. Dean stepped back abruptly, and Jared had to move so that they didn’t collide.
“Sammy,” Dean breathed, his eyes wide. “What…”
“I can let her in,” Sam explained. And that’s when Jared saw it. The barely noticeable pink scar at the bottom edge of the tattoo, breaking the circle. “I can control it. The possession, I mean. I can control her. I can control demons, Dean. I can take her out of the body she’s in and bring her into mine, and then, when I’m…when I’m done…I can take her out and put her back. I’m…I’m stronger when I’m…”
“Possessed?? Dean exclaimed, his voice high-pitched and wavering. “Sammy, what…When you’re done? When you’re done what? Sam, what the hell have you been doing?”
Jared watched Dean hurriedly back away, saw the anguish and fear in his eyes. Sam reached out to him, pleaded with him to just listen. But Dean shook his head and flinched away, heading out the door just as Ruby had, without a single word.
****
Awkward silence between him and Sam was becoming a regular thing for Jared. It was even more awkward when Ruby came back, contributing to the silence herself, just a third presence in the room, waiting impatiently for something to happen. Occasionally, she would speak up, the sound of her voice making Jared jump in the quiet of the room, telling Sam to just give it up on the books he was reading, already. He wasn’t going to find an answer there. Sam ignored her, not looking up from the books in front of him until the door opened again and Dean returned.
Dean once again looked like hell, but he was at least half sober. He took slow steps, as if paying careful attention to each one, his eyes on the floor as he walked. Jared was sitting at the far end of the table, away from Dean, and he could still smell the smoke and booze that Dean was carrying around on his clothing. He stopped a few feet away from the table.
“Help him, Sam.”
Sam’s hopeful look turned confused, Dean’s voice barely audible. Then realization dawned, and the scrape of Sam’s chair against the floor sounded throughout the room, Sam standing and taking a step forward.
“Dean, are you su-” He paused, looking stricken when Dean flinched and took a step back.
“It’s the only thing we’ve got, Sam. We can’t just leave him here.” He smiled sadly, still not looking at anyone in the room. “I know what it’s like to be trapped in another world. I know what that does to people.” He finally lifted his head, his eyes roaming the room before chancing a glance at Sam, laughing without humor. “Just no fancy tricks, like sending me back there, okay?”
“Dean…” Sam looked pained, and Jared could almost feel the emotion on Sam’s face, knowing from experience how much it killed Sam for Dean to be so afraid of him. “I would never…”
“Just help him,” Dean said, cutting him off. “Please, just…get it over with, okay?”
Sam nodded slowly, blinking a few times before turning to Ruby, who’d known enough to stay quiet up until now. She crossed the room to stand next to Sam and looked over at Dean, trying to look sympathetic.
“You’re doing the right thing, Dean. You don’t have to be afraid of this.”
“Yeah,” Dean laughed bitterly, eyes back on the floor. “Yeah, thanks. That’s real comforting.”
“Alright,” Sam said softly, turning to look at Jared. Jared stood, nervous butterflies flitting around in his stomach. “Are you ready?”
“I-I don’t,” he stuttered, his heart beating rapidly. He had a million questions running through his mind, but couldn’t seem to form them on his now dry lips. Had Sam ever done this before? What exactly would be happening? Would it hurt? What if something went wrong? “Are you sure it’ll work?”
“It should,” Sam said. “But we’ll be here if anything goes wrong. We’ll help you. Just…let me know if anything feels wrong, and we’ll stop, okay?”
He felt like an idiot, standing there silently, as if he hadn’t been driving himself and them crazy trying to get back home. Now that he had a way back, he was scared to use it. Sam and Ruby were looking at him expectantly, but Dean was looking down, shoulders hunched. Jared took a good long look, seeing the sadness and vulnerability there. Jensen. He turned back to Sam and nodded.
Sam moved closer to Ruby, placing his hand on her head and closing his eyes. The possession wasn’t the violent kind that Jared was used to seeing, a thick pillar of black smoke forcing its way down someone’s throat. It was slow, controlled, Sam just quietly breathing her in. It took longer, but he could see when Ruby had completely left her own body, the form going limp in Sam’s hands. Sam gently lowered it to the floor and then stood back up, turning black eyes on Jared. Those eyes carefully flicked over to Dean for a moment, and Dean looked back at his brother, swallowing and taking another step back.
“Just relax,” Sam instructed, lifting his left hand in Jared’s direction.
A sudden terrifying thought struck Jared, and that was that Sam might not know where exactly to send him. If there were a number of alternate realities, how could he know which one to leave him in? Sure, Jared had told him where he’d come from, but it wasn’t as if Sam had a number or an address to work with. How did anyone identify which realities were which?
He opened his mouth, but didn’t have time to speak, his body beginning to pulse and vibrate with this alien force pressing in around it. His mouth snapped shut, and he started to panic, his heart hammering wildly in his chest. He wanted Sam to wait, to stop, but he couldn’t move, his eyes squeezing themselves shut after one feeble blink. He felt a strong pull on his entire body, and then Sam’s voice a whisper in his brain: “Focus.”
For a moment, he wasn’t sure what it meant, adrenaline and fear pulsing through his veins. But then he understood, and he did his best to calm down, clear his mind, and picture what he so desperately needed. Home. Texas. Family. Vancouver. Set. Home. Dogs. Jensen.
“Sammy, what the hell’s goin’ on?!”
Dean’s panicked voice broke into his thoughts, and he lost his mental footing, hearing Sam shushing his brother, telling him he just needed to concentrate.
“Focus!”
Sam had said it out loud this time, and Jared tried again, an image of Jensen floating into his mind before pain shot through his body. He couldn’t cry out, wasn’t thinking, wasn’t picturing anything anymore, and he could hear Dean shouting for him, shouting at Sam. Something must have gone terribly wrong.
****
He woke up slowly in a darkened room, his mouth incredibly dry, his brain in a fog. He felt warm, a cushioned pillow behind his head, and was glad that the Winchesters were still taking care of him, at least. He wondered where they were, what went wrong, until he turned his head, surprised to see Dean sleeping in a chair beside his bed, a blanket thrown over his body. Jared almost grimaced, knowing that the position Dean was in could never be comfortable. But Dean slept anyway, though Jared couldn’t say it looked like a peaceful sleep. Even though he wasn’t awake, Dean looked tense in the low light filtering in through the partially open door, lines of worry creasing his features. Jared wondered where Sam was, if the two of them had fought after whatever had happened with Sam’s powers.
Jared tried to swallow and almost couldn’t, his throat feeling like sandpaper. He hated to wake Dean up, figuring the guy could use all the sleep he could get, whether it was soothing or not. But he needed help. He reached out, his arm feeling like lead, grunting with the effort. His fingers landed on the lump of soft blanket covering Dean’s knee.
“Dea-” Jared’s voice sounded like gravel, and when he tried to use it, he broke off into a loud cough. He both saw and felt Dean’s body jump, startled awake, and then Dean was leaning forward, grasping Jared’s hand in his own, Dean’s other hand reaching out to rest gently on Jared’s chest.
“Jared??” Dean rasped sleepily, concern lacing his voice.
“Dean,” Jared said, after coughing once more. “Dean, I…”
Jared trailed off when Dean leaned closer, the hand resting on Jared’s chest moving up to smooth the hair back off of his forehead, a gentle smile pulling at the corners of Dean’s mouth.
“We’re not on set, dude.” Jared blinked in confusion, his head swimming, and he watched as Dean frowned and then reached to push a button by his bed. “You’re still burning up a little.” The hand was back on his head, and he looked up into caring, familiar eyes, and felt a lump spring to his throat. He swallowed around it and tried to speak, his dry mouth still not fully cooperating.
“‘Ensen?” he whispered, hopeful.
“Yeah,” Jensen smiled down at him. “Yeah, it’s me, Jay.”
“Jensen…” Jared cut himself off with a quiet sob, tears blurring his vision. “Jensen.”
“Hey,” Jensen said softly, soothingly, fingers carding through Jared’s hair. Then light slowly filled the room, the adjustment not too harsh for Jared’s eyes, and a pair of nurses entered the room. Jensen greeted them and moved away, and Jared immediately felt his absence.
The nurses were checking him, asking him questions, taking his temperature. He tried to stay calm, tried to be a good patient, but he was still stunned by the fact that he was back home, still unable to fight the tears in his eyes. He heard one of them ask him something else, but was only vaguely paying attention, his eyes searching the room.
“Jensen?”
“Right here, man.”
Jensen was leaning in the doorway, and walked back in when Jared called out for him, the nurses pausing in what they were doing. Jensen politely asked the nurses if they could just give him a few minutes, told them Jared was still a little confused from waking up. Then he sat on the edge of Jared’s bed, leaned down, and carefully lifted Jared into a hug. Jared jolted forward, welcoming the feel of Jensen’s arms around him and pulling Jensen closer.
“Easy,” Jensen cautioned, rubbing small circles into Jared’s back. “Easy. It’s okay.”
Jared felt pain return to both his head and his shoulder, as well as a dull ache pulsing in his body. It confused him even more, still trying to come to terms with what was real and what wasn’t. He buried his head against Jensen’s chest, breathing in deeply and sobbing quietly, tears wetting his cheeks. Jensen’s arms tightened around him. He tried to stop, not wanting to embarrass himself too much, but he couldn’t help it. He didn’t know what the hell had happened, and he clutched Jensen, his safety and warmth. It was almost too warm, now. Jared could feel it now, the fever raging beneath his skin, causing the ache he was feeling. He was hot, sweaty, and Jensen’s own natural body warmth only made him feel even hotter, but he didn’t care. Not now. Because he had to reassure himself that this, right here, was real. He could feel Jensen’s chest rising and falling with each steady breath, the strong beat of Jensen’s heart. Thank God.
“You’re gonna be alright, Jay,” Jensen whispered. “But you need to let the nurses look you over, okay? I’ll be right here.”
Jared nodded against Jensen’s chest, and Jensen gently laid him back down on the bed and stepped away, the nurses taking over again.
Part 2