SPN_PIC_FOR_FIC - Freak of Nature 1/1

[mangacat201]

Title: Freak of Nature

Author: Mangacat(201)
Pairing/Characters: Jared/Jensen (preslash, kinda) Dean, others
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 9663

Disclaimer: If someone could own them, I think there would be Third World War breaking out soon enough, so we’re all glad they only belong to themselves and hopefully don’t do these things… and if you do, don’t tell us about it, yeah? YEAH? No harm, no foul, no money, all fiction. (Plus, Dean belongs to Kripke, but you'd better not tell him that...)
Warnings/Spoilers: Not really, mentions of the finale to season four, but all in all it's just hints that can be read everywhich way.
Summary: The umbrella, sometimes (well, yeah most of the times) it's just protection against shitty weather. It's the ones that can be called incidents, that make the thing really funny. Jared is about to find out just how screwed up life can get on one of those special occasions.

 

A/N: This is my contribution to the May prompt of the spn_pic_for_fic challenge (yeah, running a bit late, but there's life and there's RL you know...) anyway, look at the community to figure out what this is about and start up your own fic_for_pic, we're waiting!!

 

 

 

 

~*~

 

The trailer door opened and a young man man stepped out onto the ledge and squinted up at the cloudy sky - incessant rumbling sounded from not too far. Then he flinched as a big rain drop hit him square on the cheek. He turned and fetched an umbrella that was propped up beside the door and opened it up to shield himself from the water pouring down. He stepped down and closed the door behind him, his gaze catching on the little handwritten sign that had appeared saying 'Dean'. He shook his head, mumbling to himself and turned around sharply at the sound of good-natured laughter.

“They really like to encourage character bleed, don't they? But there's no way I'm taking this kind of baggage all the way home with me.”

The answer was thrown back instantly.

“I'm sure you'll cope, you are just awesome that way!”

He swept his arms out to prepare a little bow, but before he actually got there, he had about half a second to feel a strange tension build up around him, and then everything went white hot and black instantly.

 

When he came to, it was to a familiar ache in all his limbs and a quite acute pain in his right hand. A more thorough inventory showed him lying flat on his back and he felt a big pair of hands flutter around, patting his shoulders and his neck. A well-known voice filtered through his muddled brain that felt like going five rounds with a werewolf and he hoped that wasn't the case literally.

“Oh my god, are you alright? Is there, I... help's coming soon, yeah, hang on?”

He groaned and aborted any attempt to move his head in favour of grabbing at the arms that were blurring all over him to stop the movement and garner attention.

“Wha' happn'd?”

“I... you got.. struck by lightning, I guess. I'm not really...”

He cracked an eye open to squint at the familiar face hovering over him.

“Lightning, eh? Yeah right, Sammy, that's a good one.”

A frown passed over the concerned features of his little brother, but before any more words could be spoken, a young woman hurried over, a sturdy middle-aged man in tow.

“I fetched Phil fast as I could, is he...?”

“I'm right here, made of awesome, sugar. Just wait a moment until the world stops spinning and I'll get back at you.”

“Well, his sharp tongue seems to be up to par after all, let's look at you for a moment anyway, yeah?”

Dean tried to swat away the man he had made out to be a doctor and went to sit up, but a strong hand kept him lying down and he wanted to hiss at Sam for making him take the doctors prodding and questions. However, it turned out that trying to get up wasn't as easy as he would've thought after the doctor had given him permission. He had pronounced him quite alright save for a nasty burn in his hand that had to be bandaged and a mild shock, incredulous expression firmly in place.

“I can't say how glad but surprised I am that you aren't fried within an inch of your life, but I figure, the umbrella might have had something to do with it. Either way you shouldn't be alone for at least 48 hours to be sure there will not be any further reactions.”

Meanwhile a bigger crowd had formed around them, people chattering away like mad, making his head ache even fiercer after he was finally on his own feet, leaning on his lanky brother with careful evasion. He was reluctant to contemplate how they had ended up where they were in the situation they found themselves in, but if he was really struck by lightning (and the charred remains of an umbrella made a pretty damn good set of evidence) there must have been some serious shit going down beforehand. And it was always good to hit the road before people started figuring out that they were either not supposed to be on the premisses or things just didn't happen that way. So he complained loudly about the terrible headache raging in his skull and let Sam take him away to the car, where he drifted off to a soothing rumble.

Only when he found himself wedged in the back seat of a full off road SUV with Sam beside him and a driver (that looked strangely familiar somehow) behind the wheel, did some cogs in his head turn the right way. They pointed out that something was decidedly wrong with this picture, and he desperately tried to put together what it was, but his brain was still a bit muddled and slow and lost the thread of thought again after a few seconds. So, when they stopped shortly after, he let Sam, who'd been watching him with the puppy frown of doom then entire time, drag him out of the car without protest. They walked over a well manicured lawn and up to a cosy little town house. Sam fumbled the keys from his pocket and juggled them a bit in the lock, until the door opened and revealed a fully furnished modern interior.

“Wow, Sammy, must have been one hell of a tip we got to be squatting in a place like this. Are you sure that the owners won't be back until we finished up with this job?”

“Dude, I know you had a serious accident, but you can drop the act around here, OK? Let's just get you ready for a shower and some quality nap time. The doc said you shouldn't move around too much and lie down for a bit if possible, so we're going to do what Phil says, OK? No games and pranks about this one, man.”

He blinked a bit owlishly, but followed Sam into the back of the house, man, this lightning struck like a serious bitch.

 

His brother managed to bundle him into the bathroom with the order to take a shower, but thankfully left him alone to do the deed. He got in under the hot spray and marvelled at the brilliance of well-tempered water pressure. This place was a fricking gold mine, he'd be even tempted to stay a bit longer than strictly necessary in here – just to enjoy the creature comforts or course. When stepped out of the shower, he found his clothes had been replaced by a ratty t-shirt and some sweat pants, so he figured Sam was quite serious about the sleeping part. Dean threw on the clothes and squinted into the mirror while he brushed his teeth and then patted out of the bathroom into the adjoining bedroom. He didn't see his duffle bag anywhere, so he figured Sam might not have unpacked them yet, but his clothes lay in a heap in the chair in the corner. He walked over and routed around them for a few seconds until he found what he'd been looking for and then proceeded to crawl into bed before Sam could come in and order him. He figured that being struck by lightning was as good an excuse as he was ever going to get to lie down early and by putting his head on the comfortably dented pillow, he managed to stop his brain from feeling like it slugged around in his skull with every movement. Actually the mattress was heavenly and so much better than any motel bed he'd ever slept in and while he was accustomed to sleep in any position at all times, he could definitely get used to that. So he drifted off peacefully after noticing his mother-hening little brother manning the doorway for a moment.

 

Jared stood in the doorway of Jensen's bedroom and watched his best friend sleeping peacefully for a few moments. He debated whether to stay in the room and set up camp in the armchair currently holding Dean's clothes to make sure that Jensen didn't slip away in his sleep, but he reconsidered that as just a tad bit creepy. The doc had said to check on him regularly and not let him do any extensive bodily work, but otherwise he should be fine after a good night's sleep and a healthy meal. Jared was still worried because of the befuddled look the other man had worn all the way to the house and the strange displays of getting into character, calling him Sam and all that. He thought Jensen might have taken on the opportunity to put a practical joke on him, but he still decided to sleep on the couch to be nearby, should the other man need something. He knew it was comfortable enough from many a night of winding down after a long day of shooting, only to fall asleep right away. Usually it was Jensen that woke him up and ordered him upstairs, but this night would be different. He just hoped that his best friend was alright and would really be back to normal once all the systems had rebooted. He dragged a blanket over to the couch and after making sure that the dogs were taken care of and locked securely away as to not disturb Jensen, he settled on the couch. It took him quite a bit longer to fall asleep though, as the image of that powerful lethal energy running through Jensen for fractions of a second was branded into his eyelids, taunting him incessantly.

 

A tiny beat of sweat trickled down his brow from the heat surrounding everything, but he paid it no mind. Instead he looked down at his hands, caked in blood that ran in delicious streaks up to his elbow. He'd never once washed his hands down here, they were encrusted with old flaky blood and shiny wet new one that made sluggish turns on his skin. The combination of both glued the knife to his hand securely and he could feel the echo of torn guts and ripped-out lungs twanging through the fluids and he revelled in the picture it made before him, until a thought snaked into his mind to look at who exactly was strapped down before him and...

 

“SAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAMMY.”

Dean sat up like a switch blade, panting harshly and threw the covers from his hot and sweating skin, trying to disentangle his thoughts and and limbs, barely registering that early morning light was filtering through the blinds before he heard a crash and a couple of loud, thumping noises that turned into quite a big mass of a man barging through the door before the handle was fully pressed down.

“Jesus, I heard... are you... is everything alright? Talk to me!”

He dropped down on the edge of the bed unceremoniously and grabbed Dean's head with both hands, thumbs on his cheekbones and stared into his eyes.

“You okay? What was it? A nightmare?”

“Yeah I...”

“What was it about?”

“What was it... Sam, you know what they are about. Don't give me that shit!”

The violent outburst had the other man flinch back and drop his hands.

“You know, you can drop the act now, really, because this is so not funny anymore.”

“What are you on about? You know tha...” Dean narrowed his eyes at the other, took a second look … and came up with nothing that made Sam his brother in this man's eyes.

“You're not Sam.”

The epiphany had him moving so fast he almost blurred.

 

“Of course not, I... ughnngh.”

Jared felt his head smash into the wall, while the other man's left hand almost crushed his windpipe with the vice-like grip he used to pin him there. The move had completely taken him by surprise and only when a little click sounded only inches from his face did his world focus on the barrel of the gun pointed right between his eyes. He vaguely recalled Jensen's hand diving under the pillow and where had he gotten a weapon just like that... then he remembered – Jensen had been carrying a prop still, as he came directly from set. It was one of the real ones though, so even if there was no way it came packing live bullets, Jared really didn't fancy getting shot at in any shape or form. All the more since he had no clue what his best friend was actually on about.

“What the fuck is going here and who are you? I'm not in the mood for waiting here.”

Jared looked into the eyes of the man poised before him, his stance ready and wired for a fight – like a soldier, a fricking warrior – and he searched for the familiarity of his best friends personality and he only found...

 

“Oh my God, oh God...”

The strangled words came out of the mouth of the man that was not Sam – not Sammy, Jesus, not again, not – whose eyes bugged out with astonishment. The other made to speak and he relaxed his hand just a fraction of an inch to give him room. He flicked his eyes to the barrel and back to lock onto Dean's gaze, then he spoke.

“You're right. I'm not a Winchester...,” the finger on the trigger tightened immediately, but he hurried to move on before more could happen. “... but neither are you.”

“What are you on about?”

“You.. are not.. Dean Winchester.”

Dean was completely taken aback by that, he didn't know what kind of creature or demon was posing for his brother right now, but he was damn sure of his own identity, thank you very much.

“What if I am?”

The other man narrowed his eyes at that and hissed: “Prove it.”

“Aha, and how, pray tell, would I do that?”

“Dean Winchester got dragged out of hell by an angel of the Lord. He's got the mark to show for it. I can tell you what's going on, but first you have to prove yourself.”

“And what would that accomplish? You're still not Sam and I'm gonna kill you evil son of a bitch anyway.” He tightened his grip again half a notch just for good measure.

“Just .. show it.. you'll .. see, or don't.. you dare?”

Dean wanted to shake his head, was all this just an elaborate trick? But there was a little voice niggling at the back of his head, that told him to just do and then find out how to kill this one.

Slowly, he slid his right hand up his left arm the gun always pointing at the man in front of him, using the weapon to rake the T-Shirt up to his shoulder and held Not-Sam's gaze the entire time. He saw the other man's eyes flicker down for half a second and figured he would be satisfied.

“Touched by an angel... all hard evidence there, you see?”

“No... you see.”

And kind of without his own violation, his eyes dropped down to the spot where they expected to find the scorched mark to land on... unblemished skin.

 

The grip on his gun faltered at the sight, but he didn't let go entirely. His arm, however, dropped away from the other man's throat, giving him room to breathe for the first time in minutes. He coughed and spluttered a bit mumbling about bad habits and choking before his eyes fixed on Dean with surprising clarity and a hint of Sam-ness that hadn't been there before.

“What the fuck is this? Some practical joke of the universe taking a shit on me or what? Tell me who you are!”

“I'm Jared, ok? Jared and you are Jensen, my best friend and we've been working together for years now. This is our house, we're living here and this is your bed. We're both perfectly normal and human, no deaths, no freaky demon powered psycho foo, no cryptic guardian angels.”

Dean felt the hand gripping the gun tremble, not so much from the words, but from that smooth voice taking on the perfect lilt and pitch of his brother when he was talking Dean down to reason. Then the content of his words caught up with Dean.

“I.. Wait, how do you know all that?”

“Because I AM Sam Winchester. Just not in the way you might think. You and me, we're actors and we're working together on a show called Supernatural, where we play the Winchester brothers.”

Dean positively gaped at that, he couldn't help himself.

“Are you serious? You're saying my whole life is a fricking TV-show? Excuse me if I'm waiting for that angel buddy to jump out flaunting the wisdom of a heavenly pun, but it doesn't feel like one. How the hell did you come up with such bullshit?”

Not-Sam – Jared, he said his name's Jared – rolled his eyes in another move that reminded him painfully of his brother and snarked back.

“And how do you explain the absence of a certain mark then? Or the fact that if you try to gun me down with that one, you're going to shoot blanks?”

“Huh? WHAT, you're...”

“That's a prop gun, check the clip!”

Reluctantly, he pressed down and alright those were definitely not his custom-made silver bullets that should be in here. He couldn't really grasp it, but this made his believe waver for the first time in a way that even the absence of Castiel's mark hadn't been able to. He recognized this weapon, the ivory handle smooth and familiar against his skin, but something was off here. Too many things made too much sense.

 

Jared watched the debate going on behind the other man's eyes with dread. He tried to figure out what to do now, since everything he's said up to now was pretty much made up as he went along. He was very aware of that detached sense of panic lingering in the back vestiges of his mind, because, damn, this was his best friend, this was Jensen and he WASN'T and what was happening here? He knew that if he let that hysteric giggle that was lodged up in his throat out, he'd have lost all control on this situation and he had to stay in tune, he had be strong enough to handle that. Because either his best friend's whole personality had been erased by lightning to leave only a role he was playing behind, or the lighting had struck the real Dean Winchester inside the other man. Jared didn't want to think about either possibilities because they were both equally scary and he really didn't know what to do next, how to resolve this. But he didn't get any further in his thoughts as he just barely caught on a dangerous glint appearing in the others eyes, before he told him what he had deduced from the situation.

“You're right, something is not right here, but you could be anyone or anything. I don't believe you... I've had that parallel universe crap before...”

“... with the djinn, right?”

“... and it doesn't pan out in the... what?”

“When you were captured by the djinn... Mum was alive, but Dad was still very much dead, even if he had grave this time.”

He saw the other one narrow his eyes, and contemplated that this might not have been the best way to put it, when he reacted in the split second the man threw a punch at him.

 

Dean found himself in a situation he had neither anticipated, nor was he used to dealing with it. Apparently, though this felt very much like his body and it was by no means on the flimsy side of things, his reflexes didn't work the way they were supposed to. Which is why, instead of nursing some bruised knuckles from hitting a jaw full on with bone breaking force, he found himself pinned to the bed with his arms over his head and a considerable bulk of a man holding the rest of him down quite effectively. It had been a long time since he and Sam ever did some sparring (they caught enough training and scrapes in their regular kind of squabbles with the Supernatural) against each other and he knew that his brother was huge, but this... this was ridiculous. Even more so, since that man that was definitely not Sammy was wearing this half stunned, half apologetic expression that was so very much unlike his brother again.

“I.. uhm, I'm sorry, but I couldn't very well let you hit me like that. I know, this isn't easy and I swear, I don't know what happened, if you are a part of Jensen, or real somewhere else in this cosmic scrabble and somehow ended up here. But I'm not putting up with throwing punches, we have to work together to fix this, OK, whatever has happened. I... I'm going to call some people, they... they have to know what's going on and maybe they can find a way to fix this, to get you back wherever you belong, right?”

Dean contemplated the offer for a few moments, and somehow, he had to trust this guy not to be any more supernatural than he himself was, and maybe something like he had said HAD happened and he got ripped out of a different part of reality. Either way, he was stuck here with that (un)familiar Sasquatch and he really had no choice right now but to go along until he could figure out what was going on. So he nodded and relaxed his fighting stance a bit to tell the other man that he wasn't a danger for now. What was his name – Jared, it was, yeah – well he was apparently not catching up on the deal.

“Yeah, alright, call those guys, but really you can let me up now, I won't bite.”

Jared seemed to notice belatedly that he was looming over him with his whole weight spread out over his body and he shot up and away with an agility that spoke of some serious stretching of the physical law of mass movement. He shimmied to the other end of the bed against the wall and blinked at Dean with wide eyes that made mirth sparkle in the back of his skull. This situation might be seriously going on FUBAR, but at least he wasn't the only one seemingly out of his depth right now. He watched the guy gape like a fish for a few seconds until his irritation at the lack of movement spiked to make him snap:

“Well, don't you need a phone?”

Jared started but said nothing when he scrambled off the bed to fetch a cell from the desk. He paced the floor after hitting a number and putting the cell up to his ear, anxious for the other end of the line to be picked up. Dean watched him thinking about the differences he could make out in this man, that were not only terms of attitude and mannerisms, but also on the physical level in the way he held himself, paced around on the lush carpet of the room. He really wanted to jump up and fight something, hunt something, but he held himself in check, because this was seriously out of his depth and even if he couldn't fall back onto his brother to do the research, he would have to content with the next best thing.

 

Jared was very aware for the eyes following his path through the room and while the phone rang to get a connection outside the country, and he pushed that embarrassing scene to the back of his head. Normally, he wouldn't even think twice about the physical proximity to Jensen, his best friend had learned to put up with padahugs, and padapaws and padablankets and his altogether infamous disregard for personal space very well over the years, but still, this was kind of... different.

Either way, he tried to get his act together for the conversation he was going to have. In this instant, someone picked up at the other end of the phone.

“Eric? Yeah, hi it's me... no it's just Jen's phone lying around in reach. Yes, I got him home after yesterday and he's alright, only, we have a problem here, kinda. I... well, it's really not going to work talking that out over the phone. No, he's healthy enough, but yeah, can you get the team up here? Yeah, all the writers, there's... yeah, I think this is going to interfere with the shooting schedule... Definitely. I'm like, a bit out of my depth here, so, we really need to discuss that in person... yeah, I... yeah, just call when you're up here, we'll meet you at the set then... Yeah, bye.”

He turned around to the scrutinizing gaze of those eyes and sighed deeply.

“I've got the creator and the writing team coming up here from LA, they're catching the next possible plane, but it'll probably take them till evening to arrive. We'll have to wait until then, I'm afraid.”

 

Dean fought the urge to cock his head and scrutinize some more, because, well he just didn't do the puppy look – that was Sam's thing, though his little brother really hadn't been anything like a puppy lately – and he had a reputation to uphold.

“Considering that I don't think anything can be done until your... writers – this is not something like graphic novelist turned prophet, because dude, I got one of those already, and really...”

“Oh, no God, I hope not...,” Jared looked unsure for a moment there, because lets face it, if he really was Dean – and he felt very much like it – and this really was, kind of not his body, than there were only so many things that could have happened, they knew after all what kind of belief was inspired by masses. Still, both of them were not keen on addressing that particular elephant, so Dean decided he needed to kill time or something else preferably.

“So what do you propose we do then? Because, really I'm in a strange place here and I need to kick some serious ass, right about now.”

Jared looked taken aback for a moment, but then he turned pensive and shuffled around a bit again.

“Well, if this were a normal case of free time and this were only me and you, well Jensen, then we'd be lazing around watching a game or playing some video games or something...”

Dean pondered that for a moment and figured that if he was stuck here anyway for the time being, he could just as well have fun on the side.

“Ok, well, but first I have to get dressed, can't very well run around in boxers now, can I?”

Jared seemed to notice that for the first time and he got the faintest of blushes while pointing behind his back at the big wardrobe that took up most of the wall.

“Well, you can find stuff in there, so no fret, it's not like it won't fit you. I'll... well, I'll just go and fix some breakfast, yeah?”

He slunk out of the room and left Dean alone in this strange place that was to neat, to clean, to little sleazy to be comfortable.

He threw open the doors and looked at the clothes that hung inside, pressed and neat and altogether sorted out in a way that his clothes never (in their short life) ever experienced. He rifled through some of the shirts and pants and grew increasingly more frustrated and irked because, dude, did that guy not own any real manly working clothes? Things that could get dirty and ripped and messed up and still get through another four or five cycles of laundry? God, there were actually... he wouldn't be caught DEAD in these pants, there had to be something comfortable in this house that he could actually wear. He'd already shed his T-Shirt, but he decided that there was no way around wandering out and asking Jared about something to wear, so he opened the door cautiously, feeling quite weird to go around in someone's living space like that. Not that it would normally bother him any to keep out of someone's apartment or house, but this was... kind of his living space or at least it should have been and this whole mess was tangled beyond measure.

 

Either way, he padded out of the room, following his nose to that delicious source that sent the smell of bacon through the air. Of course that landed him in the big kitchen of the house where Jared was putting his meagre skills to pass to whip up a breakfast for both of them. As Dean stood in the door watching for a moment, he was struck again how much difference lay between his brother and this man, his mannerisms and movement graceful but so far away from the wired strength and barely controlled aggression Sam had oozed in buckets lately.

'And we know now that you could have caught on to that one much earlier, if you hadn't been so caught up by your own whining...' a little niggling voice in the back of his head told him, but which he squashed instantly and very determined. He ambled into the kitchen with the kind of stealth that was ingrained into his very being by years and years of hunting that he couldn't shed the habit even in day to day life. When he stood directly behind Jared, he made a move to touch his shoulder as to make him aware of his presence, but Jared turned around before he could get there.

Part two