Sledgehammers and the Fourth Wall (1/4)
Mar. 8th, 2013 12:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dime_lioraTitle: Sledgehammers and the Fourth Wall (1/4)
Wordcount: 9,554
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Dean/Sam, implied Jensen/OFC and Jared/Alona
Notes: This is the result of both an argument I saw on Youtube, and one I had in real life.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything in Supernatural, and Jared and Jensen are real people and certainly not the ones found here.
Summary: When the Winchesters go at the Fourth Wall they go at it hard.
Next Part
It's not that Dean's never woken up in a strange place before. That happens a lot. To be honest it happens far more than he cares to admit recently, and that's saying something. Still he has a fairly strong grasp on how that whole thing usually unfolds. Memory of passing out notwithstanding there's always the build-up, and Dean never forgets the beginning of a night with that much lubrication. Hasn't forgotten the build-up to any of those nights, at least not since-
But he's not going there anymore because he promised himself he wouldn't. Some things can't be changed, and once you've gone down certain hallways all you can do is burn the house down and hope it doesn't rebuild itself. At least that's one of the many philosophies he's pulled, whole and shining, out of his ass in the last two months while he and Sam drift further and further apart. All thanks to Sam's inability to let the goddamn house burn down. So whatever has him reclined in an SUV he doesn't recognize with a headache that may land in the record books it's surely Sam's fault. He'll tell Sam that too, as soon as he gets the fur off his tongue and the lingering sensation of nausea out of his gut. He pushes his way up and slams his poor head against the roof of the car before he realizes that his depth perception is all off. Well fuck. Isn't that just the kicker? He manages to get the door of the damn thing open and stumbles out into an overcast day in some parking lot. The clear feeling in the air, the sharp underbite of the wind, and the maples changing colors in the distance tell him he's north of the Mason-Dixon line. It's mid-fall here, but he's pretty certain the last place he clearly remembers was Louisiana in August. There's a warehouse in front of him that looks fairly abandoned and that's not a good sign. Was he at a rave?
Fuck that. Dean Winchester has gone to some seedy places, but a rave is beneath even him. Bunch of willowy kids in day-glo paint dropping E and humping each other to bad music. Count him out. So if it wasn't a social event what was it? And where the fuck was he last? He remembers a motel room, one of many that don't really stick out, and an argument with Sam that follows that same pattern. Something about a hunt. A hunt for…
But he can't remember. And is that what's happened? Was he injured on a hunt? Maybe hexed, and this is where he woke up? If that's the case than he needs to call Sam immediately because either his little brother has been injured too and is missing, or he's in serious trouble for not making sure Dean got back to the room after it was all done. Honestly he's hoping for the second option even though it's unlikely. He fumbles through his pockets before his fingers skim something smooth and plastic. Bingo. Except that's not his phone. Not one of the many pre-pays he's had over the years at all, the company's logo emblazoned on the top of it suggesting that it's part of some responsible person's contractual plan. Dean doesn't do contracts. A side effect of being legally dead.
So without a doubt the warning bells are now going off in his head at an alarming volume, and he uses this to steady his shaking legs as he hits the phone's power button and fiddles with it. There's a password setting, and he can just see Sam figuring out the password without having to try and then gloating. Smug little bastard. He tries random combinations and words for a few minutes and then gives it up and drops the cell back into his pocket before digging more thoroughly in the others. He finds a wallet that definitely doesn't belong to him, keys to the behemoth behind him, and then a scrap of paper with a name and an address on it. That warrants a second look because while it's not Dean's handwriting it is a man's handwriting, but despite being fooled before he’s pretty sure it’s a woman’s name. Briefly he remembers a punch he received years and years ago from a hunter named Sue when he made a Johnny Cash joke. Which should have gone over so much better. He drops the paper in with the phone, and then opens the wallet and before he can get a good look he hears a familiar groan of pain from behind him.
It takes no time at all to circle the Denali and find Sam leaning against it on the ground. His brother looks just as fucked up as he feels, and the icing on the weird shit cake is that there's a beanie on Sam's head. It's not that Sam's never worn one before, but only under extreme circumstances. Dean knows without a shadow of doubt that his little brother fakes not caring about his hair, claims it's indifference that lets him go so long between haircuts, but in reality it is the same vanity Dean applies to his baby. He knows how hard Sam works to trim those little sideburns he's so fond of, and hats like the one on Sam's head undo all his careful work. It's not cold enough for Sam to resort to such an accessory, and that's all the heads-up Dean needs to be completely aware that they are in some fucked up shit.
He thinks through all of this as he leads Sam upright and off the cold metal of the car, checks his pupils for signs of a concussion and pushes his fingers under Sam's jaw to time his pulse. They're familiar with first-aid, hell they've faked being EMTs efficiently more than once, but that doesn't mean there could be something wrong with them that Dean doesn't know how to find. Dad's old manuals covered a lot of situations, but they were sorely lacking in "woke up in a strange parking lot in a different state and season". Sam's hands fumble up to find his, grip for half a second, and then the hazel eyes clear and he pushes Dean away. So they're still fighting.
"Fuck off Dean. I'm fine. Where are we? What hit me?" It's a testament to his superior quality as a brother that he doesn't use this as an excuse to shout at Sam or belittle him. They have time for that later. Also, shouting with a headache is never a good idea.
"North or Northern Midwest. Warehouse parking lot. What's the last thing you remember?"
That gets Sam's attention, and the broad brow furrows as his eyebrows pull together tightly. "Uh. We were in the motel and you were arguing with me about how to go after the troll."
The troll. It's clear in seconds. Dean found the string of grisly deaths in Louisiana, all near a specific bridge, all the corpses crushed as if by a giant. Sam had figured out the troll angle, and there'd been a lot of mockery on Dean's part before he finally got excited about the prospect of something new. As much as he'd longed for cut and dry hauntings in the last few years it had been an adventure to have something new to hunt. The trouble had come when Sam wanted to take a fairy tale approach to troll hunting, and Dean wanted to try out a more brutal attack. He'd been quoting the "Billy Goats Gruff" in a sarcastic tone when the world went dark. He'd smelled something too, something kind of like incense but he wasn't entirely sure.
"Ok. Yeah troll. So how'd we get here?" He looks around and then focuses on Sam as his little brother starts rifling through his pockets. He pulls out a cell phone much like Dean's, a wallet that is much nicer than any Sam has probably ever owned, a pack of licorice, and then a slip of paper. He squints in an offended manner at the candy before opening the paper. It's got the same info Dean's had, but in a different hand. Clue.
The rain starts then, and they climb back into the SUV before it soaks them and open their respective wallets. Sam groans thickly and Dean glances over to see the ID in his hand states that he is Jared Padalecki. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. His own wallet informs him cheerily that he's Jensen Ackles, and that's just perfect. They're back in TV land. How he doesn't know because they certainly didn't jump through any random angel's portal this time, but here they are. So now he needs to figure out what the actors were doing when they got slid out of their world or whatever happens to them when the Winchesters take their places. Sam rifles a little deeper and pulls out a picture of himself and Jo, smiling and arm in arm, and the look he sends Dean is borderline panicked. Dean shakes his head once, although what he's negating he's not sure, and then closes his own wallet and starts the car. First things first.
They drive fifteen minutes before they see a city, and the landmarks aren't very helpful. Sam's fiddling with the phone he found, and while Dean pulls over in the parking lot of an A&W Sam makes a noise of victory and then shoots Dean the same look he imagined earlier. Kid's too smart for his own damn good. Once the phone's cracked though they have a wider variety of options in front of them.
Sam plugs the address from the paper scrap into his phone and then turns the GPS on. It tells them they're maybe ten minutes away from their destination, and that they're in Northeast Ohio. Dean gets to be smug at that one, but it's a short-lived victory. He orders a ridiculous amount of food and charges it to Jensen's credit card without cursing a single time. Which is an accomplishment as far as he's concerned. Sam watches him start in on the Papa Burger before biting into his grilled chicken sandwich.
"So do we follow the mysterious lead or just find a way to get the hell out of here?" Sam's face says that A&W doesn't have the best lettuce, and he pulls it off before finishing the sandwich. Dean considers his options as he pops another cheese curd in his mouth.
"Probably our best option is both. The name on the paper might have some answers, or shit just a place to sleep. I feel like I went three rounds with a damn Wendigo." Sam makes a face, either at his choice of analogies or his mouthful of food Dean's not sure, and then shakes his head balefully.
"You think she's gonna let us just stay at her place? What happens when we tell her we're not Jared and Jensen?"
He raises one eyebrow to indicate Sam's mistakes, and the wide eyes narrow before Sam adopts his best bitchface.
"Dean. We're not actors remember? Remember how bad it was last time? What if she knows them really well huh? How are we going to trick her into thinking we're them?" He sounds so fucking condescending Dean kind of wants to dump his drink in Sam's lap, but he holds back on that urge too. Because he's the best big brother in the world, and he needs to be calm to prove that.
"We've pretended to be all kinds of things Sam. Sure, scripts weren't our strong suit, but lying we're damn good at. We got a specialty in that."
Sam doesn't look convinced, but he nods once and then pulls his phone out. "Well let's call her. I doubt they just show up randomly. Right?"
"Right." He's not sure about that though. Guys like Jensen and Jared rarely go on trips together to abandoned warehouses with scraps of paper bearing an old friend's name tucked in their pockets. Still that line that's been between Sam's eyebrows since he woke up has finally disappeared and Dean's not eager to bring it back. He starts the car up even as Sam skips through his phone contacts. Dean's suspicions are put into question when Sam ends up finding one with the girl's name and the right area code attached to it. He calls it on speakerphone, and Dean's delighted when the ringback tone is Bob Seger's "Turn the Page".
The voice that answers is low, borderline sultry, and severely annoyed. Jessica Rabbit pissed off. "Yeah Jared? How can I help you?"
Sam waits a second too long, there's a huff from the other end, and then his brother's brain kicks on and he leans towards the phone slightly. "Hey, uh, Jensen and I were just thinking about stopping in."
There's a pause long enough to suggest that this requires thought, which underlines the idea that they are not old friends, and then the voice comes back slightly suspicious. "Stopping in? Aren't you guys supposed to be visiting family on your break?"
Sam meets his eyes and Dean shrugs widely. He doesn't know what two actors do on a break. Shit this is the time they'd normally still be filming isn't it? Why are they on a break? "Well we thought you'd be a nicer visit sweetheart." He puts all the charm he has into it, and the result surprises the hell out of him.
"Ok, listen, we've talked about that. When you're off the clock you're off the clock, so drop the voice. You guys are out of luck on dinner. I haven't been grocery shopping in a week." She sounds off now, kind of confused and a little distant. "Deadline you know?"
Sam grabs the phone up and tries to sound sympathetic and understanding. "Yeah of course. We just ate so that's cool."
There's laughter then, husky and honest, and her voice comes back a little warmer. "Oh yeah? Steak house or pub?"
"A&W." Sam shoots him a look and Dean gives it right back. Famous people eat at fast food restaurants all the time. He's seen it on those trashy magazines in the gas stations. The ones he certainly does not read no matter what Sam says.
"Yeah. Sure. Anyway see you guys in…wait where are you?"
"Not far. See you soon Morgan." The name almost comes out smoothly, but Sam hitches on it for half a second. If she notices though her goodbye doesn't suggest it. When the call is done Sam queues the directions back up and then catches Dean's gaze. "We're not gonnna pull this off Dean. There's no way."
He starts the SUV up and pulls out of the parking lot. "Positive thinking Sammy. It's the only way to go."
------
She doesn't live in a town. That's the first indication that this is seriously off. They cross into a village, a tiny main street consisting of old buildings lining one hilly road with an extremely low speed limit. The small businesses give way to a plethora of Victorians and those boxy modern houses favored so often in this part of the nation. A left turn takes them up more hill until they've officially reached what has to be the highest part of the village, and there stands the house the phone insists is their destination. It's set on a broad and sweeping lawn, and the place can't be any newer than the thirties or forties. Built out of cement blocks and sheltered from the road by a plethora of trees it's big enough for a family, but only one car sits in the wrap-around drive-way. There's a pavilion in the back, and an old storage building that has so many cobwebs in the windows it's obviously out of use. The light in the front yard is on, but Dean goes to the back of the house and finds a patio with a heavy looking door set into it. He knocks on the cedar frame and then peeks through the kitchen window. A breakfast nook sits nestled underneath the glass, and the lights in the kitchen show that the table is covered in papers and one beat up old laptop stands guard over all of it. There's music drifting through the whole scene but he can't quite make out what it is from here. He sees a shape in the window, and when the door opens and the light spills in from outside the shape resolves into a woman.
Way to go Jensen. She's curvy in the right places, and long red hair is pulled into a sloppy ponytail over a lightly tanned face and dark brown eyes. She studies them both for a second before stepping back and waving them in. He doesn't miss that her hands are small and delicate, or that she smiles tightly with full lips. There's a wedding ring on her finger, and that dims his opinion of her a bit. She's short too, and when Sam steps in he towers over her. She leads them into the kitchen and then sweeps papers up and away from one side of the table so that they can sit without having them in their way.
"You guys want a beer? I have enough of those even if I can't offer you food." Her voice is accentless, the sound of a person who has either been raised in a vacuum or worked very hard to shed what they sounded like before. She opens the fridge and drops two Yuenglings in front of them before crossing to the counters on the opposite side of the room. Dean's already popping the cap off with his ring, and her eyebrow goes up to her hairline before she smiles tightly again. "Hey, I was thinking of having a smoke. I'm gonna get a sweater ok?"
Dean nods once, smile firmly fixed on his face to suggest that this is all something he expected, and definitely not weird at all. She slips out of the kitchen and he stands and looks at the wall over where they were sitting. There are pictures up there, old black and whites of a wedding with a smiling couple. There's another framed photo on the curve of the nook that features a smiling serviceman with a nose like hers but eyes so bright blue they're reminiscent of Castiel. Sam's trying to quietly get his attention, but Dean's more interested in the paperwork.
"Dean she's on to us." His hiss is low, almost inaudible, and Dean shrugs once and glances up at his brother.
"How Sam?" He pitches his response just as low while he rifles through the papers. They're reports on injuries, deep and intricate descriptions of pain levels and healing times. The ones shuffled underneath are specs for military grade weapons. He almost whistles in appreciation, but the sound is stolen from his mouth when Sam makes a choked noise and the distinct thwack of metal connecting with flesh resonates through the room. It takes him a second to realize that the sound and the bright pain in his lower back are connected, and he turns to face his attacker with papers still clutched in his hands. She's standing in the archway behind him, the one that leads to a dining room, and there's a small aluminum bat in her hand.
She points it like a batter signaling his next hit. "Who the fuck are you?"
He'd respond, but honestly there's no breath left in his lungs and he's fairly certain she was one or two pounds of pressure away from putting blood in his urine. He hates pissing blood. Sam's got it though, recognizes how bad off he is and stands one hand moving reflexively for a knife he realizes he doesn't have. She jerks the bat in his direction when Sam starts speaking. "Hey. Hey now it's ok. We're not going to hurt you."
Her eyes narrow down to dark points as she jerks the bat back at Dean. It's unwarranted though because he's just grabbing the table to make sure he stays steady. She moves slightly and gives herself away. This isn't something she's done before, because she's exposing too much of her side to Sam in an attempt to cover Dean. She's isolated him as the less dangerous one. An interesting choice since Sam is so much bigger, but not completely out of bounds. On the other hand it's a huge mistake because Sam is often almost as dangerous as Dean, and he's already shooting Dean the look to distract her.
"You're goddamn right you're not gonna hurt me. Now tell me who you are." Her hand is shaking now, and Dean almost feels for her. After all, however it is she's figured out that they're not who they're pretending to be she's just a civilian being faced with two strange, muscular men in her home pretending to be her whatever they are.
"Ok, hey, look." He's wheezing but that's good because her hand lowers just a little. "This is a misunderstanding."
He's pretty sure she's going to laugh, or make a sarcastic comment, but Sam cuts that off. Grabs her arm to stop the bat and then grabs her other hand when she swings back. He slides his hand up to pinch the nerve cluster in her shoulder, and she releases the bat with a clatter onto the floor. Sam's trying to hold her tight, but she's thrashing and her eyes have gone wild. She bucks her head back, collides with his nose, and then Sam jerks and hits her knee. It's like the magic off-button, because she stops fighting and there's an agonized noise from the back of her throat before she goes limp.
Dean watches Sam's eyes go wide with guilt, and he lets go of her as she stumbles down and grabs at the knee. It wasn't a hard enough hit to explain that sort of reaction, but her face has gone totally white and she's gasping as she holds onto it. There's the sound of heavy breathing from her, wheezing from Dean, and Sam's guilty silence before they both start talking at the same time.
"Jesus I'm sorry-"
"Fuck that hurts-"
Sam's grabbing her then and lifting her as carefully as he can before leading her down onto the nook's bench. Dean would think it's kind of cute of him, but he has to shove Dean to do it and there's a flare of pain in his lower back reminding him that this whole thing has gone too far sideways for them to even begin to salvage it.
"Ok, listen we're-" Her hand rises up and stops him mid-sentence. Her head is down, and when she finally looks up her pupils are blown wide with adrenaline and pain.
"Identity second. Go through that archway and take the first door on the left. Cabinets above the toilet. Vicodin and the brace. Fast please."
Sam's off like a shot, and when he comes back she dry swallows two of the painkillers before gesturing for him to stand next to her. At this point Dean's feeling about as useful as a dull knife. He kneads his lower back while Sam holds out one arm and she grips his forearm and pulls herself up. She glances once Dean's way, up at Sam, and then uses her free hand to undo the button and fly on her jeans and drop them. Dean gets to appreciate the long legs, muscles indicative of an experienced runner, before he sees the inflamed scar on her kneecap. He winces once in sympathy, and when Sam gets over his prudishness and looks down he hisses before helping her back onto the bench to get the brace on. She's got her jaw clenched tight as Sam maneuvers it carefully, and then when it's on he helps her put her jeans back in place.
"Ice pack in the freezer. I need a smoke." She pushes her way up as Sam digs in the freezer, and halfway through the action he stops and gives Dean his patented what the hell am I doing look, before getting the damn thing and following her. Dean limps along behind, remembering at the last second to grab the beers. Because that may be important. He nudges her hand with his, and brown eyes startle before she grips the bottle and mutters a thanks.
There are four patio chairs set up, and Sam finds a stool under the workbench behind the one she collapses into and moves it so she can prop her leg up. After the icepack is placed and they've both grabbed one of the spots to either side of her a silence descends and Dean's pretty sure this is one of the most awkward moments of his life. No more awkward than that morning a few months ago, but that's a very high bar and….and he's not going there anymore. Instead he focuses on watching her. She pulls a pack of Marlboro Reds from her pocket and lights one before using her fingers to rub the flesh above and below the brace. Her eyes stay on the ground. Sam's watching her with guilt still evident on his face, and Dean rubs the back of his neck before trying to dispel the mood.
"You got quite a swing with that thing." Her hands jerk but she doesn't look up.
"My husband insisted we keep it when I told him no guns. Home protection." Her fingers keep moving as she inhales through her nose. "Maybe I should have practiced more."
He catches Sam's eyes and lifts his eyebrows. She's definitely married and she doesn’t look the cheating type. What the fuck were the two actors doing here?
"Where is your husband?" Sam's voice is soft and soothing, and where usually people melt at it she looks up suspiciously and then pulls the cigarette from her mouth and taps the ashes off the end.
"Who the hell are you guys? You're not crazy look-a-likes. Nobody's that good." Dean can see the way her fingers are shaking with the cigarette, but she gulps her beer and leans back as if she's totally at ease with them.
Sam looks at him again, and they have a silent argument about what to say and who to say it. It's their way, and she watches it without comment for several seconds before tapping her cigarette again and looking away. The husband is an important issue. He may not have much problem with her spending time with the actors but he's certainly not going to be happy if he figures out what she might have been doing, and the suggestion here is that he's a bit more combat oriented than her. Dean takes over as Sam glares at him to be good.
"Let's do this in turns ok? We ask a question, you ask a question, and everybody gets answers. We'll start. You recognize these?" He digs in his pockets, winces when her hand tightens on the beer bottle, and retrieves the two scraps of paper. She looks them over for a full minute in the bright patio light before looking up.
"Jensen and Jared wrote these." Her face is full of questions, and he watches her sort through them. "They gave you my address. Who are you?"
"Sam and Dean Winchester." Sam's face is tight, expectant, and she looks at him blankly before laughing and taking another gulp of her beer.
"No really. I thought we were going to be honest." Her face says she's amused, but her body is tight.
"We are." Dean watched her throat work, and leaned forward cautiously sipping from his own beer. "Where's your husband?" It's not meant to sound so predatory, but if the guy is gonna show up with a gun he never told his wife about Dean would like to be ready for it. Her eyes slide away and then land on something in the darkness of the yard.
"Down the street with my uncle. What do you two want?" Her hand is moving rhythmically on the bottle as if she can find just the right grip to use it to defend herself. She keeps her head rested though, leaning against the back of the chair, and he knows why. Some people, no matter how much experience, can't move for the first half hour after taking opiates. Nausea is a pretty common side effect.
Sam's leaning forward now, hands rubbing in between his knees as he looks for just the right phrase to put her at ease. "We have to figure out how we got here so we can get back. You watch the show right?"
Her eyes moved his way for half a second and then fixed back on the dark yard. "Yeah. I watch the show. You guys jump through another angel portal?" She doesn't sound serious so much as sardonic, and Dean's at his limit. He has to take this slow though because she's not gonna just believe them. That would make her crazy.
"You watch the show but you don't believe. Ok. What will prove it to you?" Morgan's lips pursed, and then she put the bottle down and crushed her cigarette out.
"If there was a way to assure me that you were two fictional characters who stepped out of a television show and received my address from the actors that play you I'd offer it. Honestly though I can't think of a single thing that would logically get that job done. In the meantime let's pretend you're telling the truth and go off of that. What do you remember?" She drained the last of her bottle and dropped it onto the glass table beside her before rubbing at her eyes.
Sam raised an eyebrow at him and then took a sip of his own beer. "Uh. We were on a hunt in Louisiana. Troll. We were arguing about how to handle it and then we woke up outside that SUV at a warehouse about twenty or thirty minutes from here. With those scraps of paper and not much else. That's about it."
"There was a smell." Sam's look was incredulous and Morgan opened her eyes and focused on him. "Kinda like burning grass but harsher? I didn't recognize it. What happened to your knee?" It's not necessarily relevant to their discussion, but if they're gonna keep up this series of turns then they may as well take them. The scars were pretty distinct, and it's hard to imagine a situation in which someone her age needed serious knee surgery.
Morgan's eyes diverted again, fingers tapping rapidly on the arm of her chair. "Attack. It got smashed, and they did anthroplasty. I'm still in the one year recovery time technically. So you smelled burning grass, and then you woke up here. You think it was a spell?"
Sam got up, disappeared for a few seconds, and then came back with more beer. He handed her one before he gave a new one to Dean. "Had to be. The question is who did it and why. Were Jensen or Jared practitioners?"
Her laugh was startled and open, and then she put two fingers to her temple and turned a little green before sipping her beer. "No. Not even a little bit. They got enough of that nonsense from the show, and the fans who couldn't tell the difference. This is ridiculous." She dropped the beer on the table and rubbed at her eyes again. "I can't believe this is happening."
Understatement. Dean drained the last of his first bottle and popped the top off with his ring before another question occurred to him. "How'd you know we weren't Jensen and Jared?"
Apparently the turn system was over. "You keep talking like that for one. How you opened your beer bottle. Where you ate. The way you guys sit near each other." She lit another cigarette and gave it a disgusted look. "There were a lot of indications. What made you think you could fake it?"
The second beer tastes better than the first, and Dean's mouth engages before his brain does. It's an old issue that he's never really gotten under control. "Figured you were some groupie one of them was boning and there wouldn't be much issue."
Her fingers jerked once, Sam gave him an ugly look, and then she started laughing before she covered her mouth. He saw tears follow close behind. Sam's sympathy face got stronger, but she waved him off. "Oh that would just be-wow." Her hand passed over her face once and then she settled her gaze back out in the darkness. "Why would they do this?"
That made him angry, and he couldn't even explain why. Whatever it was between her and them she was some married chick sitting alone in a big old house with a bunch of research. The whole damn thing was off and she was handling this way too well. "They wanted to let you meet your heroes? I dunno lady what's the deal here? You are a groupie right? A big fan, and now you get to meet the Winchesters. Is it your birthday?"
Morgan's eyes focused in on whatever it was she was watching in the yard, and then her hand moved on what must have been long habit and crushed her cigarette in the ashtray without looking. "Let's say you guys aren't two lunatics, let's say you actually are the brothers Winchester. That leaves us two options: one, you're in Jared and Jensen's bodies and they're trapped in there somewhere while you possess them. Two, they switched places with you and here you are. So what is the big picture attached to that?" Her voice dropped deadly low and soft even as her hands gestured along with her words. "There's a troll in Louisiana, no doubt killing people, and the only two equipped to take it on are trapped in another world. Your bodies may or may not be left there undefended and empty. There's a whole slew of people who depend on that show to continue their livelihoods, and I'm two weeks away from owing several chapters to my editor. In what way do any of us benefit from you being here?"
Dean worked his jaw silently for a long moment as he considered that and begrudged her taking his source of anger away. "Aren't you s'posed to want to meet your heroes?"
Sam was laughing though. Laughing on that verge of hysterical that he sometimes did when a situation got so stressful that Sam couldn't take it anymore. Dean glared at him trying to figure out what had hit his brother's funny bone. Morgan rubbed at her eyes again before sharing Dean's incredulity.
"You're-I was worried you'd be-Becky was-"
And then Dean got it, and he was laughing too. Morgan's eyes narrowed, widened, and then she laughed with them.
------
They drank for several hours, and when the beer was seriously depleted and their tongues tumbling around themselves she missed the table and lost her bottle. Stoned and drunk with strangers. He checked his watch and saw that it was after three in the morning.
"Where t'hell is your hubby?"
She didn't look his way. Sam's face cramped, and then he leaned in and spoke softly. "How long's he been dead?"
Well that was left field. Of course Sam had read it right, because she looked up from her empty hands to focus on him. "Little over a year."
Son of a bitch. "Why the hell'd you get drunk with us? We're strange loonies and you're up here alone! You got a death wish?"
The look Sam gives him is almost priceless, and if he wasn't so mad he'd lean forward and tweak Sam's nose just to send him over the edge. Instead he tries to focus his vision on the woman in front of him. The icepack is long gone, but her knee is still propped up on the stool to remind them all how fucking vulnerable she is. Civilians.
"Ok. I'm more 'clined to believe you're Dean Winchester now. Good job on that." She burped once and then laughed. Drunk, there was a hint of the South to her.
"This ain't funny sweetheart. You're crippled and sittin' around with two strangers. You could get hurt."
She looked at him then, really looked at him, and her brown eyes were glazed and serious. "You gonna hurt me Dean?"
He spluttered even as Sam smoothly interjected himself in. Sam always held back enough to be able to do this. "No. We're not. Dean's just being Dean. Maybe it's time for him to go to bed."
That was enough to calm him down, and he squinted at Sam for a minute before turning his head back to her. "You know a good motel 'round here?"
"Yeah. Spare beds upstairs. Don't break your necks." She pushed out of the chair and limped through the door, and Dean sat silently for a while before following her in. He found the stairs easily enough. Sam followed him and they stared at the doors for a bit before Sam bravely pushed one open. There was a double in there, and the door next to it exposed a room with a daybed and walls full of books. He pointed to the little daybed and nodded seriously. "Good luck Sam."
"Hell no. What? I'm three feet too tall for that man." Sam's bitchface was back, and Dean was glad the ground under them was solid again. He threw out a fist, Sam matched him, and the fight was on.
Fucking rock beating scissors.
------
He was in a ballroom maybe, but there weren't people dancing and there was no music. It took him a while to figure out that the crowd in front of him wasn't so big as to seem faceless, but actually faceless. The blurry heads moved in front of him and then one materialized forward and came into focus. Morgan. Her hair was much shorter, and she looked less sleep-deprived, but her smile was the same tight and unsure look he'd seen before. One of the faceless people handed her a microphone and she cleared her throat away from it before she spoke.
"This is probably a question for your writers but, uh, in ‘The Monster at the End of this Book’ you list Dean's two favorite songs as Zeppelin's ‘Ramble On’ or ‘Travellin' Riverside Blues’. The sentence is sort of ambiguous, but I was wondering if you meant Zeppelin's version or Robert Johnson's?"
Dean went to answer and his mouth moved without him, his voice less raspy than normal, softer, and relaxed. "Wow. Uh. Wasn't prepared for that one. How old are you?"
It's meant to be charming, he knows that's the aim, and the crowd laughs and takes it that way. Her mouth tightens though even as it curls into a "yeah nice one dick" smile. "Old enough. It's obviously not important."
He feels the brain around his, and isn't that an awkward fucking feeling, stumble to catch up. "No, no it's a good one. I'd think it would be Zeppelin. Dean's a little young for Johnson."
Her face says what Dean's thinking. That he's a hunter who has spent an incredible amount of time in backwoods bars. The chances he hasn't heard classic blues are pretty slim. Instead she nods once tightly and gives the microphone back to the faceless man before she merges into the crowd. A breathy voice starts talking, but the scene melts and shifts and then he's sitting on that patio again with Sam, Jared the softer version of him states, and Morgan and a tall older man. They're all drinking, and her hair is longer now but she still looks younger and lighter. The older man leans forward and pats her knee even as he speaks, his blue eyes twinkling merrily.
"She's in love with him. Just won't admit it."
"She-" Morgan spears the man with her glare, "is not 'in love with him'. She admires him and-why the hell am I talking in third person?"
He feels his shoulders shrug even as Sam/Jared leans back and laughs. "Why do you admire him? He's emotionally handicapped, an alcoholic, and he's got a brother complex to beat all others."
The older man leans back and shakes his head. "Oh no. Here it comes."
But her eyes are blazing and she leans forward to point a finger in his direction even as her drink sloshes over her fingers a bit. "Ok. First off alcoholism is not on the table here. We're having this conversation drunk and there's no way we can judge him for that. Emotionally handicapped? Ok I'll give you that one. The brother complex too, but only because they're all a part of what makes him…him. We're talking about a guy who dies for strangers, who sells his soul for a brother that abandoned him, who-Jesus how can you not admire him? You play him!"
He feels the weariness there, as if the mind he's in doesn't want to hear this again. "He's not a bad guy, but really think about it. Everything he does is because he's been programmed for it. It's not because he's good, he's brain-washed by his dad."
Dean wants to shout at him, but she's already there. The older man, her husband Ray, grabs her shoulder but she's off already. "That doesn't-you're so reductive Jen. Go back, to way before the hunting and everything else and look at the picture without the name attached ok? You got a four-year-old boy and he's got one natural set of loyalties towards whom? His mother. Secondary on a kid that age is his dad, but a little brother? Always last, 'cause that's who's replacing him in his parent's affections. Little boy wakes up to hear his father shouting, hear terror, fire is burning in his house and his mom is missing. That's assuming he doesn't see what's in the nursery. So there he is, basically a fucking toddler, and this little upstart is dropped in his arms and he's told to abandon his mother and father to save it. Any kid that age would crumble under the pressure, or turn the baby out and go for the mother. What does he do? He carries the baby out, carries him out and holds him as close as he can to protect him, because that's what comes first. He breaks every logical step to literally carry his baby brother out of the fire. That's not just admirable it's fucking heroic. Everything that comes afterwards is defined by that decision, and if you can't-Jesus you're like talking to a brick wall."
Except he can feel that other presence, Jensen he's pretty sure, relaxing backwards as if the fight was just something he felt he had to do. An appearance he had to keep up in the face of something, but what Dean's not sure. Ray laughs and squeezes her shoulder. "Like I said. In love with him."
"Joseph Campbell-" It has the sound of an old argument, but Dean's too fascinated with the fact that he sees himself standing on the other side of the little group now. The face looking at him is serious, drawn, and it points once before it speaks directly into his brain.
Help her. It's on the phone.
------
He woke up to sun in his eyes and a major headache. Too much beer and too little…the events of the day before came rushing back and Dean fought a wave of nausea as he considered what she had proposed. Their bodies lying unprotected in Louisiana was bad enough, but the possibility that the actors were there pretending to be them was worse. So maybe they'd done it for her, or maybe they'd done it for an adventure. The possibilities seemed endless and mind-boggling, and Dean wasn't inclined to consider that. He needed a little hair of the dog and some breakfast to kill the ache left over from yesterday.
He found her in the kitchen with toast on a paper towel and her fingers flying over the laptop keys. She glanced up at him for half a second before nodding towards the counter. "Cereal or toast. Coffee is brewed. I'll hit the grocery store later if you guys are staying."
Dean poured himself cereal and sat the on the bench across from her as she continued to type almost frantically. Her eyes moved over the screen quickly, and then the she closed the laptop and looked up at him. "Are you guys staying?"
"I don't see why not. You're our only clue at the moment. What are you working on?"
She frowned at the laptop before leaning back and running her fingers through her messy hair. "My first realistic fiction. It's not working with me."
The knowledge comes out of nowhere. "So you write fantasy novels usually right?" She shot him a look and he shrugged, made a guess, and came out alright. "I saw your shelves."
"Yeah I've sold a few of them. I don't know what you guys eat other than diner food and salads. The show is kinda vague on that one." Morgan dug through the piles of research until she found a notebook and ripped off a blank page. "And I haven't cooked in a long time so I'm warning you not to pick anything too difficult."
"We'll eat anything. How'd you meet Jensen Ackles?" He pitched his voice as soothing and unconcerned as he possibly could. Watched as her expression stayed stable as she wrote.
"Convention. The guy holding the questions mic knew my books and he got me in the line so I could ask one. Afterwards Jensen tracked me down. He said he thought I was a plant from the show to surprise him." He watched her underline the words "hamburger meat".
"What was the question?" He knows already, and that answers one of her suppositions from the night before, but he's not going to give that away. There's no telling if she needs to know or not. Honestly he'd rather discuss it with Sam first.
Her cheeks turned a slight red, and she glanced at him before she went back to the list. "Whether you preferred the Zeppelin remake of 'Travellin' Riverside Blues' or the Robert Johnson original. He didn't know and the writers ended up not caring."
"The Zep version." He sipped his coffee and watched her eyes dart sideways for a moment before resettling on the list. "But I like the Johnson one a lot."
"Ok." She finished the list and stood, folding it before cramming it into her back pocket. Her knee wobbled once but she stayed upright. "I'll go to the store and-"
"I'll go with you." Her eyebrow shot up and he shrugged and leaned back. "You ain't in the best condition to carry shit around sweetheart."
Morgan looked like she wanted to argue, but she didn't. Instead she looked towards the ceiling of the room. "What about Sam?"
"I'll tell him. It's cool." He half stands and then holds perfectly still. "You said your husband was visiting your uncle-"
"I said he was with my uncle. They're buried just a few minutes away." She dug through the fridge and pulled out a Coke. "Brush your teeth. Your mouth smells like eight kinds of ass."
Which he did before he spoke to Sam, but only because he thought of it first. When Sam finally roused enough to listen Dean filled him in on the dream, and then mentioned the grocery store trip.
"Wan' me go too?" Sam was never very good first thing unless there was danger, and with a hangover added he may as well have been several hundred pounds of child. Which was adorable, but not very helpful when Dean needed input from the smart one.
"Nah Sasquatch just go back to sleep. When you wake up though dig around the house and see what you find."
"Dean?" He raised an eyebrow and Sam smiled sleepily. "Get me some fruit 'kay?"
"Yeah Sammy." He swallowed a lump and then left the room. Found her waiting outside with a cigarette in her teeth and a cell pressed to her ear. In the phone. She rolled her eyes and then hung up before shoving it into her back pocket.
"Sorry. Let's get this field trip on the road."
------
The grocery store was very large, so the fact that everyone who worked there knew her name was the first tip off that something was up. It became impossible to tell if people were staring at her, him, or both of them together. After a while he just tried to ignore it. She piled the cart high without ever referring to the list she'd made out so carefully. He wanted to comment on it, but the constant picture taking was really getting to him.
"Is it impolite to break phones?" It's a growl, and the girl taking their picture scampers off so fast there's almost a cartoon trail of smoke.
"Yes. Absolutely. Also illegal as hell. So don't." She's studying the beer selection with a squint. "Anyway they'll taper off." She ends up grabbing Yuengling and something called 60 Minute IPA that she swears is good even though Dean thinks the label looks a little untrustworthy.
When they finally hit the checkout the guy at the counter greeted her by her first name, and then nodded his way with a polite, "Mr. Ackles."
"Danny, hey, a carton too ok? I'm burning it down out there."
The kid laughed, disappeared for a minute and then came back with a carton of Marlboros. "I haven't seen you in a while."
She shrugged and poked at the candy display. "Well I've been working a lot. Hey has Peter been looking for me?"
"He has." Danny frowned and fiddled with the scale for Sam's fruit. "I told him you'd been here the day before."
Morgan's eyes almost danced. "Thanks kid. That'll keep him off my back for a day or two. I owe you one."
"Does that mean a signed copy of this new book?" Danny looks half-hopeful and half-ashamed, but she laughs and that puts him at ease.
"I'll give you a signed anything if you just keep him guessing. What's the damage?"
The grocery total is high enough Dean winces, but she runs her card and then limps over to the cart. Danny's smile falters slightly. "Is your knee really bad today Morgan?"
The pity in his face tightens her smile, but her tone stays friendly. "Yeah it comes and goes. I got assistance today though so don't even think about ditching your post."
He nods, smile wobbly and unsure, and then waves at them before turning to the woman giving them both the stink eye.
Dean follows her out to the car, shoves her gently before loading the trunk up, and then returns the cart before sliding into the driver's seat. Her face is tight but she doesn't comment on it, and he watches her fiddle with the stereo before she finds a classic rock station and sits back.
"You like this music or are you humoring me?" He catches the side of her face, blank and purposefully forward, and then hits the highway that will take them back to her village.
"I'm humoring you. So well that I actually made it a preset before you showed up to ruin my grasp on reality." Her fingers tap against the dashboard as she takes in the scenery. "Sam researching?"
That surprises him, and for a moment he has to struggle to not give it away because he's not sure if she means what he thinks she means. Finally he finds his voice. "Yeah. Spells and shit. The normal. People always take your picture like that?"
She shrugs once before cracking the window. The air is getting more bite and less warmth. "It's somewhat normal. The people who are used to seeing me don't, so it's not always that bad. Seeing you makes it an event I guess."
"You don't go out with Jensen a lot?" He glances her way and sees the slight smile that dies fairly quickly.
"No. Not really."
They're approaching their destination when it hits him. "Who's Peter?"
She huffs once. "My agent. Like a mother hen that one. I don't pay him for that service so I'm not sure what the deal is. He's got an axe to grind at the moment about a movie deal."
"No shit. They're making one of your books into a movie?"
Morgan nods instead of answering, and makes it out of the car in record time when they hit the house. Sam shows up to help unload groceries, and then takes over putting them away. His voice is fairly whiny when it comes out.
"I've been trying to find the number for Jared's wife. I figure I should probably call her, but it's not in the contacts list." Morgan raises an eyebrow and then reaches over and plucks the phone off the cabinet carefully tapping the screen before holding it out to him. Her eyes are roving over the research on the table before Sam has a chance to say anything. "That's not-her name is Genevieve."
There's a thick noise in the back of Morgan's throat before her eyes move off the research and land on Sam. "What?"
"She played Ruby. The demon. In the show." There's a strain on his brother's face that isn't surprising considering the name often makes them fight. Hell Dean's hackles rise even as he's thinking it.
Morgan's eyes narrow for a second before she shakes her head and opens the laptop. Her fingers fly, and then she turns it to Sam and points. "Jared is married to Alona. She played Jo." Dean leans around to see the picture. The familiar face perfectly lit, hair swept up and back, and bright and alive. She's almost sultry in it, and he recognizes it for what it is. A glamour shot, because as tempting as it is to think it Jo isn't alive here. That's the actress that plays Jo. Still he stares at the picture for a long time. The real Jo would never have taken a glamour shot. Would have laughed at the thought of it. When he finally looks up there's a light dawning in Sam's eyes.
"How long has he been married to her?" Sam's almost eager, face making connections Dean can't hope to follow.
"Couple years. Multi-verse?"
Sam's nodding as if they're having a real conversation. With full sentences.
"So the stuff we couldn't get a hold of last time we might have access to this time."
Morgan's grin is honest, full, and Dean wonders again just how she and Jensen are connected. "Which means maybe you can get outside help right? To go back?"
"Maybe. I just need to look into it. Do you have a laptop I can work off of?" She disappears for a few seconds and comes loping back in with a laptop bag.
"My non-business one. Server password is Hal9000." Her eyes are practically sparkling, and Dean can't take it anymore.
"Hey, geeks. What the fuck just happened?"
Morgan doesn't even bother responding, goes over to the fridge and digs around pulling out ingredients while Sam leans towards him. He gets a strong whiff of Sam's scent and has a moment to bite back a noise.
"String theory Dean. Multiple universes. We didn't come here the last time, but we were close. This is still a universe where we're fictional, but Jared's married to someone else. So if we couldn't get Heaven's attention in the last place we may be able to get it here because it's a different world."
Well that is kind of exciting, except it means something else too. He's been figuring up until this point that Jensen's cryptic messages are regarding Morgan's obvious issues. The girl isn't wearing make-up today, and he can see the hollows indicative of sleeplessness, the lack of real food, and the concern of those around her. If it was an emotional problem, and she probably has a good reason for that, she'd be better off in the hands of shrinks. If this is a world where the supernatural exists though, Jensen's plea may have been for something less conventional. He motions and Sam follows him out of the room, so he can relate his insight. It feels good to have the upper hand on this for once.
"Dean we don't- that's not likely. I mean if there was something after her we would have seen it by now right?"
"Maybe. Maybe not. She's played a lot of shit close to the vest Sammy. Maybe we should dig a bit."
There's a suspicious look that enters Sam's eyes. "Is this because she's a redhead?"
Damn. "Does it matter?"
Sam's face shuts down, and his eyes go cold and distant. "No. Of course not. Fuck away. I'm going to the library." He stalks off and Dean's left staring after him.
Wordcount: 9,554
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Dean/Sam, implied Jensen/OFC and Jared/Alona
Notes: This is the result of both an argument I saw on Youtube, and one I had in real life.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything in Supernatural, and Jared and Jensen are real people and certainly not the ones found here.
Summary: When the Winchesters go at the Fourth Wall they go at it hard.
Next Part
It's not that Dean's never woken up in a strange place before. That happens a lot. To be honest it happens far more than he cares to admit recently, and that's saying something. Still he has a fairly strong grasp on how that whole thing usually unfolds. Memory of passing out notwithstanding there's always the build-up, and Dean never forgets the beginning of a night with that much lubrication. Hasn't forgotten the build-up to any of those nights, at least not since-
But he's not going there anymore because he promised himself he wouldn't. Some things can't be changed, and once you've gone down certain hallways all you can do is burn the house down and hope it doesn't rebuild itself. At least that's one of the many philosophies he's pulled, whole and shining, out of his ass in the last two months while he and Sam drift further and further apart. All thanks to Sam's inability to let the goddamn house burn down. So whatever has him reclined in an SUV he doesn't recognize with a headache that may land in the record books it's surely Sam's fault. He'll tell Sam that too, as soon as he gets the fur off his tongue and the lingering sensation of nausea out of his gut. He pushes his way up and slams his poor head against the roof of the car before he realizes that his depth perception is all off. Well fuck. Isn't that just the kicker? He manages to get the door of the damn thing open and stumbles out into an overcast day in some parking lot. The clear feeling in the air, the sharp underbite of the wind, and the maples changing colors in the distance tell him he's north of the Mason-Dixon line. It's mid-fall here, but he's pretty certain the last place he clearly remembers was Louisiana in August. There's a warehouse in front of him that looks fairly abandoned and that's not a good sign. Was he at a rave?
Fuck that. Dean Winchester has gone to some seedy places, but a rave is beneath even him. Bunch of willowy kids in day-glo paint dropping E and humping each other to bad music. Count him out. So if it wasn't a social event what was it? And where the fuck was he last? He remembers a motel room, one of many that don't really stick out, and an argument with Sam that follows that same pattern. Something about a hunt. A hunt for…
But he can't remember. And is that what's happened? Was he injured on a hunt? Maybe hexed, and this is where he woke up? If that's the case than he needs to call Sam immediately because either his little brother has been injured too and is missing, or he's in serious trouble for not making sure Dean got back to the room after it was all done. Honestly he's hoping for the second option even though it's unlikely. He fumbles through his pockets before his fingers skim something smooth and plastic. Bingo. Except that's not his phone. Not one of the many pre-pays he's had over the years at all, the company's logo emblazoned on the top of it suggesting that it's part of some responsible person's contractual plan. Dean doesn't do contracts. A side effect of being legally dead.
So without a doubt the warning bells are now going off in his head at an alarming volume, and he uses this to steady his shaking legs as he hits the phone's power button and fiddles with it. There's a password setting, and he can just see Sam figuring out the password without having to try and then gloating. Smug little bastard. He tries random combinations and words for a few minutes and then gives it up and drops the cell back into his pocket before digging more thoroughly in the others. He finds a wallet that definitely doesn't belong to him, keys to the behemoth behind him, and then a scrap of paper with a name and an address on it. That warrants a second look because while it's not Dean's handwriting it is a man's handwriting, but despite being fooled before he’s pretty sure it’s a woman’s name. Briefly he remembers a punch he received years and years ago from a hunter named Sue when he made a Johnny Cash joke. Which should have gone over so much better. He drops the paper in with the phone, and then opens the wallet and before he can get a good look he hears a familiar groan of pain from behind him.
It takes no time at all to circle the Denali and find Sam leaning against it on the ground. His brother looks just as fucked up as he feels, and the icing on the weird shit cake is that there's a beanie on Sam's head. It's not that Sam's never worn one before, but only under extreme circumstances. Dean knows without a shadow of doubt that his little brother fakes not caring about his hair, claims it's indifference that lets him go so long between haircuts, but in reality it is the same vanity Dean applies to his baby. He knows how hard Sam works to trim those little sideburns he's so fond of, and hats like the one on Sam's head undo all his careful work. It's not cold enough for Sam to resort to such an accessory, and that's all the heads-up Dean needs to be completely aware that they are in some fucked up shit.
He thinks through all of this as he leads Sam upright and off the cold metal of the car, checks his pupils for signs of a concussion and pushes his fingers under Sam's jaw to time his pulse. They're familiar with first-aid, hell they've faked being EMTs efficiently more than once, but that doesn't mean there could be something wrong with them that Dean doesn't know how to find. Dad's old manuals covered a lot of situations, but they were sorely lacking in "woke up in a strange parking lot in a different state and season". Sam's hands fumble up to find his, grip for half a second, and then the hazel eyes clear and he pushes Dean away. So they're still fighting.
"Fuck off Dean. I'm fine. Where are we? What hit me?" It's a testament to his superior quality as a brother that he doesn't use this as an excuse to shout at Sam or belittle him. They have time for that later. Also, shouting with a headache is never a good idea.
"North or Northern Midwest. Warehouse parking lot. What's the last thing you remember?"
That gets Sam's attention, and the broad brow furrows as his eyebrows pull together tightly. "Uh. We were in the motel and you were arguing with me about how to go after the troll."
The troll. It's clear in seconds. Dean found the string of grisly deaths in Louisiana, all near a specific bridge, all the corpses crushed as if by a giant. Sam had figured out the troll angle, and there'd been a lot of mockery on Dean's part before he finally got excited about the prospect of something new. As much as he'd longed for cut and dry hauntings in the last few years it had been an adventure to have something new to hunt. The trouble had come when Sam wanted to take a fairy tale approach to troll hunting, and Dean wanted to try out a more brutal attack. He'd been quoting the "Billy Goats Gruff" in a sarcastic tone when the world went dark. He'd smelled something too, something kind of like incense but he wasn't entirely sure.
"Ok. Yeah troll. So how'd we get here?" He looks around and then focuses on Sam as his little brother starts rifling through his pockets. He pulls out a cell phone much like Dean's, a wallet that is much nicer than any Sam has probably ever owned, a pack of licorice, and then a slip of paper. He squints in an offended manner at the candy before opening the paper. It's got the same info Dean's had, but in a different hand. Clue.
The rain starts then, and they climb back into the SUV before it soaks them and open their respective wallets. Sam groans thickly and Dean glances over to see the ID in his hand states that he is Jared Padalecki. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. His own wallet informs him cheerily that he's Jensen Ackles, and that's just perfect. They're back in TV land. How he doesn't know because they certainly didn't jump through any random angel's portal this time, but here they are. So now he needs to figure out what the actors were doing when they got slid out of their world or whatever happens to them when the Winchesters take their places. Sam rifles a little deeper and pulls out a picture of himself and Jo, smiling and arm in arm, and the look he sends Dean is borderline panicked. Dean shakes his head once, although what he's negating he's not sure, and then closes his own wallet and starts the car. First things first.
They drive fifteen minutes before they see a city, and the landmarks aren't very helpful. Sam's fiddling with the phone he found, and while Dean pulls over in the parking lot of an A&W Sam makes a noise of victory and then shoots Dean the same look he imagined earlier. Kid's too smart for his own damn good. Once the phone's cracked though they have a wider variety of options in front of them.
Sam plugs the address from the paper scrap into his phone and then turns the GPS on. It tells them they're maybe ten minutes away from their destination, and that they're in Northeast Ohio. Dean gets to be smug at that one, but it's a short-lived victory. He orders a ridiculous amount of food and charges it to Jensen's credit card without cursing a single time. Which is an accomplishment as far as he's concerned. Sam watches him start in on the Papa Burger before biting into his grilled chicken sandwich.
"So do we follow the mysterious lead or just find a way to get the hell out of here?" Sam's face says that A&W doesn't have the best lettuce, and he pulls it off before finishing the sandwich. Dean considers his options as he pops another cheese curd in his mouth.
"Probably our best option is both. The name on the paper might have some answers, or shit just a place to sleep. I feel like I went three rounds with a damn Wendigo." Sam makes a face, either at his choice of analogies or his mouthful of food Dean's not sure, and then shakes his head balefully.
"You think she's gonna let us just stay at her place? What happens when we tell her we're not Jared and Jensen?"
He raises one eyebrow to indicate Sam's mistakes, and the wide eyes narrow before Sam adopts his best bitchface.
"Dean. We're not actors remember? Remember how bad it was last time? What if she knows them really well huh? How are we going to trick her into thinking we're them?" He sounds so fucking condescending Dean kind of wants to dump his drink in Sam's lap, but he holds back on that urge too. Because he's the best big brother in the world, and he needs to be calm to prove that.
"We've pretended to be all kinds of things Sam. Sure, scripts weren't our strong suit, but lying we're damn good at. We got a specialty in that."
Sam doesn't look convinced, but he nods once and then pulls his phone out. "Well let's call her. I doubt they just show up randomly. Right?"
"Right." He's not sure about that though. Guys like Jensen and Jared rarely go on trips together to abandoned warehouses with scraps of paper bearing an old friend's name tucked in their pockets. Still that line that's been between Sam's eyebrows since he woke up has finally disappeared and Dean's not eager to bring it back. He starts the car up even as Sam skips through his phone contacts. Dean's suspicions are put into question when Sam ends up finding one with the girl's name and the right area code attached to it. He calls it on speakerphone, and Dean's delighted when the ringback tone is Bob Seger's "Turn the Page".
The voice that answers is low, borderline sultry, and severely annoyed. Jessica Rabbit pissed off. "Yeah Jared? How can I help you?"
Sam waits a second too long, there's a huff from the other end, and then his brother's brain kicks on and he leans towards the phone slightly. "Hey, uh, Jensen and I were just thinking about stopping in."
There's a pause long enough to suggest that this requires thought, which underlines the idea that they are not old friends, and then the voice comes back slightly suspicious. "Stopping in? Aren't you guys supposed to be visiting family on your break?"
Sam meets his eyes and Dean shrugs widely. He doesn't know what two actors do on a break. Shit this is the time they'd normally still be filming isn't it? Why are they on a break? "Well we thought you'd be a nicer visit sweetheart." He puts all the charm he has into it, and the result surprises the hell out of him.
"Ok, listen, we've talked about that. When you're off the clock you're off the clock, so drop the voice. You guys are out of luck on dinner. I haven't been grocery shopping in a week." She sounds off now, kind of confused and a little distant. "Deadline you know?"
Sam grabs the phone up and tries to sound sympathetic and understanding. "Yeah of course. We just ate so that's cool."
There's laughter then, husky and honest, and her voice comes back a little warmer. "Oh yeah? Steak house or pub?"
"A&W." Sam shoots him a look and Dean gives it right back. Famous people eat at fast food restaurants all the time. He's seen it on those trashy magazines in the gas stations. The ones he certainly does not read no matter what Sam says.
"Yeah. Sure. Anyway see you guys in…wait where are you?"
"Not far. See you soon Morgan." The name almost comes out smoothly, but Sam hitches on it for half a second. If she notices though her goodbye doesn't suggest it. When the call is done Sam queues the directions back up and then catches Dean's gaze. "We're not gonnna pull this off Dean. There's no way."
He starts the SUV up and pulls out of the parking lot. "Positive thinking Sammy. It's the only way to go."
------
She doesn't live in a town. That's the first indication that this is seriously off. They cross into a village, a tiny main street consisting of old buildings lining one hilly road with an extremely low speed limit. The small businesses give way to a plethora of Victorians and those boxy modern houses favored so often in this part of the nation. A left turn takes them up more hill until they've officially reached what has to be the highest part of the village, and there stands the house the phone insists is their destination. It's set on a broad and sweeping lawn, and the place can't be any newer than the thirties or forties. Built out of cement blocks and sheltered from the road by a plethora of trees it's big enough for a family, but only one car sits in the wrap-around drive-way. There's a pavilion in the back, and an old storage building that has so many cobwebs in the windows it's obviously out of use. The light in the front yard is on, but Dean goes to the back of the house and finds a patio with a heavy looking door set into it. He knocks on the cedar frame and then peeks through the kitchen window. A breakfast nook sits nestled underneath the glass, and the lights in the kitchen show that the table is covered in papers and one beat up old laptop stands guard over all of it. There's music drifting through the whole scene but he can't quite make out what it is from here. He sees a shape in the window, and when the door opens and the light spills in from outside the shape resolves into a woman.
Way to go Jensen. She's curvy in the right places, and long red hair is pulled into a sloppy ponytail over a lightly tanned face and dark brown eyes. She studies them both for a second before stepping back and waving them in. He doesn't miss that her hands are small and delicate, or that she smiles tightly with full lips. There's a wedding ring on her finger, and that dims his opinion of her a bit. She's short too, and when Sam steps in he towers over her. She leads them into the kitchen and then sweeps papers up and away from one side of the table so that they can sit without having them in their way.
"You guys want a beer? I have enough of those even if I can't offer you food." Her voice is accentless, the sound of a person who has either been raised in a vacuum or worked very hard to shed what they sounded like before. She opens the fridge and drops two Yuenglings in front of them before crossing to the counters on the opposite side of the room. Dean's already popping the cap off with his ring, and her eyebrow goes up to her hairline before she smiles tightly again. "Hey, I was thinking of having a smoke. I'm gonna get a sweater ok?"
Dean nods once, smile firmly fixed on his face to suggest that this is all something he expected, and definitely not weird at all. She slips out of the kitchen and he stands and looks at the wall over where they were sitting. There are pictures up there, old black and whites of a wedding with a smiling couple. There's another framed photo on the curve of the nook that features a smiling serviceman with a nose like hers but eyes so bright blue they're reminiscent of Castiel. Sam's trying to quietly get his attention, but Dean's more interested in the paperwork.
"Dean she's on to us." His hiss is low, almost inaudible, and Dean shrugs once and glances up at his brother.
"How Sam?" He pitches his response just as low while he rifles through the papers. They're reports on injuries, deep and intricate descriptions of pain levels and healing times. The ones shuffled underneath are specs for military grade weapons. He almost whistles in appreciation, but the sound is stolen from his mouth when Sam makes a choked noise and the distinct thwack of metal connecting with flesh resonates through the room. It takes him a second to realize that the sound and the bright pain in his lower back are connected, and he turns to face his attacker with papers still clutched in his hands. She's standing in the archway behind him, the one that leads to a dining room, and there's a small aluminum bat in her hand.
She points it like a batter signaling his next hit. "Who the fuck are you?"
He'd respond, but honestly there's no breath left in his lungs and he's fairly certain she was one or two pounds of pressure away from putting blood in his urine. He hates pissing blood. Sam's got it though, recognizes how bad off he is and stands one hand moving reflexively for a knife he realizes he doesn't have. She jerks the bat in his direction when Sam starts speaking. "Hey. Hey now it's ok. We're not going to hurt you."
Her eyes narrow down to dark points as she jerks the bat back at Dean. It's unwarranted though because he's just grabbing the table to make sure he stays steady. She moves slightly and gives herself away. This isn't something she's done before, because she's exposing too much of her side to Sam in an attempt to cover Dean. She's isolated him as the less dangerous one. An interesting choice since Sam is so much bigger, but not completely out of bounds. On the other hand it's a huge mistake because Sam is often almost as dangerous as Dean, and he's already shooting Dean the look to distract her.
"You're goddamn right you're not gonna hurt me. Now tell me who you are." Her hand is shaking now, and Dean almost feels for her. After all, however it is she's figured out that they're not who they're pretending to be she's just a civilian being faced with two strange, muscular men in her home pretending to be her whatever they are.
"Ok, hey, look." He's wheezing but that's good because her hand lowers just a little. "This is a misunderstanding."
He's pretty sure she's going to laugh, or make a sarcastic comment, but Sam cuts that off. Grabs her arm to stop the bat and then grabs her other hand when she swings back. He slides his hand up to pinch the nerve cluster in her shoulder, and she releases the bat with a clatter onto the floor. Sam's trying to hold her tight, but she's thrashing and her eyes have gone wild. She bucks her head back, collides with his nose, and then Sam jerks and hits her knee. It's like the magic off-button, because she stops fighting and there's an agonized noise from the back of her throat before she goes limp.
Dean watches Sam's eyes go wide with guilt, and he lets go of her as she stumbles down and grabs at the knee. It wasn't a hard enough hit to explain that sort of reaction, but her face has gone totally white and she's gasping as she holds onto it. There's the sound of heavy breathing from her, wheezing from Dean, and Sam's guilty silence before they both start talking at the same time.
"Jesus I'm sorry-"
"Fuck that hurts-"
Sam's grabbing her then and lifting her as carefully as he can before leading her down onto the nook's bench. Dean would think it's kind of cute of him, but he has to shove Dean to do it and there's a flare of pain in his lower back reminding him that this whole thing has gone too far sideways for them to even begin to salvage it.
"Ok, listen we're-" Her hand rises up and stops him mid-sentence. Her head is down, and when she finally looks up her pupils are blown wide with adrenaline and pain.
"Identity second. Go through that archway and take the first door on the left. Cabinets above the toilet. Vicodin and the brace. Fast please."
Sam's off like a shot, and when he comes back she dry swallows two of the painkillers before gesturing for him to stand next to her. At this point Dean's feeling about as useful as a dull knife. He kneads his lower back while Sam holds out one arm and she grips his forearm and pulls herself up. She glances once Dean's way, up at Sam, and then uses her free hand to undo the button and fly on her jeans and drop them. Dean gets to appreciate the long legs, muscles indicative of an experienced runner, before he sees the inflamed scar on her kneecap. He winces once in sympathy, and when Sam gets over his prudishness and looks down he hisses before helping her back onto the bench to get the brace on. She's got her jaw clenched tight as Sam maneuvers it carefully, and then when it's on he helps her put her jeans back in place.
"Ice pack in the freezer. I need a smoke." She pushes her way up as Sam digs in the freezer, and halfway through the action he stops and gives Dean his patented what the hell am I doing look, before getting the damn thing and following her. Dean limps along behind, remembering at the last second to grab the beers. Because that may be important. He nudges her hand with his, and brown eyes startle before she grips the bottle and mutters a thanks.
There are four patio chairs set up, and Sam finds a stool under the workbench behind the one she collapses into and moves it so she can prop her leg up. After the icepack is placed and they've both grabbed one of the spots to either side of her a silence descends and Dean's pretty sure this is one of the most awkward moments of his life. No more awkward than that morning a few months ago, but that's a very high bar and….and he's not going there anymore. Instead he focuses on watching her. She pulls a pack of Marlboro Reds from her pocket and lights one before using her fingers to rub the flesh above and below the brace. Her eyes stay on the ground. Sam's watching her with guilt still evident on his face, and Dean rubs the back of his neck before trying to dispel the mood.
"You got quite a swing with that thing." Her hands jerk but she doesn't look up.
"My husband insisted we keep it when I told him no guns. Home protection." Her fingers keep moving as she inhales through her nose. "Maybe I should have practiced more."
He catches Sam's eyes and lifts his eyebrows. She's definitely married and she doesn’t look the cheating type. What the fuck were the two actors doing here?
"Where is your husband?" Sam's voice is soft and soothing, and where usually people melt at it she looks up suspiciously and then pulls the cigarette from her mouth and taps the ashes off the end.
"Who the hell are you guys? You're not crazy look-a-likes. Nobody's that good." Dean can see the way her fingers are shaking with the cigarette, but she gulps her beer and leans back as if she's totally at ease with them.
Sam looks at him again, and they have a silent argument about what to say and who to say it. It's their way, and she watches it without comment for several seconds before tapping her cigarette again and looking away. The husband is an important issue. He may not have much problem with her spending time with the actors but he's certainly not going to be happy if he figures out what she might have been doing, and the suggestion here is that he's a bit more combat oriented than her. Dean takes over as Sam glares at him to be good.
"Let's do this in turns ok? We ask a question, you ask a question, and everybody gets answers. We'll start. You recognize these?" He digs in his pockets, winces when her hand tightens on the beer bottle, and retrieves the two scraps of paper. She looks them over for a full minute in the bright patio light before looking up.
"Jensen and Jared wrote these." Her face is full of questions, and he watches her sort through them. "They gave you my address. Who are you?"
"Sam and Dean Winchester." Sam's face is tight, expectant, and she looks at him blankly before laughing and taking another gulp of her beer.
"No really. I thought we were going to be honest." Her face says she's amused, but her body is tight.
"We are." Dean watched her throat work, and leaned forward cautiously sipping from his own beer. "Where's your husband?" It's not meant to sound so predatory, but if the guy is gonna show up with a gun he never told his wife about Dean would like to be ready for it. Her eyes slide away and then land on something in the darkness of the yard.
"Down the street with my uncle. What do you two want?" Her hand is moving rhythmically on the bottle as if she can find just the right grip to use it to defend herself. She keeps her head rested though, leaning against the back of the chair, and he knows why. Some people, no matter how much experience, can't move for the first half hour after taking opiates. Nausea is a pretty common side effect.
Sam's leaning forward now, hands rubbing in between his knees as he looks for just the right phrase to put her at ease. "We have to figure out how we got here so we can get back. You watch the show right?"
Her eyes moved his way for half a second and then fixed back on the dark yard. "Yeah. I watch the show. You guys jump through another angel portal?" She doesn't sound serious so much as sardonic, and Dean's at his limit. He has to take this slow though because she's not gonna just believe them. That would make her crazy.
"You watch the show but you don't believe. Ok. What will prove it to you?" Morgan's lips pursed, and then she put the bottle down and crushed her cigarette out.
"If there was a way to assure me that you were two fictional characters who stepped out of a television show and received my address from the actors that play you I'd offer it. Honestly though I can't think of a single thing that would logically get that job done. In the meantime let's pretend you're telling the truth and go off of that. What do you remember?" She drained the last of her bottle and dropped it onto the glass table beside her before rubbing at her eyes.
Sam raised an eyebrow at him and then took a sip of his own beer. "Uh. We were on a hunt in Louisiana. Troll. We were arguing about how to handle it and then we woke up outside that SUV at a warehouse about twenty or thirty minutes from here. With those scraps of paper and not much else. That's about it."
"There was a smell." Sam's look was incredulous and Morgan opened her eyes and focused on him. "Kinda like burning grass but harsher? I didn't recognize it. What happened to your knee?" It's not necessarily relevant to their discussion, but if they're gonna keep up this series of turns then they may as well take them. The scars were pretty distinct, and it's hard to imagine a situation in which someone her age needed serious knee surgery.
Morgan's eyes diverted again, fingers tapping rapidly on the arm of her chair. "Attack. It got smashed, and they did anthroplasty. I'm still in the one year recovery time technically. So you smelled burning grass, and then you woke up here. You think it was a spell?"
Sam got up, disappeared for a few seconds, and then came back with more beer. He handed her one before he gave a new one to Dean. "Had to be. The question is who did it and why. Were Jensen or Jared practitioners?"
Her laugh was startled and open, and then she put two fingers to her temple and turned a little green before sipping her beer. "No. Not even a little bit. They got enough of that nonsense from the show, and the fans who couldn't tell the difference. This is ridiculous." She dropped the beer on the table and rubbed at her eyes again. "I can't believe this is happening."
Understatement. Dean drained the last of his first bottle and popped the top off with his ring before another question occurred to him. "How'd you know we weren't Jensen and Jared?"
Apparently the turn system was over. "You keep talking like that for one. How you opened your beer bottle. Where you ate. The way you guys sit near each other." She lit another cigarette and gave it a disgusted look. "There were a lot of indications. What made you think you could fake it?"
The second beer tastes better than the first, and Dean's mouth engages before his brain does. It's an old issue that he's never really gotten under control. "Figured you were some groupie one of them was boning and there wouldn't be much issue."
Her fingers jerked once, Sam gave him an ugly look, and then she started laughing before she covered her mouth. He saw tears follow close behind. Sam's sympathy face got stronger, but she waved him off. "Oh that would just be-wow." Her hand passed over her face once and then she settled her gaze back out in the darkness. "Why would they do this?"
That made him angry, and he couldn't even explain why. Whatever it was between her and them she was some married chick sitting alone in a big old house with a bunch of research. The whole damn thing was off and she was handling this way too well. "They wanted to let you meet your heroes? I dunno lady what's the deal here? You are a groupie right? A big fan, and now you get to meet the Winchesters. Is it your birthday?"
Morgan's eyes focused in on whatever it was she was watching in the yard, and then her hand moved on what must have been long habit and crushed her cigarette in the ashtray without looking. "Let's say you guys aren't two lunatics, let's say you actually are the brothers Winchester. That leaves us two options: one, you're in Jared and Jensen's bodies and they're trapped in there somewhere while you possess them. Two, they switched places with you and here you are. So what is the big picture attached to that?" Her voice dropped deadly low and soft even as her hands gestured along with her words. "There's a troll in Louisiana, no doubt killing people, and the only two equipped to take it on are trapped in another world. Your bodies may or may not be left there undefended and empty. There's a whole slew of people who depend on that show to continue their livelihoods, and I'm two weeks away from owing several chapters to my editor. In what way do any of us benefit from you being here?"
Dean worked his jaw silently for a long moment as he considered that and begrudged her taking his source of anger away. "Aren't you s'posed to want to meet your heroes?"
Sam was laughing though. Laughing on that verge of hysterical that he sometimes did when a situation got so stressful that Sam couldn't take it anymore. Dean glared at him trying to figure out what had hit his brother's funny bone. Morgan rubbed at her eyes again before sharing Dean's incredulity.
"You're-I was worried you'd be-Becky was-"
And then Dean got it, and he was laughing too. Morgan's eyes narrowed, widened, and then she laughed with them.
------
They drank for several hours, and when the beer was seriously depleted and their tongues tumbling around themselves she missed the table and lost her bottle. Stoned and drunk with strangers. He checked his watch and saw that it was after three in the morning.
"Where t'hell is your hubby?"
She didn't look his way. Sam's face cramped, and then he leaned in and spoke softly. "How long's he been dead?"
Well that was left field. Of course Sam had read it right, because she looked up from her empty hands to focus on him. "Little over a year."
Son of a bitch. "Why the hell'd you get drunk with us? We're strange loonies and you're up here alone! You got a death wish?"
The look Sam gives him is almost priceless, and if he wasn't so mad he'd lean forward and tweak Sam's nose just to send him over the edge. Instead he tries to focus his vision on the woman in front of him. The icepack is long gone, but her knee is still propped up on the stool to remind them all how fucking vulnerable she is. Civilians.
"Ok. I'm more 'clined to believe you're Dean Winchester now. Good job on that." She burped once and then laughed. Drunk, there was a hint of the South to her.
"This ain't funny sweetheart. You're crippled and sittin' around with two strangers. You could get hurt."
She looked at him then, really looked at him, and her brown eyes were glazed and serious. "You gonna hurt me Dean?"
He spluttered even as Sam smoothly interjected himself in. Sam always held back enough to be able to do this. "No. We're not. Dean's just being Dean. Maybe it's time for him to go to bed."
That was enough to calm him down, and he squinted at Sam for a minute before turning his head back to her. "You know a good motel 'round here?"
"Yeah. Spare beds upstairs. Don't break your necks." She pushed out of the chair and limped through the door, and Dean sat silently for a while before following her in. He found the stairs easily enough. Sam followed him and they stared at the doors for a bit before Sam bravely pushed one open. There was a double in there, and the door next to it exposed a room with a daybed and walls full of books. He pointed to the little daybed and nodded seriously. "Good luck Sam."
"Hell no. What? I'm three feet too tall for that man." Sam's bitchface was back, and Dean was glad the ground under them was solid again. He threw out a fist, Sam matched him, and the fight was on.
Fucking rock beating scissors.
------
He was in a ballroom maybe, but there weren't people dancing and there was no music. It took him a while to figure out that the crowd in front of him wasn't so big as to seem faceless, but actually faceless. The blurry heads moved in front of him and then one materialized forward and came into focus. Morgan. Her hair was much shorter, and she looked less sleep-deprived, but her smile was the same tight and unsure look he'd seen before. One of the faceless people handed her a microphone and she cleared her throat away from it before she spoke.
"This is probably a question for your writers but, uh, in ‘The Monster at the End of this Book’ you list Dean's two favorite songs as Zeppelin's ‘Ramble On’ or ‘Travellin' Riverside Blues’. The sentence is sort of ambiguous, but I was wondering if you meant Zeppelin's version or Robert Johnson's?"
Dean went to answer and his mouth moved without him, his voice less raspy than normal, softer, and relaxed. "Wow. Uh. Wasn't prepared for that one. How old are you?"
It's meant to be charming, he knows that's the aim, and the crowd laughs and takes it that way. Her mouth tightens though even as it curls into a "yeah nice one dick" smile. "Old enough. It's obviously not important."
He feels the brain around his, and isn't that an awkward fucking feeling, stumble to catch up. "No, no it's a good one. I'd think it would be Zeppelin. Dean's a little young for Johnson."
Her face says what Dean's thinking. That he's a hunter who has spent an incredible amount of time in backwoods bars. The chances he hasn't heard classic blues are pretty slim. Instead she nods once tightly and gives the microphone back to the faceless man before she merges into the crowd. A breathy voice starts talking, but the scene melts and shifts and then he's sitting on that patio again with Sam, Jared the softer version of him states, and Morgan and a tall older man. They're all drinking, and her hair is longer now but she still looks younger and lighter. The older man leans forward and pats her knee even as he speaks, his blue eyes twinkling merrily.
"She's in love with him. Just won't admit it."
"She-" Morgan spears the man with her glare, "is not 'in love with him'. She admires him and-why the hell am I talking in third person?"
He feels his shoulders shrug even as Sam/Jared leans back and laughs. "Why do you admire him? He's emotionally handicapped, an alcoholic, and he's got a brother complex to beat all others."
The older man leans back and shakes his head. "Oh no. Here it comes."
But her eyes are blazing and she leans forward to point a finger in his direction even as her drink sloshes over her fingers a bit. "Ok. First off alcoholism is not on the table here. We're having this conversation drunk and there's no way we can judge him for that. Emotionally handicapped? Ok I'll give you that one. The brother complex too, but only because they're all a part of what makes him…him. We're talking about a guy who dies for strangers, who sells his soul for a brother that abandoned him, who-Jesus how can you not admire him? You play him!"
He feels the weariness there, as if the mind he's in doesn't want to hear this again. "He's not a bad guy, but really think about it. Everything he does is because he's been programmed for it. It's not because he's good, he's brain-washed by his dad."
Dean wants to shout at him, but she's already there. The older man, her husband Ray, grabs her shoulder but she's off already. "That doesn't-you're so reductive Jen. Go back, to way before the hunting and everything else and look at the picture without the name attached ok? You got a four-year-old boy and he's got one natural set of loyalties towards whom? His mother. Secondary on a kid that age is his dad, but a little brother? Always last, 'cause that's who's replacing him in his parent's affections. Little boy wakes up to hear his father shouting, hear terror, fire is burning in his house and his mom is missing. That's assuming he doesn't see what's in the nursery. So there he is, basically a fucking toddler, and this little upstart is dropped in his arms and he's told to abandon his mother and father to save it. Any kid that age would crumble under the pressure, or turn the baby out and go for the mother. What does he do? He carries the baby out, carries him out and holds him as close as he can to protect him, because that's what comes first. He breaks every logical step to literally carry his baby brother out of the fire. That's not just admirable it's fucking heroic. Everything that comes afterwards is defined by that decision, and if you can't-Jesus you're like talking to a brick wall."
Except he can feel that other presence, Jensen he's pretty sure, relaxing backwards as if the fight was just something he felt he had to do. An appearance he had to keep up in the face of something, but what Dean's not sure. Ray laughs and squeezes her shoulder. "Like I said. In love with him."
"Joseph Campbell-" It has the sound of an old argument, but Dean's too fascinated with the fact that he sees himself standing on the other side of the little group now. The face looking at him is serious, drawn, and it points once before it speaks directly into his brain.
Help her. It's on the phone.
------
He woke up to sun in his eyes and a major headache. Too much beer and too little…the events of the day before came rushing back and Dean fought a wave of nausea as he considered what she had proposed. Their bodies lying unprotected in Louisiana was bad enough, but the possibility that the actors were there pretending to be them was worse. So maybe they'd done it for her, or maybe they'd done it for an adventure. The possibilities seemed endless and mind-boggling, and Dean wasn't inclined to consider that. He needed a little hair of the dog and some breakfast to kill the ache left over from yesterday.
He found her in the kitchen with toast on a paper towel and her fingers flying over the laptop keys. She glanced up at him for half a second before nodding towards the counter. "Cereal or toast. Coffee is brewed. I'll hit the grocery store later if you guys are staying."
Dean poured himself cereal and sat the on the bench across from her as she continued to type almost frantically. Her eyes moved over the screen quickly, and then the she closed the laptop and looked up at him. "Are you guys staying?"
"I don't see why not. You're our only clue at the moment. What are you working on?"
She frowned at the laptop before leaning back and running her fingers through her messy hair. "My first realistic fiction. It's not working with me."
The knowledge comes out of nowhere. "So you write fantasy novels usually right?" She shot him a look and he shrugged, made a guess, and came out alright. "I saw your shelves."
"Yeah I've sold a few of them. I don't know what you guys eat other than diner food and salads. The show is kinda vague on that one." Morgan dug through the piles of research until she found a notebook and ripped off a blank page. "And I haven't cooked in a long time so I'm warning you not to pick anything too difficult."
"We'll eat anything. How'd you meet Jensen Ackles?" He pitched his voice as soothing and unconcerned as he possibly could. Watched as her expression stayed stable as she wrote.
"Convention. The guy holding the questions mic knew my books and he got me in the line so I could ask one. Afterwards Jensen tracked me down. He said he thought I was a plant from the show to surprise him." He watched her underline the words "hamburger meat".
"What was the question?" He knows already, and that answers one of her suppositions from the night before, but he's not going to give that away. There's no telling if she needs to know or not. Honestly he'd rather discuss it with Sam first.
Her cheeks turned a slight red, and she glanced at him before she went back to the list. "Whether you preferred the Zeppelin remake of 'Travellin' Riverside Blues' or the Robert Johnson original. He didn't know and the writers ended up not caring."
"The Zep version." He sipped his coffee and watched her eyes dart sideways for a moment before resettling on the list. "But I like the Johnson one a lot."
"Ok." She finished the list and stood, folding it before cramming it into her back pocket. Her knee wobbled once but she stayed upright. "I'll go to the store and-"
"I'll go with you." Her eyebrow shot up and he shrugged and leaned back. "You ain't in the best condition to carry shit around sweetheart."
Morgan looked like she wanted to argue, but she didn't. Instead she looked towards the ceiling of the room. "What about Sam?"
"I'll tell him. It's cool." He half stands and then holds perfectly still. "You said your husband was visiting your uncle-"
"I said he was with my uncle. They're buried just a few minutes away." She dug through the fridge and pulled out a Coke. "Brush your teeth. Your mouth smells like eight kinds of ass."
Which he did before he spoke to Sam, but only because he thought of it first. When Sam finally roused enough to listen Dean filled him in on the dream, and then mentioned the grocery store trip.
"Wan' me go too?" Sam was never very good first thing unless there was danger, and with a hangover added he may as well have been several hundred pounds of child. Which was adorable, but not very helpful when Dean needed input from the smart one.
"Nah Sasquatch just go back to sleep. When you wake up though dig around the house and see what you find."
"Dean?" He raised an eyebrow and Sam smiled sleepily. "Get me some fruit 'kay?"
"Yeah Sammy." He swallowed a lump and then left the room. Found her waiting outside with a cigarette in her teeth and a cell pressed to her ear. In the phone. She rolled her eyes and then hung up before shoving it into her back pocket.
"Sorry. Let's get this field trip on the road."
------
The grocery store was very large, so the fact that everyone who worked there knew her name was the first tip off that something was up. It became impossible to tell if people were staring at her, him, or both of them together. After a while he just tried to ignore it. She piled the cart high without ever referring to the list she'd made out so carefully. He wanted to comment on it, but the constant picture taking was really getting to him.
"Is it impolite to break phones?" It's a growl, and the girl taking their picture scampers off so fast there's almost a cartoon trail of smoke.
"Yes. Absolutely. Also illegal as hell. So don't." She's studying the beer selection with a squint. "Anyway they'll taper off." She ends up grabbing Yuengling and something called 60 Minute IPA that she swears is good even though Dean thinks the label looks a little untrustworthy.
When they finally hit the checkout the guy at the counter greeted her by her first name, and then nodded his way with a polite, "Mr. Ackles."
"Danny, hey, a carton too ok? I'm burning it down out there."
The kid laughed, disappeared for a minute and then came back with a carton of Marlboros. "I haven't seen you in a while."
She shrugged and poked at the candy display. "Well I've been working a lot. Hey has Peter been looking for me?"
"He has." Danny frowned and fiddled with the scale for Sam's fruit. "I told him you'd been here the day before."
Morgan's eyes almost danced. "Thanks kid. That'll keep him off my back for a day or two. I owe you one."
"Does that mean a signed copy of this new book?" Danny looks half-hopeful and half-ashamed, but she laughs and that puts him at ease.
"I'll give you a signed anything if you just keep him guessing. What's the damage?"
The grocery total is high enough Dean winces, but she runs her card and then limps over to the cart. Danny's smile falters slightly. "Is your knee really bad today Morgan?"
The pity in his face tightens her smile, but her tone stays friendly. "Yeah it comes and goes. I got assistance today though so don't even think about ditching your post."
He nods, smile wobbly and unsure, and then waves at them before turning to the woman giving them both the stink eye.
Dean follows her out to the car, shoves her gently before loading the trunk up, and then returns the cart before sliding into the driver's seat. Her face is tight but she doesn't comment on it, and he watches her fiddle with the stereo before she finds a classic rock station and sits back.
"You like this music or are you humoring me?" He catches the side of her face, blank and purposefully forward, and then hits the highway that will take them back to her village.
"I'm humoring you. So well that I actually made it a preset before you showed up to ruin my grasp on reality." Her fingers tap against the dashboard as she takes in the scenery. "Sam researching?"
That surprises him, and for a moment he has to struggle to not give it away because he's not sure if she means what he thinks she means. Finally he finds his voice. "Yeah. Spells and shit. The normal. People always take your picture like that?"
She shrugs once before cracking the window. The air is getting more bite and less warmth. "It's somewhat normal. The people who are used to seeing me don't, so it's not always that bad. Seeing you makes it an event I guess."
"You don't go out with Jensen a lot?" He glances her way and sees the slight smile that dies fairly quickly.
"No. Not really."
They're approaching their destination when it hits him. "Who's Peter?"
She huffs once. "My agent. Like a mother hen that one. I don't pay him for that service so I'm not sure what the deal is. He's got an axe to grind at the moment about a movie deal."
"No shit. They're making one of your books into a movie?"
Morgan nods instead of answering, and makes it out of the car in record time when they hit the house. Sam shows up to help unload groceries, and then takes over putting them away. His voice is fairly whiny when it comes out.
"I've been trying to find the number for Jared's wife. I figure I should probably call her, but it's not in the contacts list." Morgan raises an eyebrow and then reaches over and plucks the phone off the cabinet carefully tapping the screen before holding it out to him. Her eyes are roving over the research on the table before Sam has a chance to say anything. "That's not-her name is Genevieve."
There's a thick noise in the back of Morgan's throat before her eyes move off the research and land on Sam. "What?"
"She played Ruby. The demon. In the show." There's a strain on his brother's face that isn't surprising considering the name often makes them fight. Hell Dean's hackles rise even as he's thinking it.
Morgan's eyes narrow for a second before she shakes her head and opens the laptop. Her fingers fly, and then she turns it to Sam and points. "Jared is married to Alona. She played Jo." Dean leans around to see the picture. The familiar face perfectly lit, hair swept up and back, and bright and alive. She's almost sultry in it, and he recognizes it for what it is. A glamour shot, because as tempting as it is to think it Jo isn't alive here. That's the actress that plays Jo. Still he stares at the picture for a long time. The real Jo would never have taken a glamour shot. Would have laughed at the thought of it. When he finally looks up there's a light dawning in Sam's eyes.
"How long has he been married to her?" Sam's almost eager, face making connections Dean can't hope to follow.
"Couple years. Multi-verse?"
Sam's nodding as if they're having a real conversation. With full sentences.
"So the stuff we couldn't get a hold of last time we might have access to this time."
Morgan's grin is honest, full, and Dean wonders again just how she and Jensen are connected. "Which means maybe you can get outside help right? To go back?"
"Maybe. I just need to look into it. Do you have a laptop I can work off of?" She disappears for a few seconds and comes loping back in with a laptop bag.
"My non-business one. Server password is Hal9000." Her eyes are practically sparkling, and Dean can't take it anymore.
"Hey, geeks. What the fuck just happened?"
Morgan doesn't even bother responding, goes over to the fridge and digs around pulling out ingredients while Sam leans towards him. He gets a strong whiff of Sam's scent and has a moment to bite back a noise.
"String theory Dean. Multiple universes. We didn't come here the last time, but we were close. This is still a universe where we're fictional, but Jared's married to someone else. So if we couldn't get Heaven's attention in the last place we may be able to get it here because it's a different world."
Well that is kind of exciting, except it means something else too. He's been figuring up until this point that Jensen's cryptic messages are regarding Morgan's obvious issues. The girl isn't wearing make-up today, and he can see the hollows indicative of sleeplessness, the lack of real food, and the concern of those around her. If it was an emotional problem, and she probably has a good reason for that, she'd be better off in the hands of shrinks. If this is a world where the supernatural exists though, Jensen's plea may have been for something less conventional. He motions and Sam follows him out of the room, so he can relate his insight. It feels good to have the upper hand on this for once.
"Dean we don't- that's not likely. I mean if there was something after her we would have seen it by now right?"
"Maybe. Maybe not. She's played a lot of shit close to the vest Sammy. Maybe we should dig a bit."
There's a suspicious look that enters Sam's eyes. "Is this because she's a redhead?"
Damn. "Does it matter?"
Sam's face shuts down, and his eyes go cold and distant. "No. Of course not. Fuck away. I'm going to the library." He stalks off and Dean's left staring after him.
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OTP Weekly Recap: 03/12/2013: Edition #91
Date: 2013-03-18 11:21 pm (UTC)