Ladies, please don't hate me for what I do to Dean in this chapter... It's only temporary, I assure you.
This is supposed to be the light relief chapter...

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Dean made a sudden grab for the window frame.

Half in, half out of the window, vertigo assaulted him as he looked down, not entirely sure where he was. Two storeys up. Not so bad. At least he hadn't fallen.

Where the hell was he?

He didn't remember coming here; wasn't sure where 'here' was.

Yet the window – and the room beyond it – looked vaguely familiar.

Well, he couldn't stay here all night, he decided, figuring he was more likely going in than coming out.

Hoisting himself over the window ledge, he had a brief, bizarre sensation of falling further into the room on the other side than he should have done, almost as if his legs were shorter than they ought to have been.

This was weird.

He looked down at his feet in the dim glow cast by the streetlight beyond the window. Sneakers. But not his sneakers. His feet looked kind of small.

This was really weird.

As he turned to move through the room, he heard a rustling sound at his collar. There was something back there, dangling down the back of his neck.

He groped behind him in an attempt to identify whatever it was, just as he passed a long mirror on the wall.

And did a double take when he caught sight of his reflection.

"Ah man!" he burst out, the true horror of his situation crashing in on him in one moment of hideous clarity. "I'm a girl!"

Staring at the dimly lit reflection gazing back at him from the mirror, Dean slowly began to remember what he was supposed to be doing. Sam's dreams. He was in Sam's dreams. He was a girl in Sam's dreams.

This was so weird, there wasn't even a word for how weird it was.

Who the hell was he?

"Bethany," he muttered, gingerly touching his face – Bethany's face – with trembling fingers. Although the hair was tied back into a long, dark ponytail, and the girl in the mirror was a good couple of inches shorter than the 'nurse' he'd met in Sam's hospital room, their features were undoubtedly identical. Thank God she's not wearing a skirt, was all Dean could think as he examined the girl's jeans, t-shirt and short leather jacket. "Rock chick," he muttered. "I'm just my type…"

Then the lights came on.

"Bethany?"

Dean looked up with a start, almost too fascinated – and horrified – by his reflection to tear his attention away long enough to catch his kid brother silhouetted in the doorway.

Wow, he looked really tall. Even taller than he usually looked. This Bethany chick was short, Dean realised quickly.

"Hey," he said, turning and smiling what he hoped was his most disarming smile. At least Sam seemed to know this version of Bethany. So no breaking and entering charges for him – her – tonight at least.

"Bethany, what are you doing here?" Sam asked tiredly, looking at Dean as if he was an escaped mental patient.

For some reason, Dean had the almost irresistible urge to say, "Well I was looking for a beer,", but as he only knew a few girls who could get away with a line like that, he settled for, "Took a wrong turn into my worst nightmare. Or maybe your worst nightmare. Not entirely sure about that one."

Oh my God, his voice had risen two octaves. He sounded like he had when he was eight.

Once he'd gotten over that little trauma, it suddenly occurred to him what he'd just been about to say. Oh man, he'd been here before. Not just 'here' – 'here' was obviously Sam and Jessica's apartment. No, 'here' as in at this time. This was the weekend before Sam's Law School interview. The weekend before Jessica died.

"Wow, this is so weird," he said, somehow innately knowing he was supposed to say something else, but completely unable to stick to the script. "No wonder she said I'd know my lines." He then remembered Bethany's other parting shot: "Don't touch anything you shouldn't", and found himself suddenly looking down at himself. In a girl's body. "As if I would," he muttered, hurt. "Perfect gentleman like me…"

Sam was frowning, and Dean realised he was waiting for him to explain himself. Herself. Except he wasn't entirely sure who this version of Bethany was supposed to be in Sam's dream.

But his Bethany had said he'd know the script.

"OK," he said, hoping to Hell this worked. "We gotta talk." Dean found himself looking instinctively at the doorway behind Sam, waiting for Jessica to appear, as she had the last time he'd done this scene.

There she was, right on cue.

"Sam…?"

Sam smiled awkwardly at her, before turning back to Dean. "Bethany, this is my girlfriend, Jessica."

"Bethany…" Jessica echoed. "Your sister Bethany?"

Dean's eyebrows shot up into his hairline. 'Sister'? He and Sam had a sister in this dream?

For once in his life, he was lost for words. He kind of remembered what he'd said to Jessica that night, but realised that hitting on her in his present condition might not be such a great idea. He wouldn't have had the heart to anyway, knowing as he did what was going to happen to her in a couple of days.

"Nice to meet you," was all he managed. Then, "Sam we need to talk. In private."

"No," Sam said, moving over to Jessica's side. "Anything you want to say you can say in front of Jessica."

"OK," Dean found himself saying, again uncertain where the words were coming from. "Dad and Dean haven't been home in a few days." So he was missing too in this dream, was he? That was OK. He just needed to follow the script enough to get Sam alone. It didn't matter if things went a little differently…

"They'll stumble back in eventually. They always do," Sam was saying.

"They're on a hunting trip," Dean added. "And they haven't been home in a few days."

Sam's expression altered. "Jess, excuse us."

Score! Dean thought. This was going to be easier than Bethany – his Bethany – had thought. Get Sam alone, talk some sense into him, wake him up. Done. No problem. If things went as they had in real life, Dean had easily talked Sam into going with him to look for Dad… Well maybe not that easily, but if he could talk him into that, then he could talk him into getting the Hell out of this freaky place he called his consciousness.

He followed Sam out of the house, just as he had last time, marvelling at the fact that Bethany, this fabricated sister who existed only in Sam's dreams, kept a gun and a knife stashed in exactly the same places about her person as Dean did. Maybe Sam thought having a kid sister would be an easier deal than having a big brother, Dean thought to himself. He suspected Sam was wrong on that score: In Dean's experience, having a younger sibling meant only extra responsibility, and while he wouldn't have wished Sam away for the world, sometimes he wondered if his life would have been simpler without him.

Then he thought about Bethany's description of Sam's first dream – where he died with their Mom in the fire – and shuddered. No, Sam was worth the extra complication in his life.

Then another thought struck him: Maybe Sam was wishing Dean away. He'd died in at least one of Sam's dreams, and it wasn't looking too rosy for him in this one either. He thought back to the way Sam had looked at him as he lay on the floor of Roosevelt Asylum, a gun pointed at his head. It was an image that haunted him still, and even though he knew his brother hadn't been himself back then, there had been real hatred in his eyes. And that had to come from somewhere.

Dean began to falter then. Maybe he should just leave Sam be, let him have his fantasy life with Jessica if that was what would make him happy.

Let his kid brother dream himself into a slow, wasting death.

No. Dean couldn't do that.

Like it or not, Sam needed to come back to his real life. Dean needed to wake him, that was all there was to it. For once in his life, Sam was going to follow orders.

"…So Dad and Dean are missing?" Sam was saying, and Dean realised he'd tuned out for a second. "They're always missing and they're always fine…"

Dean opened his mouth to say the words he somehow knew he was supposed to say, but for some reason didn't. He just stood there looking up at his brother mutely. Looking a lot further up than he usually had to.

"Dude, you are freakishly tall," he found himself saying, for a second forgetting who he was supposed to be.

Sam just stared at him as if he was a complete nut job. "Huh?" he said.

Dean stared back at him for a second before deciding what he should do. "Screw it," he muttered, deciding the script could go out the window. "Sam, if I asked if you were coming with me to help find Dad and – and Dean – " no way was he getting his head around referring to himself in the third person, " – what would you say?"

Sam didn't even take a second to consider. "I'd say 'I'm not'," he replied shortly.

Dean nodded. OK, that had been his answer last time too. No biggie. "What if I told you they were in real trouble?"

"How could you know that?" Sam demanded.

Dean shrugged. "Call it ESP," he replied, ironically.

Sam snorted. "You're psychic now?" he asked. "You've been hanging out way too much with Dean…"

"Oh?" Dean tried to keep the wounded look off his – Bethany's – face.

Sam shook his head. "I swore to myself I was done hunting," he said. "And you should be too. If something nasty has got its claws into Dad and Dean, then that's their problem. That's their fault, their decision. I don't see what it's got to do with me."

Dean took a step towards him. "I can't do this alone," he said, figuring the script was probably his best bet right now.

"You shouldn't be doing it at all!" Sam countered. "What would your Mom say? Does she even know you're here?"

Dean faltered at that. "She – she – " he stuttered, trying to think of a suitable response. Maybe this younger sibling thing wasn't all it was cracked up to be, either.

"No, huh?" Sam cut him off. "I thought as much." He shook his head. "Beth, unless you want to wind up like Dad and Dean – who I'm sure are both just fine off hunting god-knows-what, by the way – you should go home. Go back to Kansas. Stay with Maggie. She's probably off her head with worry. I know she didn't like it when Dean talked Dad into going back out hunting with him, and I'm sure she'd go out of her mind if she knew you were at it, too!"

Dean didn't answer straight away, his head churning with thoughts he'd have preferred not to be having just then. He was the bad guy in all this. Sam had made him the bad guy. To make it easier for him to stay with Jessica.

Despite his protestations to the contrary, Dean suddenly began to wonder whether Sam really did blame his older brother for his girlfriend's death. Or maybe he just had to demonise him in order to make it easier to push him away, easier to choose Jessica, choose his dream life.

Who was Dean to say Sam had chosen wrongly?

"Sam – " he began, his voice sounding small.

Sam started to turn and head back up the wooden staircase towards his apartment. "Go home, Beth," he repeated. "Forget about hunting. Forget about Dad. Forget about Dean. Your life will be a whole lot better – safer – in the long run."

Dean stared after him for a second, blinking. OK, maybe this wasn't going to be quite so easy this time.

"Sam – ?" he repeated.

"Beth, go home."

"Sam!" Dean shook his head. Time to get tough. He sprinted after his brother, catching up with him on the landing at the top of the stairs. "Sam, wait!"

Sam had stopped, his back still towards him. "Beth – "

"I'm not Bethany!" Dean blurted out, all attempts at subtlety now forgotten.

Sam turned slowly, his expression one of disbelief. And disappointment. "Yeah, OK," he began. When Dean didn't say anything, he added, "Still waiting for the punchline, kiddo!"

Dean shook his head. "No punchline," he said, trying to figure what the Hell to say. He was pretty sure 'Sam, stop dreaming and get your ass back to reality' wouldn't work. "Sam – " he reached out to touch Sam's arm, but his brother pulled away.

Dean swatted angrily at a lock of Bethany's hair that had escaped its ponytail. "Stupid long hair," he muttered. "Why do girls grow so much of this stuff?" He glanced up at Sam, who was still waiting for an explanation. He took a deep breath. "OK, here's the deal, Sammy," he said, almost missing the look of surprise his use of that name elicited on Sam's face. Good. Unintentional. But good. "I'm not Bethany," he repeated. "Sam, Bethany doesn't exist. You don't have a kid sister."

Sam started to laugh. "Yeah, good one," he said, mirthlessly. "You almost got me there."

"No!" Dean grabbed Sam's arm before he could pull away again. "Sam – Sam, I know you think you're standing here, talking to your sister. But you're not. You're lying in a hospital bed in the Middle-of-Nowhere, Iowa, with tubes coming out of you and a machine regulating your breathing."

The smile had rapidly faded on Sam's face. "You're crazy – " he began, trying to pull away.

Despite his reduced size, Dean managed to keep a grip on his brother. "Sam," he said, carefully. "This is all a dream. This whole thing – "

"And who are you? My fairy godmother?"

Dean shook his head, forcing Sam to look him in the eye. "No," he said, taking a breath. "I'm Dean."

Sam just stared at him for a second, his face completely expressionless. Then, "Go home, Beth. This isn't funny." He tried to pull away again, but Dean still managed to hang on to him.

"Sammy, I'm serious," he said. "You're having a dream. Hell, you're having a lot of dreams. You've been asleep for a week and it's starting to take its toll on you! Dad hired some – some witches to put the whammy on you so's you'd dream an answer to his question…"

"What question?"

Dean shrugged. "Whether, if he'd lived his life differently, things could have been better for us."

Sam frowned, but had stopped trying to pull away.

Dean pressed on. "Sam, it's all gone wrong," he explained. "Surprise, surprise, for once in your life you're not doing what Dad wanted you to do."

Again, Sam didn't answer.

Dean tried again. "Bethany," he said. "She's one of the witches. She's trying to help you. She thinks you've gotten lost in your own dreams; can't find your way back out. So she sent me in here to get you."

"You're dreaming too?" Sam asked.

Dean nodded. Maybe he was getting through. "I guess," he said. "Except I'm dreaming your dream."

Sam pursed his lips. "And why am I lost again?"

Dean frowned. This was the tricky bit. "Bethany thinks you're trying to find your own perfect life. Not Dad's. You saw a choice between – " he gulped. "Between Jessica and your 'normal' life and – and me and your – " he couldn't think of a better word. " – Your 'abnormal' life, and you chose Jessica. Except you can only be with Jessica in here, in your dreams. Not in real life."

"Why can't I be with her in real life?" Sam asked, his face completely neutral.

Dean bit his lip. "Sam," he said, trying to think of a way to sugar coat it, but in the end deciding on the direct approach. "Sammy, Jessica died. Just like Mom died. You remember that, right? I know you remember…"

Sam's expression didn't change.

"Sam?"

Sam considered him for a second. Then he took a shallow breath, before turning away and heading back towards the apartment. "Go home, Bethany."

"No! Sammy – " Dean went after him, grabbing his arm again and yanking him back to face him. "Sam, listen to me! You can't stay here. I know how much you want to. I know how much you want to be with Jessica. I do. But you can't. She's gone. You're not. You need to come back with me." He grabbed at Sam's other arm. "Sam, you can't choose Jessica. It's going to kill you!"

Dean wasn't quite prepared for what happened next: he'd never seen Sam move so fast. All of a sudden, his kid brother had grabbed his shoulders and shoved him against the banister running across the landing, pinning him there so he couldn't move.

"Sam?" Dean looked up into Sam's eyes, almost afraid of what he was going to see there, and their gazes locked.

Roosevelt Asylum.

Dean saw the exact same thing in Sam's eyes at that moment that he'd seen there in Roosevelt Asylum.

Anger. Confusion. Hatred.

"Sam?"

"Go home, Dean."

The next thing Dean knew, Sam had pushed him backwards as hard as he could. He heard wood splinter, and then he was falling, having broken through the rickety banister, falling the two storeys towards the alleyway below.

Sam had pushed him off the staircase.

As he fell, all Dean could see was the hatred in his brother's eyes.

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Dean hit the floor of the alleyway with a hard thud, expecting his body to be in broken pieces, blood oozing from his smashed skull.

But all he felt was the smooth plastic of the hospital chair on which he was sitting, and the soft draught caused by the quietly humming air conditioner.

He opened his eyes gingerly, half expecting to see Sam standing looking down at him from the landing at the top of the staircase.

But all he saw was Bethany.

"I'm guessing that didn't go so well…" she said, feeling Dean's forehead.

"You – you weren't watching?" Dean asked as he tried to get his bearings. Hospital room. Sam asleep on the bed. Bethany standing over him.

He looked down, suddenly remembering. Thank God, he was himself again: Not a girl part in sight.

"Some of it," Bethany replied. She smiled mischievously, despite the dire circumstances. "You made a cute girl – Bethany."

Dean grimaced. "You could have warned me – "

"I did warn you!" Bethany protested. "Short of putting you in there as Jessica, Little Sister Bethany was the best I could do!"

Dean frowned at her. "Remind me never to grow my hair…" he began.

Bethany cut him off suddenly, her hand on his lips. "Wait," she ordered. "Shush. I'm having an idea…"

Dean pushed her hand away. "Less of the 'shushing', sister," he said, overly emphasising the last word. "Bad enough you turned me into a girl; I'm damned if I'm going to let you turn me into a poodle!"

"Dean, for once in your life, be quiet," Bethany snapped. "I'm trying to think."

"No way to talk to your big brother," Dean grumbled.

Bethany looked at him then, the thought bubble obviously having burst. "Jessica," she said slowly. "We could put you in as Jessica."

Dean shook his head, all serious now. "No," he said emphatically. "No way."

Bethany frowned at him. "Why not?"

Dean shrugged. "Because," he said, as if that should be explanation enough.

Bethany shrugged back at him, clearly not catching his drift.

Dean looked uncomfortable. "Look," he began. "Quite apart from the whole Freudian nightmare thing? It just wouldn't be right. I can't pretend to be Jessica to talk Sam out of wanting to be with her. It just wouldn't be fair. To either of them."

Bethany obviously hadn't expected Dean to have such a thoughtful objection.

"OK, look," Dean continued. "Sam knows he's dreaming. He knows something's not right."

"How do you know that?"

Dean shrugged again. "'Cause he wouldn't have pushed me off a two storey building if he thought it could actually hurt me."

Bethany considered that. "You sure about that?" she asked tentatively.

Dean shifted awkwardly, the certainty in his voice not quite making it to his eyes. "Yeah, I'm sure," he said. Then, "He knew who I was. He knew I wasn't Bethany. And he knew he shouldn't be there with Jessica. When I mentioned her dying, he wasn't surprised. He remembered. He just didn't want to remember."

Bethany sighed, perching herself on the edge of Sam's bed. "I really thought he'd listen to you…" she said, defeat creeping into her voice.

Dean could see the disappointment in her eyes. He just hoped she couldn't see it mirrored in his own. "I've not given up yet," he said, raising his chin defiantly. "If he thinks I'm giving up on him this easy, he doesn't know me as well as he thinks he does…"

Bethany looked slightly more hopeful at this. "Yes," she muttered, more to herself than to Dean. Then, "That may have been why he wouldn't listen to you. Because you weren't yourself, because you weren't the Dean he knows, but the Bethany that he knows doesn't exist, it was easier for him to dismiss you. You're right, I doubt he could have pushed you off a building if you'd actually looked like you."

Dean nodded slightly. "Easier to ignore a made up kid sister than a pissed off big brother," he agreed.

Bethany steepled her fingers thoughtfully. "We need the right dream, that's all," she said, again almost speaking only for her own benefit. "If they'd only let me…"

"Guide Sam?" Dean hazarded.

Bethany nodded. "We need to show him what his life is worth," she said. "We need to show him why he needs to live, what he's got to live for."

Dean frowned. "You're gonna have a tough time beating out Jess," he observed. He knew his brother. And he knew how many times he'd heard him calling out her name in the middle of the night.

Bethany was scrutinising him in that odd way again.

"Would you stop looking at me like I'm a lab rat or something?" Dean asked uncomfortably.

Bethany continued to stare at him for a second. Then, "I need to make some calls," she announced, jumping up off the bed and heading for the door.

"Wait – " Dean said, himself standing and making as if to follow her. "Phone calls?" he asked. "Or…?"

Bethany smiled awkwardly. " 'Or'," she replied. "Definitely 'or'." She reached for the door handle, before turning back. "Don't go anywhere," she said. "I'll be right back."

Dean watched her go, for a moment at a loss what he should do next. He turned back to Sam, still sleeping, still breathing, heart still causing the monitor to make little beeping sounds. "You know, this is all your fault," he found himself saying. Then he considered that further, catching his brother's hand in his own. "Actually, this isn't your fault, is it?"

He let go of Sam, digging his hand into his pocket and pulling out his cellphone. He hit the keys exactly as he had a hundred times over the last few months, even less expectant now. After the one phone call he'd gotten, he'd been hopeful for a while…but only for a while.

Hearing the voicemail kick in, he began the usual message. He'd left that a hundred times over, too. "Hey Dad, it's Dean." He sighed before continuing. "You know how this goes by now, right? I don't know if you'll get this, you probably do but don't call anyway… Been there, done that. Well, I just thought you should know that Sam's pretty sick, thanks to your little witchy friends. Maybe they haven't filled you in that your little 'research project' has gone sideways? Dad, you need to make them stop right now. Sam's in trouble and one of their girls can help him, but they won't let her. How about you talk some sense into 'em, huh? OK, that's it."

He closed the cellphone, tapping it on his chin thoughtfully. He knew there were plenty of times he should have been angry with his Dad over the last few months. Up until now, he hadn't been. Well, maybe that time in Lawrence… But right now, he could have quite happily reached down the phone and knocked some sense into the old man. Dreams. What the hell had he been thinking?