Disclaimer: Same as for chapter one.

A/N: Wow, I had no idea I'd get such a big response to this story! Thank you so much to everyone who takes the time to read this and especially to those who reviewed for your kind comments - I really appreciate it :) Also, Noelani618 raised a good point about the timing of this story. For anyone else who was wondering it is set in the first season some time after "Faith".


Stranger Things Have Happened?

It is the lot of a hunter to find himself in many extraordinary and downright weird situations. But not even Dean could have imagined there would come a day when he was glad that he'd fallen into bed without bothering to get undressed properly. Now it was suddenly the difference between holding on to his dignity and walking through the hospital clad only in his boxers. There was, of course, the issue of footwear but while Dean would have much preferred his biker boots the manky runners left behind by his counterpart in this reality were better than nothing.

The drive home was mercifully quiet. Dean had half expected his father to resume his rant but that hadn't happened. He spent the ride home staring out the window into the darkness beyond and hoping that no-one would speak to him. They didn't.

A sign by the side of the road welcomed them to Lawrence. With a sinking feeling Dean realised that they really were going home. He allowed himself to hope that maybe they were living in a different house, although just being in the same town was enough to make him uneasy, but of course he wasn't that lucky.

The house fitted perfectly with Dean's recollections. Not those of the adult who had fought a poltergeist there not so long ago but the fuzzy ones of the terrified four year old who had fled an inferno. Stepping over the threshold he was filled with a sense of foreboding so strong that for a moment he thought he'd be sick. The memory of running through that doorway in the other direction with Sammy in his arms was so vivid he could almost feel the heat from the fire pressing on him and smell the smoke. With a leaden heart he followed his parents into the kitchen.

"Sit down." His father ordered, pointing at a chair.

Dean obeyed immediately. Messing with Dad was a bad idea at the best of times. Messing with him now would be suicide.

"You were doing so well Dean. What the hell possessed you to go back to that shit?"

Dean was tempted to ask 'what shit?' but he knew that would be a very bad idea.

"I don't know sir."

"Don't get smart with me boy!"

Smart? For a moment Dean was completely bewildered. Then it occurred to him that it was quite likely that in this reality he'd never called the old man sir in his life.

"John, keep your voice down!" Mary hissed, "If you're not careful you'll wake Sam and God knows he doesn't need to lose any more sleep."

Well, that answered two of Dean's questions. Obviously Sam did exist here and he was at home. He decided not to ask why his brother was sleep deprived – he suspected that he was supposed to know.

"Sorry. Look, can we talk in the morning? I'm tired and you must be exhausted – hell, it's the middle of the night." It probably wouldn't work but Dean felt he had to at least try to placate his father.

"Do I look stupid? We're going to talk now before you can bail."

"Fine." It wasn't really fine. Dean was no stranger to lying his way out of trouble but right now he had nothing to work with and was so tired that his imagination seemed to have deserted him. In fact his entire brain seemed to have shut up shop except for the part responsible for bombarding him with unpleasant memories.

"Well?"

Mary sighed and directed an exasperated look at her husband. "Again with the Spanish Inquisition? I thought we agreed that approach was a failure."

John ignored her and looked at Dean expectantly.

Dean sighed. "I don't know. Really. It doesn't make any sense to me either. But I could have died tonight and that scares me." He paused for effect. "Would it be ok if I stayed here for a while? I need to get myself sorted out and I'm not sure I can do it alone." He wasn't entirely sure what he was asking for help with and it went against every fibre of his being to admit fear, even if he hadn't meant a word of it, but if his suspicions about the situation were correct then this was probably what Dad wanted to hear and telling him what he wanted to hear was probably the quickest way to end the conversation.

"I really hope you mean that. Ok, you can stay here but if you even so much as think you're going to carry on your habit under my roof I will have no hesitation in kicking you out. And I'm going to lock you in your room tonight. I know it probably seems harsh, but surely you can see why I have a hard time trusting you?"

Dean nodded. "I understand. Now can I please go to bed? I'm knackered."

"I'm not all that keen on waiting for sunrise myself."

It was an effort not to run when Dean reached the top of the stairs and saw the door to what had been Sam's nursery. Even though it was closed he could see the fire and hear its hungry crackling. He could hear Dad screaming Mum's name and see her wreathed in flame upon the ceiling. He swallowed and wrenched his gaze from it.

Dad stopped outside the door to what had been Dean's room before the fire. It was a relief to find that he and Sam hadn't swapped over in this reality.

"Ok, get in. I'm going to lock the door behind you and you'd damn well better still be here in the morning."

"Don't worry, I will be." Dean muttered absently, looking around the completely unfamiliar bedroom.

He heard the door close and the click of the lock and it made him think of being in jail. When he was sure that his parents had gone to their room he approached the door to study it and came to the conclusion that it might as well not be there. The lock would be beyond easy to pick if it came to it.

Then he moved to the window. At a glance he could see that despite being upstairs it would not be difficult to get out that way either. Now all Dean needed was a weapon and he'd be on his way to feeling safe – or as safe as he ever felt given that he knew the sort of things that were out there in the world waiting to wreak havoc. A search of the room yielded a baseball bat and a pocket knife.

The search also turned up some more disturbing objects. Dean had found several hidden syringes and some empty baggies with a powdery residue inside. It was further confirmation of what he'd begun to suspect back at the hospital – the Dean of this reality was a drug addict. This only served to make Dean worry more for his Sam. Clearly the brother Sam was presumably stuck with would be completely incapable of protecting him and could even be a danger to him, even if not deliberately.

A soft mewling shook him from his reverie. Crossing to the window Dean saw a cat sitting on the outside sill and staring through the window at him with wide yellow eyes. He lifted the sash as quietly as he could and it ran into the room where it purred loudly and wove figure eights around his ankles. Of indeterminate breed, Dean fancied it looked as though it had been born white and had a tin of black paint tipped over it, resulting in the irregular black splodges over its coat. A red collar holding an identity tag in the shape of a fish encircled its neck. According to the fish the cat's name was Maggie and a quick check under the tail confirmed that it was female. Dean picked her up, still purring and carried her over to the bed where he sat down and stroked her. He had always liked animals – they didn't judge and you could tell them anything with no fear of having the men in white coats called on your ass, or the cops for that matter. Maggie worked her claws, kneading his thigh like it was a lump of bread dough, her presence such a comfort that he let her do it without complaint.

Finally Dean curled up on the bed clutching his new pocket knife, cat at his feet, and slipped into a troubled sleep.

***

Sam finished packing the duffels and went into the bathroom to check for any stray toiletries.

"What are you doing?"

Dean had stopped retching a short time ago and was sitting on the bed watching Sam with a kind of glazed detachment. Unfortunately his company hadn't got any more pleasant for lack of vomiting and Sam was now beyond irritated.

"I'm packing, what does it look like? We're going to Bobby's."

Bobby would know what to do. Even if he didn't, with all the books lying around his house there had to be a volume there somewhere that could shed some light on this bizarre situation. Sam hadn't even bothered with calling his father, completely disinterested in leaving yet another voicemail that would never get answered.

"Who's Bobby?"

"You'll just have to find out won't you?"

"What if I don't want to?"

"Stiff shit, you haven't got a choice."

"And how do you plan to make me?"

Normally that tone of voice from Dean would make Sam stop and think, but this wasn't the Dean that Sam had grown up with. Holy water had had no effect and touching him with a silver knife had elicited nothing more than mild annoyance so it seemed unlikely he was any kind of hell spawn. All Sam could be sure of was that this wasn't his brother and he was determined to find out what was going on. Besides, if it came down to it Sam was sure he could kick this Dean's ass to the moon and back.

Sam had barely opened his mouth to give a scathing reply when Dean suddenly collapsed.

Under any other circumstances this would have been cause for concern but right at that moment it was more like a blessing - Sam hadn't been looking forward to literally dragging Dean out kicking and screaming. A quick examination revealed that he was asleep rather than unconscious and he stirred briefly as Sam carried him out into the cold night air, muttering unintelligibly. Once Dean was in the car Sam cuffed his wrists and ankles. The Dean that Sam had known was an escape artist to rival Houdini and he felt it better to be safe than sorry.

Sam did one last sweep of the room and, satisfied that he had left nothing behind, loaded the duffels in the trunk and drove off.

They were just out of town when Dean came to.

"Ughh," He groaned, making as if to rub his head. It didn't take long for him to register that the reason this action was suddenly so difficult was because he was wearing handcuffs. "What the hell is with you Sam!?" He shook his cuffed hands in Sam's face.

"You've got them on your ankles as well. I don't trust you not to sneak off the moment I turn my back."

"Fantastic. My brother is a psycho. Do Mum and Dad know what you're up to?"

The question caught Sam off guard. Dean had mentioned Mum as if she was alive. It sounded as though, wherever he came from, he'd got to grow up with a mother.

"Uh no, they don't. They aren't going to either." Because Mum died over twenty years ago and Dad never answers his phone, but you don't need to know that.

"You know, this is more or less abduction. I should call the cops on your ass."

"Trust me, that would be a really, really bad idea."

"Are you threatening me?"

"No, I'm just stating a fact."

"You are such a dick."

"Very mature. Are you going to spend the entire trip complaining? Because I would hate to have to gag you."

"What are you doing here anyway? Aren't you supposed to be in California at Stanford, becoming a lawyer and making Mum and Dad proud? Someone has to be the good son and it sure as hell isn't me."

Sam's heart almost seemed to seize in his chest and his breath caught in his throat. Making Mum and Dad proud? Sam had desperately wanted Dad to be proud of him but the only response he got to what he had thought was wonderful news was one of unbridled fury. He had no idea what Mum would have thought of his achievement. He thought Dean might have been proud of him but then Dean had always been proud of him. A sudden surge of loneliness hit him and he wished more than anything that his Dean was with him. He would know what to do with the sniping, drug addled wreck riding shotgun.

Sam couldn't say any of this out loud though.

"I thought I told you to shut up."

For a time Dean was silent, alternating between dozing and staring out the window. It couldn't last forever though. He grew steadily more agitated, fidgeting and wriggling in his seat until, as the pale light of dawn was creeping across the sky from the east, he spoke.

"Let me out."

"You're joking, right? I thought I'd made it pretty clear that you're not going anywhere."

"Let me out!"

"No."

"So help me God I will kill you if you don't let me out!" There was a distinct note of desperation in Dean's voice. Glancing at him Sam could see that he was shaking and that his face was shiny with sweat. He was sniffling like he had a bad cold and his breathing was ragged.

"And why exactly do you want out so bad?" Sam thought he already knew but a bit of confirmation wouldn't hurt.

"You know why! You damn well know why! I guess you've got some stupid idea that you're going to save me from myself, make me get clean or some shit, well I can't! I've been through this before and it hurts! It hurts so bad and I can't do it again, I just can't so let me out!"

"Oh you can and you will. I get that this hurts Dean, but try to understand that I want you alive and in one piece. Mostly alive, I could probably deal with you missing a limb or something. So do me a favour and stop complaining." It was difficult to be hard hearted when Dean was so obviously suffering but what else was he supposed to do? If Sam acknowledged the compassion he felt for Dean he would break.

"You've gone insane. You really have. You're crazy." He rubbed at his eyes, "Just let me out, please just let me out."

Crazy. Sam had lost count of the number of times he'd had that label thrown at him. If this was how the rest of the trip was going to be he might just be living up to it by the time they reached Bobby's.

Thanks for reading :)