Note to my readers: Wow, thank you so much guys for all of the reviews! I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to add more. Real life's been pretty crazy these past few months, but hopefully I can get back into the swing of things. I have the story pretty much all laid out in my head, now it's just a matter of getting it out there.

Then:

Without waiting for a response, Jensen left the borrowed Chevy, a 1998 Silverado, running as he rushed inside to rent a room for the night.

Jared let his head fall back onto the head rest, still not accustomed to their strange new ride. Apparently, the "long explanation" that his brother promised him included the Impala's fate, as well.

Chapter 4

Jensen returned quickly with two keys to their room and a six pack of El Presidente. The sun's rays streaked across the room, slicing the dusty, wallpapered room with bits of yellow and warmth. Soon it would be dark.

"Sit. Drink."

Sam obliged, snagging a long-neck bottle out of its case and admiring the familiarity of it all.

With one deep breath, Jensen looked up to the ceiling and scratched the back of his head.

"Who am I?" Jensen asked, bluntly.

"What?"

"Who. Am. I." Licking his lips, leaning forward in anticipation, Jensen clarified, "as in, who do you think I am?"

"You said Jensen."

"Right, are you sure?"

"Yeah, I think."

"You think? Or you know?"

"Know."

"No?"

"No, I mean, yes, I know. I don't know," Sam lifted his eyes to the ceiling. "I'm clueless. To be honest, I don't know who I'm supposed to be in this world."

"This world?" Jensen raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, this world. I don't know what to believe. I know what my memories tell me to believe, but what? Between evil angels throwing us in alternate corporate realities, good angels sending us through time warps, and Tricksters landing us in god-forsaken TV lands, it's all I can do to say I don't know. So yeah, Dean…yes, DEAN, because that's how I know your name, in this world, I'm somebody else."

Jensen's mouth dropped. Sam stopped.

"What?" is all the taller one could say.

"It's true then," Jensen's voice sounded determined.

"What's true?" Sam asked, holding his breath.

"You think you're Sam."

"Dean, I mean, Jensen, I…"

The man with the cropped top, vintage brown leather jacket, and stern green eyes raised a hand in dismissal, standing to make a point. It was all Sam could do to keep his heart from pounding outside of his chest, as he closed his own mouth in wait.

"Hold it. Let me finish. I said you think you're Sam, and with the way things are going on the set," Jensen paused, afraid of what he was about to say, "You probably are."

******

The yellow streaked walls had long disappeared, replaced now by the original motel interior – dismal and cracked, while the moon peered through, hoping to sneak a glance at the freakshow within.

The only real light in the run-down motel room came from a 1970s style lampshade, whose single lightbulb cast an eerie luminescence along each young man's body. Each brother sat on one side of the motel beds, one to the left and one to the right of the lamp stand, facing each other. Well, almost facing each other with their heads in their hands, mirror images in mannerism and thought, thinking to themselves, How the hell is this happening right now?

"So you're telling me we're stars of a TV show?" Sam repeated for the second time, head still cradled in his hands.

"Yes."

"But you say that this TV show is not too popular," Sam continued.

"Yes, well no."

"No?"

"Well, we have a pretty loyal fanbase," Jensen responded.

"Um, good?"

"Sometimes, yeah. Kind of crazy," he said curtly.

Sam's eyebrows rose up in sudden awareness, but still a bit confused.

"Don't ask. It can get…a little weird," Jensen continued, hands tightening around the beer neck, and taking a sudden swig.

"Right," Sam said. That was probably a conversation best left for another time. "But what about this supernatural stuff you said was getting real? You said that the strange occurrences, the freakiness that are in the episodes actually happen?"

Jensen nodded, eyes staring blankly as if he still didn't believe what he was saying either.

"Actors are actually seeing ghosts on the set?"

Jensen nodded once more, eyes avoiding contact.

"Yes."

"And workers, crew members, have gone missing?"

"Yep." Another swig.

Sam continued the questions, just like any other hunt. Research first. "And somebody witnessed a Bloody Mary apparition in their mirror? A guy named Jim?"

"You know him as Bobby."

"He's here, too? Holy shit."

"That's something Sam would never say," Jensen mumbled into his beer, still dazed at the events that were unfolding. Sam stared at him, confused.

Jensen clarified, "You know…shit…with the cursing. You can't---aww forget it," and with that he strolled to the bathroom, closing the door firmly behind him.

"De- Jensen, wait, what are you doing?"

"My taxes, what the hell do you think I'm doing?"

"Wait, you didn't tell me what else happened. Is that all?"

The door clicked, lock firmly in place. Sam was relentless. He wasn't giving up the conversation. He didn't do it when Dean put his walls up in the past. He wasn't going to let him put a wall up now – even if it was a bathroom door.

"Dean. Are those the only things that you can remember? What was that outside with you and me? By the trailers?"

Sam knocked on the door. He could hear heavy breathing on the other side.

"You looked like you had seen a ghost, Dean!"

"Give a man some privacy," Jensen's voice was muffled by the door. His annoyance, however, was not.

"No, man. What is it?" Sam placed a fist against the doorframe, holding himself together. "There's something you're not telling me. I know it."

I can feel it again, he thought.

Sam waited for what seemed like a minute, two minutes maybe.

"Dean? Jensen?"

No response. As he stood there at the doorframe, a small gnat crept onto Sam's neck, and he slapped it away. Upon pulling his hand back, he realized that the tickle he felt had not been an insect, but a tiny drop of liquid. Dark red, almost black.

"What the…?" Sam said, staring at his palm with the slippery residue. It was slimy and smooth, cool to the touch. It almost felt like ink. He started to look up, when suddenly he heard a crash.

"Dean? Dean?!" Sam pounded against the door with his fist, his heart equally loud against his eardrums.

The door remained locked and he shuttered at the thought of anything supernatural happening within their very bathroom. His brother was a hunter in Sam's world, but who knew what skills this Jensen character had here.

A single groan of pain came from behind the closed door, and that was all Sam needed to hear before the door came flying off its hinges.

"Get out of here," a fallen Dean sputtered out through clenched teeth, his right arm cradling his left hand. Sam quickly fell to his knees, unsure of what to do. The window behind the toilet had been broken in, while the removable showerhead wavered in the tub as if it had just been given life and was holding onto its dying breaths. Meanwhile, it looked like Dean was trying to nurse a bloody hand. "I don't know if it's coming back. Go…get out…"

Ignoring him, Sam shouted, "Jesus, Dean, what did you do?!"

Eyes quickly surveying the damage, Dean finally breathed relief that it was safe. "What did I do?" Dean gasped, air coming back into this lungs. "What did you do?"

They each stared back at the bathroom door in astonishment, the hinges broken in half while the door lay lifelessly on the floor behind them.

"Add this to the list," Dean said, still feeling the sharp pains of his hand.

"I'll get you some bandages," Sam said, ignoring Dean's words as he was preoccupied with only one thought at the time. "Maybe some ice.."

"This is just one other freaky thing off the set," Dean said, mentally checking off his hand and the bathtub showerhead, aware that Sam was barely listening.

"There's probably some alcohol under the cabinet. Hot iron could cauterize…how bad is it?" Sam rambled on.

"I thought you'd be the last thing on that list. And then this. In-freakin-credible," Dean continued.

Sam froze. "What did you just say?"

Dean propped himself up on his forearms. A deep sigh in his chest.

"I said I thought you'd be the last on the list. Yeah, it was you, Jared."

Stillness answered.

"Besides you thinking that you're a fictional character," Dean paused. "I mean, you did something that wasn't…"

The cheap fluorescent lighting flickered.

"That wasn't what, Jensen?"

"That wasn't …normal."

*****

To be continued. Note to readers: Tell me where you want this to go. I love hearing back from you all!