Chapter One: A Rude Awakening

A/N: (3/28/17) Generally I don't come back to finished fic, but rereading this to make sure I wasn't doing something too similar in another crossover in progress, I found more errors than I was entirely comfortable with. If you've already read this, there's no major changes or additions, just some minor corrections and a few bits of rephrasing (and hopefully no new errors).

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Dean wakes up slowly and with a certain amount of caution about moving too fast, expecting to be sore and just a little hungover. The ghost of the murdered schoolteacher he and Sam had gone out to put down the night before had not been willing to go quietly. It wouldn't have been anything but strictly routine for the veteran hunters – if it hadn't turned out burning the bones didn't banish her. A frantic scramble out of the cemetery and a bit of backtracking through their research later, they'd eventually figured out she was also attached to an object. In this case, it had been a teaching excellence award with her name and a truly unfortunate smear of blood on it gathering dust in a dark corner of the trophy case at the local high school. They hadn't managed to destroy the award and get rid of the ghost before Sam went through the glass case and Dean ended up with a mildly sprained ankle.

So between the late night, the throbbing limb, several relatively shallow cuts from the shattered glass, and the whiskey he'd downed to help numb the pain, Dean didn't expect to wake up the morning after feeling very good. Instead he was pleasantly disconcerted to realize he felt just fine, neither groggy nor sore anywhere. In fact, he felt better overall than he had in years. Opening confused green eyes, he was even more surprised to realize he was in what looked like a bedroom in someone's house or apartment rather than the dingy motel he and Sam had crashed in the night before. There had been an unfortunate waterfowl theme. Of course, the apartment is still rather run down and dingy with some really hideous floor tile, but it's definitely not where he remembers going to bed. Worse, there's no sign of Sam, even after he's explored the adjoining rooms and looked out the windows.

Dean does his best not to show his alarm externally just in case there's someone watching he can't see, but internally he's already going through a checklist of things that could be responsible for his missing memory and relocation. After recent encounters with both a trickster and a djinn, monsters who could do pretty much whatever the hell they wanted to your perception of reality, he doesn't have enough to go on yet to know just how deep in trouble he is.

He can't sense anyone here, and he's hopeful after his experience in the djinn world he would recognize that trick a second time around. In that dreamworld, he'd gradually gotten a more and more potent sense things were just a little bit wrong, and he suspects the newness and the strangeness of it had a lot to do with it taking as long as it did for him to catch on. He feels nothing like that now; this is incredibly weird, but it feels real. Cautiously, he moves back to the bedroom and searches around, seeking for not only his weapons but also his IDs, keys, and more clothes than the well-worn red sweatpants and gray t-shirt he's currently wearing. Which he doesn't recognize any more than the room.

Dean also doesn't recognize the gun in the top drawer of the nightstand, though he's grateful to find it. Nor can he find the Impala's keys. He does find a wallet and a phone, but neither are his. He recognizes none of the contact numbers nor the associated names on the phone, and the IDs in the wallet are made out to an Alec McDowell. One is the expected driver's license, but the other isn't one of his normal fakes, it's a Sector Pass issued by Jam Pony, whatever either of those things are. He would assume it's someone else's wallet, but the license picture features his face, although the hair is a style he's never worn. Dean stares at it for a long moment, thinking maybe he's wrong about recognizing a djinn hallucination, before stuffing the IDs back in the wallet and moving on. He takes an annoyingly cold shower using someone else's shampoo and soap and dresses in clothes he finds in a chest of drawers. He's shivering and cursing all the while, since even most of the dumps he and Sam stay in at least have some hot water.

While he's in the bathroom is when he really notices things are even weirder than he was imagining. Stripping off to shower, he finds that all his old scars and his relatively recent anti-possession tattoo are as gone as the wounds he remembers getting on the hunt the night before. His body is also subtly different in more general ways, too, leaner than he's used to, and his hair is longer, like in the picture on the ID he'd found. He almost wants to say his face looks younger, as well. Together it's almost weirder than all the rest of it put together, because even in the djinn's world, his body had been his own.

Once he's dressed and mostly dried off, he does a more thorough search of the apartment. After he'd woken up and searched the bedroom, he'd given the rest of the place a quick check to make sure he really was alone, but opening the cabinets and rummaging through the cushions on the sofa doesn't turn up anything more interesting than excessive supplies of junk food and alcohol and a little loose change.

Dean returns to the bedroom and sits down on the bed, trying to puzzle this out with the meager clues he's been given. His sadly directionless contemplation of what to do next is interrupted by a loud banging sound from out in the main part of the apartment. Almost immediately thereafter, a woman's voice filled with impatience and annoyance rings out.

"ALEC! Hurry your lazy ass up! Normal may let you get away with anything, but OC and I are not taking your shifts today."

Dean makes his way out of the bedroom to see the woman in question is a girl with long dark hair who can't be much older than twenty, if that. She's dressed in dark jeans and a black sweater, and wearing biker gloves with a messenger bag slung across her body. Irritation is just as clear in every stiff line of her body as it was in the tone and volume of her voice. She's standing with her hands on her hips, and starts glaring at him as soon as he comes into sight. She's also ridiculously hot.

For the moment, he's got no better idea than to play along as if he really was this Alec kid. "I'm coming," he says. Dean starts to walk towards the door when she makes another angry noise. Trying to keep his cluelessness off his face, he turns back to her and asks, "What?"

"Your bag, dumbass?" she asks with a raised eyebrow and an eye roll.

Dean blinks and looks around, seeing a messenger bag similar to hers he'd found empty and subsequently forgotten about hanging across the sofa, halfway under a pretty nice leather jacket. He grabs both, and turns back towards the door, though he's stopped and insulted again when he goes to walk past the bicycle parked just inside.

She leads the way down the stairs, and he follows. He can just make out her muttering, "if I didn't know we can't get them, I'd think you were hungover." Which is a bizarre thing to say, and he files it away with all the other mounting questions. He's not exactly afraid to ask them, but until he knows what got him here, he's not taking the chance of tipping something off earlier than necessary. Dean's generally found it better to play dumb until he's got a plan.

Alec, it turns out, is a bike messenger who delivers packages throughout Seattle, though it's a bizarre third world version of Seattle controlled by military police stationed at checkpoints dividing the city into sectors. By the end of the day, he's not sure if he wants to strangle the bitchy chick or thank her. When he still seems a little out of it by the time they arrive at Jam Pony, she volunteers to do all their delivery runs in tandem, which he's grateful for since he has no idea where anything is in this city. Unfortunately, her favorite thing seems to be complaining about and insulting him for literally everything he does. Dean's pretty sure she's actually muttering to herself in annoyance at how loud he's breathing at one point. And that's after she's shouted at him for being too quiet when he's usually too talkative and implying that he must have changed just to piss her off. There are several points where he has to bite back the impulse to tell her to go screw herself and is stopped only by the fundamental weirdness of the situation and the need to play along hoping for some answers.

Even with all his resolve, he's pretty sure the main thing that gets him through the day is grabbing onto an offered excuse and snapping back that he doesn't want to talk about it after she asks him if his current distracted attitude is about Rachel. Whoever that is, it sounds like a damn good excuse and she actually lays off just a little bit afterward. In fact, the slight suspicion that's been creeping into her expression all morning is suddenly wiped away. He's not sure if he should feel smug or worried the girl is gonna become monster chow if she's that easy to fool, so he settles on relieved she shuts up instead. Still, as soon as they've delivered the last of the parcels they picked up at the Jam Pony offices and turned in their clipboards for the day, he takes off in the general direction of Alec's apartment without a backward glance.

Which is when the weirdest parts of this whole thing finally sink in to him. He's been biking around the city all afternoon and is not remotely tired or sore, even though he should be seriously stretching muscles he doesn't normally use. When he stops in to get something to drink at a coffee and newsstand he'd noticed a few blocks from the apartment, he catches sight of the date line on what is presumably today's paper as he pays for his beverage. Considering that he wanders off in a daze pondering the incredible claim of it currently being the year 2020, he's caught unprepared when some idiots try to jump him as he passes the entryway to a dark side street. It wouldn't have been a fair fight in his own body, but when he nearly kills one of them by accident, he goes into a cold sweat and hightails it out of there. He's not just in a version of his body that's not quite his, this body isn't even properly human. Nobody human can punch that hard or move that fast. Dean almost goes into a panic but finally realizes he's not had any urges to kill or eat anyone yet, so it's a little early to assume he's turned into some kind of bloodthirsty monster. He does intend to have a serious discussion with Max later though, because her comment about how "we" can't get hangovers is ringing much louder alarm bells in his head now.

He's put off trying to call Sam all day as much as that was his first instinct, because he's really not sure he can take another fake world where Sam is off living the life he really wants with Jess, law school, and a complete lack of Dean. Still, even after an entire day he doesn't know where else to start, so once he's back to the apartment, he can't put it off any longer. He's got no idea what's going on, and trying to figure this thing out would be easier with Sam. If he exists here. If he doesn't think this is some weird prank call because he's already with Dean, since Dean seems to be in the skin of someone else entirely. Thinking about it makes Dean's head hurt, so he grabs his phone to get it over with.

He dials his brother's number and waits while it rings. Just when he's sure the voicemail is about to pick up, Sam's voice comes over the line. "Hello?"

"Sam?"

There's a long pause before Sam's voice comes back over the line, full of both relief and worry. "Dean?"

...

Alec groans his way to consciousness, feeling worse than he has since he last spent several months in Psy-Ops at Manticore. He's groggy, disoriented, and has more weird aches and pains than he knows what to do with. His abnormally sluggish mind struggles desperately to remember what happened to him last night to leave him in this state, even while he reassures himself he's lying on a not uncomfortable bed, unrestrained, and tries to convince his eyes to open.

"C'mon, Dean, get up already," an unfamiliar male voice chides from somewhere too close for his comfort in the room. Annoyance is clear in the man's tone, and he feels the mattress under him judder, as if someone had kicked the bed he's sleeping in.

The fact he's not alone is enough to convince him to force his way through the discomfort, opening his eyes and sitting up to a better position for both defense and vantage. Quickly he takes in the situation. He's in a crappy motel room with two queen beds and there's a tall guy who he's never seen before staring at him in mild irritation from the foot of the one he's in. The guy is between him and what has to be the outer door, considering the placement of the drape-covered windows next to it. He can see just enough of the darkness of the bathroom at the other end of the room to know if there's a window in there, it's probably too small to escape through. Alec blinks, but it does nothing to bring up any memories of how he got here or change the unfamiliar scene he's looking at. Or to explain the really weird wallpaper. Are those ducks?

The words are out before he even thinks about it, "What kind of freak buys wallpaper with ducks on it?"

His unfamiliar companion snorts. "You chose the motel, man. Seriously, why are you so slow this morning? You said you wanted to be on the road by now." Alec turns his attention more directly on his companion, realizing that the guy addressing him is really tall. Like nearly Joshua tall, with only slightly shorter hair. He's dressed in layered flannel and scuffed looking jeans and boots. He's also looking at Alec with familiarity and exasperation. Since Alec has absolutely no clue who he is, it's disconcerting.

Alec's been trained by Manticore for all kinds of subterfuge and infiltration, but half awake and dropped into the middle of a situation he knows nothing about, even he's a bit off his game. So he grumbles, "You're slow," indistinctly and pushes his way past the guy into the tiny bathroom to buy himself a little more time to think. The slight limp he struggles with on the way only makes him feel that much crankier.

He splashes a little bit of water from the sink onto his face before meeting his own bleary eyes in the mirror. Except the lingering lethargy he's been feeling is blinked out of existence in shock. The face staring back at him is still the one he sees in the mirror every day, but not quite like the last time he saw it, and the rest of the body doesn't match his memory either. His face is older somehow, slightly broader and with a few fine lines that have appeared overnight, but that's not the biggest change. He's got faded scars spread randomly across the bare skin he can see, now that he's paying attention. Not only that, but he's covered in a few newer small cuts that, frankly, should have healed overnight in the time he slept. Manticore creations heal too well for anything but the worst injuries to leave lasting marks. He doesn't expect to find a barcode, since he and Max had lasered each other only a few days ago, but the strange tattoo of a sun surrounding a pentagram on his weirdly broader chest is just as disconcerting.

"What the hell," he mutters to himself under his breath. Growing up Manticore was a scifi freak show, but nothing he knows can explain what's going on right now. He futilely goes back over everything he can remember from last night and even yesterday afternoon, trying to find the slightest clue that could somehow explain this.

There''s a knock on the door, and Alec nearly jumps, startled. He'd pretty much forgotten there was someone else here. Alec really can't afford to be so careless waking blindly into this unknown situation.

"Dean?"

"Just a minute," he calls, and the weird just keeps piling on, because his own voice is deeper than Alec expects, even now the sleepiness has left it. It also finally registers that this guy keeps calling him Dean for some unknown reason.

He opens the door and goes over to rummage through the duffle nearest the bed he was sleeping in, pulling out clothes. Clothes which have a number of weapons tucked in between them. Right now, Alec's just going to go along with this until he figures out what the hell is going on. Assess and then react; the weapons only reinforce the idea that admitting he's not who the other guy thinks he is would be a really bad idea.

"What's up with you this morning, dude?"

"Headache," Alec replies, tersely, and hopes that's enough to put the guy off for a while. Sure, the man is probably just an ordinary, but Alec doesn't want to assume anything. Especially with the way his luck typically goes.

Alec's pretty sure it's worked, when the other man mutters something like, "I think you mean hangover," and stops hovering. Alec isn't completely sure of the words, because in another unwelcome change, his hearing is muffled, too. Shrugging all of it off for the moment, he continues getting dressed and grabbing the things off the nightstand closest to the bed he woke in – a keyring, unfamiliar cellphone, and an open wallet containing a few credit cards in different names and a driver's license bearing his face but made out to one Dean Winchester. He stares for an overlong moment at the unfamiliar picture, wondering just how many copies of his template Manticore made after all.

It shouldn't really be enough to tip anyone off, but Alec's afraid it has somehow, because the sound of a gun cocking freezes him where he stands. He turns around to be met with a splash of liquid to the face. For half a second he expects it to hurt, but he tastes only water dripping down over his lips. Blinking the droplets out of his eyes, Alec sees the tall guy is just staring at him, gun now braced in both of his hands and an empty flask lying discarded on the nearby bed. A barely concealed flash of surprise has Alec thinking the guy expected some specific kind of reaction to the bizarre attack, but even without getting it, his expression and body language remain tense, with lines of suspicion etched across his forehead. Alec waits him out, hoping for some clue as to how to react.

"Who are you and where is my brother?" The guy snarls out.

Alec finds himself defensively spitting out, "I don't know anything about your brother!" before he can stop himself, but luckily, he's not so distracted by that he can't make a move for the gun. Which is the worst surprise so far this morning. In fact, it turns out to be a huge mistake. He tries to blur, and his speed just isn't there. Worse, the guy slams him across the head with the gun and tries to take him down. Now, Alec does have years of training on top of the speed and strength he usually relies on, but in an unfamiliar body that won't work the way he expects it to, he's just too slow and too weak. Maybe if the guy was a typical ordinary, but he's clearly had almost as much training as Alec has. Maybe more, Alec realizes, as he sees a blow that will knock him out coming and can do nothing to stop it.

When Alec next wakes, he's trussed up in the back seat of some big boat of a car. Strange tall guy who is too competent for Alec's own good is driving. The way he's tied up is damn professional, too, and Alec's not entirely sure he could get loose in his own body, let alone this pathetic ordinary one. He blows out an aggravated sigh, figuring he can't really make the situation worse with the guy already taking him god knows where.

"What the hell is going on and who the hell are you?" Alec asks.

"Nice try."

Nice try, Alec repeats in his head, mockingly. Asshole. "Look, buddy, I went to bed in my apartment last night and then I wake up in your hotel room as a significantly less awesome version of my own fine self. If I didn't feel like crap, I'd assume this was some totally whack dream."

At first, he doesn't think the guy is going to respond at all, and then he snorts half a laugh. "You seriously expect me to believe that?"

"Believe whatever you want, but that's the truth."

"You're not even going to try to claim that you picked up anything weird or felt funny or anything?" Alec knew exactly what a mocking voice sounded like, since it was one of his favorite tactics for aggravating Max and others, and the asshole in the front seat was using one on him. He growled in aggravation.

"Where the hell are you even driving to, anyway?" Alec demands.

"To someone who might be able to help sort out whatever it is you did to my brother."

It finally clicks in Alec's head that he must be in this guy's brother's place somehow, which answers one question but raises a million more. Of course, none of those are his primary concern at this particular moment. "You just happen to know somebody offhand who knows what to do about sudden, involuntary body swapping? As if that's a thing that happens."

Although Alec can't see the guy's face from where he's laid out on the back seat, he can hear the amusement that has crept into his voice. "Well, you're the one claiming it just did."

Alec's head thunks back down onto the leather of the seat and he groans in irritation, giving up on any of this making sense for the moment.

Some interminable amount of time later, the friend turns out to be an old guy in a trucker cap that lives in the middle of a rusting junkyard, and not the kind that most places have turned into since the Pulse. By the time they pull in front of the guy's house, it is already starting to turn twilight outside, and Alec's borrowed heart speeds up in fear, worried about what these guys are going to do with him.

For the moment, he's just hauled inside and down to the guy's basement, which is covered in all kinds of weird occult shit. There's a glancing moment where he's almost afraid the guy is one of White's Familiars, but honestly the tall guy had seemed just as disconcerted as Alec was by this whole crazy situation, and Alec has never known any of the cult loonies able to go this long without getting in a good villain monologue.

They lock him up in a cage of a room, and he's half tempted to snark something about it being ten times bigger and cozier than the ones at Manticore. However, the slim chance they don't know there's actually a transgenic in here keeps his tongue from wagging.

He can still hear their voices, discussing what is presumably his fate from just outside the heavy door when he hears a cellphone ring.

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A/N: The two canons do not run concurrently, but as I prefer to deal with characters within their canon time lines, I'll be arbitrarily futzing the chronology to fit my plot. Relative canon timelines will be late season 2 for Supernatural (after WIAWSNB but before AHBLPtI) and mid-season 2 for Dark Angel. Mention of a specific plot point from After the Dark will play into the story. Feedback always welcome!