Jensen got to Sam and Dean's room first. The bed was freshly made; clean navy blue pillow cases peeked out from under a pilling, worn lighter blue bedspread that was neatly folded in crisp hospital corners. Beside the bed, two rolled up army green sleeping bags laid on the floor. Jensen grabbed one of the sleeping bags, but then quickly dropped it when he noticed a bright fleck of vomit standing out vividly against the bag's green surface. He stepped back and gave himself a once-over; he'd managed to puke not just down his shirt front, but on his sleeves and even down the front of his pants and into his boots. Gross.

Jensen threw off his black and white flannel shirt, which he folded up with the vomited on parts in, and then threw it onto the floor and then grabbed the bottom hem of his t-shirt. As it slipped over his head, he tried to keep his face away from the line of vomit coating its center. He could hear Jared's heavy, stumbling steps growing louder as he got closer to and then entered the room.

"Whoa!" Jared sounded shocked and almost scandalized. "What are you doing?"

Jensen finally got the shirt pulled over his head, but not without catching a fleck of vomit on the side of his mouth. "What does it look like, Brainiac?" he snapped. He used the inside of the shirt, which thankfully didn't have any vomit on it, to wipe the side of his mouth. "These clothes are covered in puke."

He unlaced and then stepped out of his boots. He should have known better than to try to take in that many carbs. It had been a long time since he'd drank like this, and the last time he'd even had a beer, well… He tried to lift one leg to take off a sock, but instead wobbled, lost his balance, and began to topple over when, unexpectedly, a pair of large, warm hands grabbed his arm and side, keeping him from falling headfirst into the bed frame. He looked up to see Jared, his skin flushed bright red and wearing an uneasy expression. Jensen blinked in surprise.

"Thanks."

His skin burned and tingled where Jared was touching him. This man's hands were insufferably hot, but also strong and weirdly reassuring. He planted his foot back down on the floor and then Jared took his hands off of him as quickly as if Jensen's body were on fire and held them, palms up, on either side of his head.

"Don't mention it."

Jensen needed to get off his socks, but his attempt at balancing on one foot only proved that doing so would end in death, so instead he shucked off his puke-covered pants and then sat down on the edge of Sam and Dean's bed. He winced as his underwear-clad ass came in contact with the bed. The sheets might be clean, but… his eyes shifted to Dean's underwear and sock drawer. He could have gone his entire life without knowing Dean used an anal plug, and to bottom for Sam of all people. His mind flashed to an image of himself and Jared on the bed he was sitting on, both of them fully dressed in their Sam and Dean costumed except for their pants, which were pulled down just far enough for a quickie while Jared took him from behind. Jensen quickly threw off his socks and then flung them onto the heap of his clothes on the floor, then jumped up off the bed. Nearby, Jared was staring at the floor as he unrolled his sleeping bag. As Jensen watched him, he suddenly felt exposed and embarrassed. He hurriedly rushed to Dean's wardrobe and picked out a new t-shirt and pair of jeans. Before tonight he'd never slept in jeans, but he suddenly felt like there was no way he could be wearing too many clothes tonight.

With clothes in hand, he gestured his head towards the door. "Right. So, I'm just gonna -" He hurried towards the door. "I'm just gonna go get cleaned up."

Jensen practically ran towards the bathroom. Once inside, he washed his face. Fuck, things were awkward with Jared. Well, things were always awkward with Jared, but now they were differently awkward. What was up with that kiss? Jensen picked up the tube of toothpaste laying beside the sink, put some on his finger, and brushed his teeth. And just now in the room – they'd gotten undressed in front of each other earlier that day without Jared looking like he was about to run for the hills. And then Jared had touched him… he knew it was just to keep him from falling over, but his hands had felt – he'd kind of wanted to lean into Jared a little just then. Why? He'd always thought Jared was attractive in an objective kind of way… okay, so, maybe more than in an objective kind of way – sure, he was a hot guy, but Jared was also a total jerk: he meticulously counted his lines of dialogue and screamed at screenwriters when he thought he wasn't getting as many lines; he made snide remarks about Jensen's mirror time and modeling career behind his back to all their female co-workers; and he was so vain thatmore than once he'd made directors change around a scene just so they could shoot him topless. At least once when a scene required them to be in the car together for hours, he swore to God that Jared must have prepared by eating an entire bucket of beans and chasing it down with a gallon of soured milk; the smells coming out of him were fit for biological warfare. And while he'd gagged and eventually just threw the car door open and wretched, Jared had actually smiled – fucking smiled – like he was proud of himself. Most recently, of course, he had nearly gotten their asses kicked at that bar tonight. At least Jared was walking about with a black eye from it; there was some justice in this world at least.

As Jensen brushed his teeth, he eyed up his face. He looked very drunk; his pupils were small and not dilating like usual in the light and his cheeks were bright and pink. Still, after as much as he'd had to drink, he was shocked he was even still conscious; he had no idea he was even capable of drinking that much. He'd been feeling it pretty early in the night, or at least he thought he was, but then the waitress kept bringing around the beers and the shots and he'd drunk them all. With that waitress just handing him drinks every so often, he'd lost count of how many he'd had. How much had he had tonight? Fifteen? Twenty? Even in his early '20s, he never remembered drinking that much.

While staring into the mirror, he noticed an odd mark on his shoulder and he stopped his machinations and eyed up his body with surprise. It was his, but also not; he had a couple of scars on his body he didn't have at the start of the day when he'd shown up to the set to work. He touched a small, puckered, circular scar on his left pec, right near his shoulder. Bullet wound, his mind supplied. He knew Castiel had healed Dean several times, so it didn't surprise him that he only found one other scar on his body, a short slender line on his lower stomach just above the waistband of his boxers consistent with the size of a small knife. So, this was Dean's body. He should have noticed it before, but he was so freaked out and high on adrenaline that he hadn't really stopped to examine himself thoroughly. He wondered why Cas hadn't taken care of the scars when he'd healed him earlier. Then, a terrifying thought occurred to him and he pulled away the elastic of his boxers and looked down. Everything seemed to be intact; no signs of any rashes or warts from all the truck stop waitresses Dean had picked up. He breathed a sigh of relief, but then thought about what Dean had been using that penis for lately and he pulled it out of his underwear and gave it a good wash.

Fully dressed, Jensen turned and gave himself one last look in the mirror from behind. Even drunk and wearing unflattering, mass-produced clothing he looked pretty good. He wondered if Jared would notice how good he looked. No, wait, why was he thinking about Jared again? Jensen shook his head, closed the bathroom door behind him, and began heading to the guest room. On his way, a thought occurred to him: he was in Dean's body, wearing Dean's clothes, stumbling around drunk in Dean's world, and headed back to Dean's room where he would be laying next to Sam's body. He wondered where he ended and Dean began. A fan had asked him that once at a convention and at the time he'd been interested in it as a philosophical question about what an artist brings to a character, but now the question had a more… practical application. Were these feelings he was having… No. It didn't matter because no way was he acting on them. And after the night he'd had, any impulse he had to want to kiss Jared were equally matched with feelings of wanting to sock him in the jaw.

He opened the door and was surprised to practically run into Jared, who was just about standing in the door frame. Jared's jaw was clenched, his nostrils were flaring, and then he fixed Jensen with an intense look.

"The hell?" Jared exclaimed. "The model face again?"

Jensen glowered and gave Jared a light shove. It was just hard enough that in his current stupor, Jared took a step back and then Jensen blew past him on the way to his sleeping bag. He only got as far as two paces though, before Jared was grabbing him by the shirt.

"The fuck?"

Jensen wrenched Jared's hands off of him and then held them by the wrists. "Jared, for once in your life, just shut the fuck up!"

Jared narrowed his eyes. "What did you say?"

"You and your big mouth could've gotten us killed tonight, all because someone deigned to call you gay."

Jared grinned and scoffed, although his antagonistic smile wasn't reaching his eyes. "That's not why."

"Know what? I don't care. You're an asshole."

"What'd you call me?"

"You fucking heard me. You're an asshole. Always have been. And now, while we're stuck here, you're going to shut the fuck up and not get me into trouble because you can't handle so much as a sideways glance from some dude. And let me tell you something," Jensen knew both the volume and pitch of his voice was rising, but he couldn't help himself, "I'm going to make any face I want to." "Because it's my face. And if you'd stop being so obsessed with it -"

He was about to finish his sentence, but then he heard Jared sigh and say, "fuck it," and the next thing he knew, he was once again locking lips with his co-star. Jared's lips as soft, he thought to himself. Then Jared reached up and tangled his large, warm hands into Jensen's hair, and Jensen closed his eyes. Fuck it.