Freaky Sunday: Part II (Patreon)

Make sure to read Part I (linked here) first! Thank you again to patron cicerosg2003  for the wonderful idea for this miniseries!

While Brant Daugherty had enjoyed some success with his roles in the likes of Pretty Little Liars and Fifty Shades Freed, he didn’t believe that his acting career had reached its full potential yet. There was no denying that he had a great body and a handsome face so he was a natural fit in front of the cameras. He wasn’t content to just rely on his pretty face though and continued taking weekly acting classes even though he was over ten years deep into his career. In his opinion, all he was missing was a big break to really get his name out there in Hollywood. Unfortunately all his agent really had for him seemed to be made-for-TV movies, many of which were dreaded Hallmark Christmas films. Thankfully, before things became too stagnant, a glimmer of hope appeared on the horizon.

The folks at Ripanaugh Film Productions had contacted Brant’s agent in the hope of having him audition for a role in their next action flick, Exit Wounds. While it wasn’t a main role, it was certainly more substantial than some of the other projects Brant had worked on in recent months. He enjoyed the script too - it was full of fun campy action and the prospect of getting to do some stunt work again was appealing to the actor. As a kid he’d wanted nothing more than to be a badass fighter like the heroes of the action movies he so adored, and his career had so far been rather slim when it came to chances of making those boyhood dreams into reality. Perhaps with Exit Wounds and Ripanaugh Productions’ help he could start turning that around…

It was only a matter of weeks between Brant receiving news that the producers had liked his audition enough to officially cast him and when he first stepped onto set at the beginning of production. Even in just those few weeks he had been sure to spend an extra hour in the gym and closely monitor his food intake in order to get his body into prime condition. There were a number of scenes in the script that called for his character to be without a shirt and Brant was determined to make sure his abs made an impact on the big screen! The crew certainly seemed to appreciate his extra efforts; it was a good thing Brant was comfortable in his own skin because there were a lot of hungry eyes being cast his way whenever he was on set. He’d caught everybody from the director down to the interns fetching coffee for the rest of the crew sneaking a glance at his physique but he didn’t mind it one bit. If anything it helped him get into the confident mindset of his character. A little method acting, so to speak.

After a week of filming ancillary scenes, they finally made it to shooting the first big action sequence on what was expected to be an average Sunday. The scene involved Brant’s undercover FBI agent fighting off a number of masked thugs in a warehouse, all while inexplicably shirtless. Brant and the other performers had run through the scene countless times with the stunt director so they were all feeling confident by the time it came to the shoot, but even the best laid plans had a way of getting turned on their head. The cameras had been rolling a mere ten seconds before Brant dodge a kick a little too slowly and took the full force of the move. He was sent spiralling off balance and crashing down towards the ground, the back of his skull bouncing off of the hard floor and sending him hurtling into a cloud of darkness as he momentarily lost consciousness.

From Brant’s perspective he spent only mere seconds unconscious but even as he started to drift back into reality he was aware that he didn’t feel quite right. It made plenty of sense that his head would throb as intensely as it did, but the strange lightness across the rest of his body was surprising considering his weigh-in that morning had him at nearly the heaviest he had ever been. When he finally managed to pry his eyes open though, his levels of concern escalated further. He was no longer in the warehouse where they had been shooting, nor was he surrounded by the worried faces of the film crew. Instead he was looking up at the open sky and the only person by him was a young man Brant had never seen before who was holding two skateboards. He at least had the decency to be wide-eyed and tense in stature, which was appreciated, but that didn’t exactly provide Brant with any answers as to where he was or how he’d gotten there.

“That was a nasty fall, man,” the young man declared, “You’ve been out for like two minutes, I was totally freaking! Do I need to call an ambulance?”

“Uh, no, I--” Brant stopped. Why the hell did he sound like that? His tone was much lighter and he seemed to have somehow adopted an Irish accent. It even sounded far better than his usual attempts at an Irish accent went! Had that knock on the head convinced his brain that he was Irish all of a sudden? “No ambulance,” he finished, lips curling into a frown as he continued to speak in that unfamiliar voice. “Just… help me up, would ya?”

Once the mystery young man had dropped the skateboards and offered a hand though, Brant’s confusion rocketed into alarm. He had reached out his arm to accept the other’s help but rather than the thick forearms and football-sized combo of his biceps and triceps, the actor was instead greeted by a much more slender limb. It soon became clear that the remainder of his body was just as improperly proportioned: his legs were thinner, his torso flatter and even his feet looked a few sizes smaller. What the hell was going on?

“Okay, now I really feel like I need to call an ambulance,” the other said in a concerned tone, “You look like you’ve seen a bloody ghost. Seriously Niall, what’s got you rattled?”

Niall? “That’s not my name,” he insisted, still unable to shake that Irish lilt. “I’m sorry, who even are you? Where am I?” Seeing that the other was reaching for his phone, Brant quickly grabbed him by the wrist. “Please, don’t call anyone. Not yet, anyway. Just… answer the questions. I think there’s something very weird going on here.” Weird was certainly one word for it, although perhaps that was too damn mild given the puzzle pieces that the actor was being presented with. He was lacking his usual strength and his skin was paler too - was there no end to the oppositional traits he suddenly possessed? 

The other stared at him for a few long seconds before beginning to laugh. “This is a joke, right? You’re just fucking with me, aren’t you?” When Brant didn’t reply, the laughter died out. “For real, you’re kinda freaking me out, dude.”

“Imagine how I feel!” the actor replied bitterly, raising the tone of his voice but sounding no less Irish. “Just tell me who you are, what we’re doing here and why the hell you called me Niall!”

“You’re Niall Horan, for fuck’s sake!” the stranger exclaimed, holding up his cell phone with the front-facing camera activated. Sure enough, looking back at Brant was a face that anybody who hadn’t been living under a rock through the 2010s would recognise: the Irish heartthrob Niall Horan, formerly of One Direction. The round face, the full cheeks, the innocent eyes. He was a handsome lad for sure but that didn’t change the sheer insanity of seeing himself operate another man’s face. “It’s me, Jared! We were writing songs together when you said you needed a break and we should go for a skate in the hills and then you tripped and fell and now you’re being a complete nutjob!”

Laughter suddenly burst from Brant’s lips; he couldn’t help it, the situation he had found himself in was so impossibly ridiculous that it was nothing short of hilarious. He continued to cling to the hope that he was simply having the most bizarre dream of his life but he couldn’t ever remember feeling quite so alert while slumbering before. Everything from the gentle breeze against his face to the frayed fabric of the beat up converse sneakers against his feet felt so real that denying it seemed equally as absurd as the scenario itself. “So, how would you take it if I said I’m not really Niall?” he asked, unable to stop himself from grinning. Even if this was all just a dream, it would make one hell of a great story someday! “My name is Brant Daugherty, I’m an actor and this is either one big hallucination or I’ve actually Freaky Sunday’d right into your buddy’s body.”

“You-- what… is this a song concept?” Jared asked almost pleadingly, evidently exasperated by the perceived strange behaviour of the Irish singer-songwriter. “If so, I’m not loving it. Definitely not album material. Are you done being weird yet?”

While the other man was attempting to make sense of the insanity that Brant had just presented him with, the actor was instead checking the cell phone he discovered in his pocket. Of course, as luck would have it, thanks to them being in the middle of nowhere he didn’t have a single bar of reception. If he was in Niall Horan’s body, Brant could only imagine that the former boybander was in his, waking up in the middle of a film set with an adoring film crew fussing over him. Considering Exit Wounds was supposed to be his big break, the last thing Brant wanted was for the other to make him look like a total lunatic in front of the producers he hoped would bring him further career success, so it was imperative he got in contact with him soon. 

“You’re just gonna have to trust me on this one,” Brant replied, practically giddy from living through such outlandish circumstances. “How about we skate back to whatever studio you guys were working at, huh? I’ll get the real Niall on the phone to clear everything up. I’m sure this kinda stuff happens to really famous folks all the time.” Hopefully the other would have some idea about how they could get back to their respective bodies because Brant had no idea what the hell they were going to do, other than try to ride it out. Then again, how bad could it be to live as a much-loved popstar for a little bit? He was almost excited at the prospect of getting to sing with such a delightful voice, and he’d always been told that he was a natural on the stage...