Wofl Fic [SPN] Gen, Crack
Title: Stranger Things Have Happened (But Not Many)
Author: wofl_iron
Rating: PG-13 for language
Characters/Pairing: Gen. Sam, Dean
Word Count: 2558
Summary: Dean is a ferret and Sam's things keep going missing.
Notes: CRAAAAAAAACK. I blame this all on my LJ wife, who encourages me. And THANK GOD FOR A BREAK IN THE WRITER'S BLOCK. OMFG. Really, though, I have no excuse. I'm just amusing myself late at night, here. Un-edited, Un-beta-d. Suggestions/corrections welcomed.
The witch has a sense of humor, Sam will give her that, but he's not laughing when the room goes up in a cloud of smoke. He's still not laughing when the smoke clears.
Because when he stops coughing and he can see again, Sam finds that his brother is gone, replaced by a...
“Jesus Christ!” Sam yells, leaping back about a foot in surprise.
Dean is a fucking ferret.
It is a testament to how truly weird the lives of the Winchesters are, that being turned into a ferret barely qualifies as Top Five Most Fucked Up Things to Happen to Them Ever.
Dean chitters loudly, turning in a circle, surveying his new body as best he can. He paws at his face, squeaking in alarm and flops over onto his back, lifting his head, paws scrubbing at the fur on his belly. His tail flails wildly as his struggles back onto his feet, craning his neck to look up at Sam with an expression that speaks clearly. What the fuck?!
Sam can't help it. He laughs. Somehow, it's entirely fitting and ironic that a hunter of “vermin” - as Dean had so eloquently phrased it earlier in the evening - would be turned into a vermin himself. That, and seeing Dean laying on his back, squeaking in decidedly unmanly way was just funny.
Laughter, however, is clearly unacceptable. Dean bares his teeth and attacks Sam's boot viciously.
“Cut that out!” Sam nudges his brother away with his foot, bowling him over effortlessly.
Dean hisses and scrambles back to his feet again, attacking with a new vigor, scurrying up Sam's leg before Sam can prevent it.
“Owowow! Shit, Dean! Claws!” Sam shakes his leg, trying to dislodge his brother. His claws are long and sharp, peircing straight through his pants and going straight into his skin. “Cut it out! Seriously!”
Dean is clawing his way up Sam's shirt now, having no mercy for Sam's poor skin. He doesn't stop until he reaches the younger's shoulders. There, he stretches out, draping himself around Sam's neck like a fur stole before nipping Sam's ear hard.
“I am going to strangle your furry little neck, Dean.” Sam snaps, rubbing at his ear. Shit. He's bleeding. It would be more appropriate for his brother to have changed into a donkey, Sam thinks.
Dean squeaks out a reply - could mean anything, really, but Sam's leaning towards touch me and I will bite you - and Sam can feel the way his brother tenses, claws digging angry red marks into the skin around his neck.
“Seriously though, Dean, mind perching somewhere else?” He turns his head, craning his neck back so he can look at Dean and his ferret-y and where do you suggest? expression. “I've got a pocket, you know.”
Dean wrinkles his nose, clearly unimpressed. And...well... Sam thinks if he were a ferret, he probably wouldn't want to be smothered in Dean's pocket either. But then again, Dean would probably think it would be awesome to have a ferret that would ride on his shoulders. Sam rolls his eyes.
“Okay, you can stay, but we're cutting your nails,” the younger winces to prove his point. Dean only digs his claws into Sam's flesh deeper, clinging tighter when Sam starts walking.
--
Turns out, Dean as a ferret is much like Dean as a person. He's lazy, he's messy, he's obnoxious, and he's prefectly incapable of leaving Sam alone to research.
It's been an entire day and Sam's come up with exactly diddly squat on how to reverse animal transformations, and no one he's called has been much of a help, except that Caleb says that things like this don't usually last long; spells like that powerful usually require a lot of time and effort, so a half-assed one is likely to wear off within a couple days.
But that was only after he'd laughed for a good five minutes. Loudly. And Sam's boots suffered for it.
--
If Sam were the one stuck without a voice and opposable thumbs, Dean would probably be content with that answer, would have kicked back with a beer and the remote to weather out the storm and wait for this whole crazy thing to pass. But it's not, and Sam can't fight his inner geek, can't stop obsessing over it.
So he continues to research, scouring the darkest corners of the Internet in hopes of finding some sort of answers. Fucking witches. Sam's really really starting to hate them. Seriously.
--
Research requires time and concentration. Something Sam has perfected and something Dean can't stand. And now? Dean's a damn ferret. Sam thinks Dean has a short attention span on a good day. Now? Sam wonders if his brother didn't get into some cocaine or something. One minute, he's on the bed, then he's under it, dragging things around the room, scurrying into the bathroom, climbing Sam like he's a damn jungle gym, perching on his brother's head before starting the process all over again.
It's annoying. Sam, for the most part, ignores it; keeps his eyes fixed on the screen and doesn't pay attention to whatever the hell it is that Dean's doing. That seems to work well enough, until things start to go missing. All of Sam's socks, the keys to the Impala, Sam's boots, his watch, his wallet.
Sam doesn't really notice until dawn sneaks up on him and he yawns, peeking out beyond the curtains at the growing light. Light on the horizon means it's coffee time. So he dresses himself, only to learn he has nothing to put on his feet and no way to go anywhere anyways, no money to spend if he could get there.
“Dean,” he growls, and looks around for his brother. When he doesn't see him, he calls for the older again, louder this time. “Dean!”
Dean emerges from underneath one of the beds, yawning wide, tongue out, teeth glinting. Sam stares incredulously.
“Dean,” he says, rubbing his eyes, just to make sure they're not playing tricks on him. “You're orange.”
And he is. All of the fur on the front end of his body is dusted with a mysterious and bright orange tinge. Sam feels a moment of panic, wondering if the curse is progressing instead of reverting. Dean looks unperterbed. He sniffs once, and dives back under the bed. He re-emerges with an empty Cheetos bag.
Of course.
Sam sighs, shakes his head. “Come here.”
Dean does this sort of sideways hop thing as he approaches Sam, and the younger Winchester makes a note to make fun of him for it when he's human again, but for the moment, the situation has moved so beyond funny, he can't find the energy for teasing. So he just scoops up his brother-turned-ferret and takes him into the bathroom. He stops up the sink and fills it halfway with warm water and adds some soap before dumping Dean unceremoniously into the bath.
Sam expects him to be mad about it. Not dignified, he can picture Dean telling him, or something like that. But after Dean gets over the initial shock of being submerged in water, he chatters and splashes around happily for a few seconds before settling down and allowing Sam to scrub behind his ears, practically purring.
When he's back to his normal color, Sam pulls the plug and Dean claws his way out of the porcelain basin and stands on the counter, shaking himself dry, rubbing up against the hand towel that Sam drops on top of him.
“You're much cuter like this,” Sam tells him with a smirk.
Dean bares his teeth.
“Breakfast?” Sam asks and Dean schools his expression into something hopeful. Sam takes that as a yes, thinking to himself that it will never not be weird to see a ferret make such human expressions.
“First, you have to bring back my stuff, ” he tells Dean firmly, picking him up one handed and setting him down on the floor. Dean hesitates for only a few seconds before diving back beneath the bed from which he'd earlier produced the Cheetos bag. Sam follows and by the time he's caught up, three socks and the keys have been produced.
A few minutes later, most of the missing items have re-appeared and Dean is bouncing around impatiently, waiting as Sam ties his boots and checks to make sure all of the money is still in his wallet. It's all there, but Sam makes a note to clear out the rest of whatever is underneath that bed when they get back.
--
To save himself the pain of becoming a human scratching post again, Sam resignedly picks Dean up and places him gently on his shoulder. Dean stays there even while Sam drives them into town. He refuses to stay in the car, nips at Sam's fingers in warning when Sam tries to dislodge him from his shoulder. Stubborn bastard.
Luckily, the town is small enough and the clerk is young enough to be far more interested in Sam's pet ferret than the fact that Sam has brought him into the grocery store. It's early anyways; not like anyone's around.
“He bites,” Sam says, shaking his head and smiling apologetically, when the kid asks if he can pet Dean. As if to prove Sam's point, Dean growls at the kid, muzzle curling into a snarl. The kid eyes Dean warily, but backs off complacently enough, and Sam quickly finds the aisle that houses the coffee and grabs a box of poptarts for good measure, along with some Twinkies and pre-packaged cupcakes for Dean.
On their way up to the counter, Sam makes the mistake of taking a shortcut through the liquor aisle. Dean squeaks and digs his claws into Sam's shoulder viciously. “Ow, Dean. What did I tell you?”
Dean ignores him, nipping at his neck pointedly, looking between Sam and the beer cooler.
“You've got to be kidding me,” Sam mumbles, quite aware that he's talking to a ferret in the middle of the beer aisle. Dean bites him again. Harder this time.
“Fine,” Sam hisses, gritting his teeth. “Just stop chewing on me, jerk.”
The expected response is not forthcoming. Sam almost misses it. Almost.
--
The coffee maker gurgles happily, filling the motel room with a sweet aroma that has Sam just about drooling. Once he's set his coffee to brewing, he tosses the Twinkies and cupcakes into a corner and pours a beer into a bowl for Dean. Should distract him for a while, Sam hopes.
When Dean is sufficiently pre-occupied, Sam pushes the bed aside, intent on finding out what else Dean has stashed away under there.
He finds more socks, some loose change, a shoelace, a couple of his shirts, and a bar of motel soap.
Sam arches an eyebrow at the collection, bewildered. Especially since the shirts are bunched up in a pile, forming a nest-like area in which the rest of the things are tucked away lovingly. The fuck?
He thinks about asking Dean about it, but it's not like he can actually respond, right? So there's not really a point, and Sam's not entirely sure he wants to know the answers.
He pushes the bed back into place, leaving the pile untouched. He'll make Dean clean it up himself when he's back to normal.
For now, coffee awaits.
--
Ferrets, Sam learns, can't hold their liquor for shit.
By the time he's finished up his first cup of coffee and goes back for seonds, Dean has finished off the beer and the food. He stumbles across the room, apparently interested in obtaining some coffee as well, judging from the way he's sniffing the air, but he manages to walk head on into the leg of a chair.
Surprised, he jumps back, hissing, and tries to fight his unexpected enemy, but gnawing on a chair leg isn't exactly productive and it's almost too pathetic to be funny. Emphasis on the almost.
Sam refuses to give him any coffee, telling him that he's hyper enough as it is. He thinks Dean maybe wants to bite him again, but he's not coordinated enough to do so, thankfully. Sam takes his coffee back to the bed and resumes his research, keeping one careful eye on Dean to make sure he doesn't hurt himself.
He read up on ferrets, after all, and they have more balls than brains. Not so different than the real Dean, really, but at least his human brother knew better than to chew on electric wires or something like that.
More trouble than they're worth, ferrets. At least in Sam's opinion.
--
After an hour or so of stumbling around drunkenly, fighting with inanimate objects, Dean crawls back under the bed. Sam assumes that means he's going to sleep, seeing as ferrets do that for up to eighteen hours a day, according to google. Sam thinks that sounds like a fine idea. He hasn't been to bed yet, after all.
With a sigh, he shuts his laptop and sets it on the night table, flopping over on the bed. He's too tired, really, to bother with changing, or even taking off his boots, and within five minutes, he's asleep.
--
Sam wakes, entirely unsure what pulled him out of sleep. He blinks up at the ceiling, trying to catch hold of a slippery realization, and just when he's about to chock it up to imagination and go back to sleep, he hears a muffled thump and a grunt.
”Fuck,” he hears Dean say.
...waitaminute.
“Dean?” Sam asks, quietly, barely daring to hope.
“Sammy?” Dean responds, sounding relieved. There's another thump, and Dean swears again. “Sam, I'm stuck.”
“Where are you?”
A pause. “Under the bed.”
Before Sam can laugh, Dean chases it with, “Shut up.”
Sam swallows his mirth and climbs out of bed. He crosses the room and picks up the end of the bed, allowing a very human, very naked Dean to wriggle out from underneath. Sam has enough courtesy to avert his eyes while Dean finds some clothes.
“You were a ferret,” Sam says, when Dean's properly clothed and nursing a cup of coffee.
“Thank you Einstein.”
“What was it like?” Sam asks, unable to curb his curiosity.
“I had the attention span of a rodent,” Dean replies, simply.
“Ah,” Sam says. ”Just like any other day, then.” he nods, smirking over the brim of his own coffee cup.
Dean snorts, shrugging nonchalantly. “Whatever, dude.”
“By the way,” Sam says, remembering suddenly. “My shirts? What gives?”
“Dunno,” Dean says, frowning - which is about as close to embarrassed as Dean gets. Sam snickers.
“And dude? You were totally drunk off one beer.”
“I was also a fortieth of my normal size,” Dean asserts, defending his honor. “Besides, if anyone should be embarrassed, it's you.”
“What? Why?”
“Dude, you're drunk off one beer.” Dean grins wide. “You have the tolerance of a ferret,” he declares, laughing loudly.
Sam finds he has nothing clever to say to that. Which is a shame, because he has a feeling it's going to be a long time before Dean lets him forget it.
Author: wofl_iron
Rating: PG-13 for language
Characters/Pairing: Gen. Sam, Dean
Word Count: 2558
Summary: Dean is a ferret and Sam's things keep going missing.
Notes: CRAAAAAAAACK. I blame this all on my LJ wife, who encourages me. And THANK GOD FOR A BREAK IN THE WRITER'S BLOCK. OMFG. Really, though, I have no excuse. I'm just amusing myself late at night, here. Un-edited, Un-beta-d. Suggestions/corrections welcomed.
The witch has a sense of humor, Sam will give her that, but he's not laughing when the room goes up in a cloud of smoke. He's still not laughing when the smoke clears.
Because when he stops coughing and he can see again, Sam finds that his brother is gone, replaced by a...
“Jesus Christ!” Sam yells, leaping back about a foot in surprise.
Dean is a fucking ferret.
It is a testament to how truly weird the lives of the Winchesters are, that being turned into a ferret barely qualifies as Top Five Most Fucked Up Things to Happen to Them Ever.
Dean chitters loudly, turning in a circle, surveying his new body as best he can. He paws at his face, squeaking in alarm and flops over onto his back, lifting his head, paws scrubbing at the fur on his belly. His tail flails wildly as his struggles back onto his feet, craning his neck to look up at Sam with an expression that speaks clearly. What the fuck?!
Sam can't help it. He laughs. Somehow, it's entirely fitting and ironic that a hunter of “vermin” - as Dean had so eloquently phrased it earlier in the evening - would be turned into a vermin himself. That, and seeing Dean laying on his back, squeaking in decidedly unmanly way was just funny.
Laughter, however, is clearly unacceptable. Dean bares his teeth and attacks Sam's boot viciously.
“Cut that out!” Sam nudges his brother away with his foot, bowling him over effortlessly.
Dean hisses and scrambles back to his feet again, attacking with a new vigor, scurrying up Sam's leg before Sam can prevent it.
“Owowow! Shit, Dean! Claws!” Sam shakes his leg, trying to dislodge his brother. His claws are long and sharp, peircing straight through his pants and going straight into his skin. “Cut it out! Seriously!”
Dean is clawing his way up Sam's shirt now, having no mercy for Sam's poor skin. He doesn't stop until he reaches the younger's shoulders. There, he stretches out, draping himself around Sam's neck like a fur stole before nipping Sam's ear hard.
“I am going to strangle your furry little neck, Dean.” Sam snaps, rubbing at his ear. Shit. He's bleeding. It would be more appropriate for his brother to have changed into a donkey, Sam thinks.
Dean squeaks out a reply - could mean anything, really, but Sam's leaning towards touch me and I will bite you - and Sam can feel the way his brother tenses, claws digging angry red marks into the skin around his neck.
“Seriously though, Dean, mind perching somewhere else?” He turns his head, craning his neck back so he can look at Dean and his ferret-y and where do you suggest? expression. “I've got a pocket, you know.”
Dean wrinkles his nose, clearly unimpressed. And...well... Sam thinks if he were a ferret, he probably wouldn't want to be smothered in Dean's pocket either. But then again, Dean would probably think it would be awesome to have a ferret that would ride on his shoulders. Sam rolls his eyes.
“Okay, you can stay, but we're cutting your nails,” the younger winces to prove his point. Dean only digs his claws into Sam's flesh deeper, clinging tighter when Sam starts walking.
--
Turns out, Dean as a ferret is much like Dean as a person. He's lazy, he's messy, he's obnoxious, and he's prefectly incapable of leaving Sam alone to research.
It's been an entire day and Sam's come up with exactly diddly squat on how to reverse animal transformations, and no one he's called has been much of a help, except that Caleb says that things like this don't usually last long; spells like that powerful usually require a lot of time and effort, so a half-assed one is likely to wear off within a couple days.
But that was only after he'd laughed for a good five minutes. Loudly. And Sam's boots suffered for it.
--
If Sam were the one stuck without a voice and opposable thumbs, Dean would probably be content with that answer, would have kicked back with a beer and the remote to weather out the storm and wait for this whole crazy thing to pass. But it's not, and Sam can't fight his inner geek, can't stop obsessing over it.
So he continues to research, scouring the darkest corners of the Internet in hopes of finding some sort of answers. Fucking witches. Sam's really really starting to hate them. Seriously.
--
Research requires time and concentration. Something Sam has perfected and something Dean can't stand. And now? Dean's a damn ferret. Sam thinks Dean has a short attention span on a good day. Now? Sam wonders if his brother didn't get into some cocaine or something. One minute, he's on the bed, then he's under it, dragging things around the room, scurrying into the bathroom, climbing Sam like he's a damn jungle gym, perching on his brother's head before starting the process all over again.
It's annoying. Sam, for the most part, ignores it; keeps his eyes fixed on the screen and doesn't pay attention to whatever the hell it is that Dean's doing. That seems to work well enough, until things start to go missing. All of Sam's socks, the keys to the Impala, Sam's boots, his watch, his wallet.
Sam doesn't really notice until dawn sneaks up on him and he yawns, peeking out beyond the curtains at the growing light. Light on the horizon means it's coffee time. So he dresses himself, only to learn he has nothing to put on his feet and no way to go anywhere anyways, no money to spend if he could get there.
“Dean,” he growls, and looks around for his brother. When he doesn't see him, he calls for the older again, louder this time. “Dean!”
Dean emerges from underneath one of the beds, yawning wide, tongue out, teeth glinting. Sam stares incredulously.
“Dean,” he says, rubbing his eyes, just to make sure they're not playing tricks on him. “You're orange.”
And he is. All of the fur on the front end of his body is dusted with a mysterious and bright orange tinge. Sam feels a moment of panic, wondering if the curse is progressing instead of reverting. Dean looks unperterbed. He sniffs once, and dives back under the bed. He re-emerges with an empty Cheetos bag.
Of course.
Sam sighs, shakes his head. “Come here.”
Dean does this sort of sideways hop thing as he approaches Sam, and the younger Winchester makes a note to make fun of him for it when he's human again, but for the moment, the situation has moved so beyond funny, he can't find the energy for teasing. So he just scoops up his brother-turned-ferret and takes him into the bathroom. He stops up the sink and fills it halfway with warm water and adds some soap before dumping Dean unceremoniously into the bath.
Sam expects him to be mad about it. Not dignified, he can picture Dean telling him, or something like that. But after Dean gets over the initial shock of being submerged in water, he chatters and splashes around happily for a few seconds before settling down and allowing Sam to scrub behind his ears, practically purring.
When he's back to his normal color, Sam pulls the plug and Dean claws his way out of the porcelain basin and stands on the counter, shaking himself dry, rubbing up against the hand towel that Sam drops on top of him.
“You're much cuter like this,” Sam tells him with a smirk.
Dean bares his teeth.
“Breakfast?” Sam asks and Dean schools his expression into something hopeful. Sam takes that as a yes, thinking to himself that it will never not be weird to see a ferret make such human expressions.
“First, you have to bring back my stuff, ” he tells Dean firmly, picking him up one handed and setting him down on the floor. Dean hesitates for only a few seconds before diving back beneath the bed from which he'd earlier produced the Cheetos bag. Sam follows and by the time he's caught up, three socks and the keys have been produced.
A few minutes later, most of the missing items have re-appeared and Dean is bouncing around impatiently, waiting as Sam ties his boots and checks to make sure all of the money is still in his wallet. It's all there, but Sam makes a note to clear out the rest of whatever is underneath that bed when they get back.
--
To save himself the pain of becoming a human scratching post again, Sam resignedly picks Dean up and places him gently on his shoulder. Dean stays there even while Sam drives them into town. He refuses to stay in the car, nips at Sam's fingers in warning when Sam tries to dislodge him from his shoulder. Stubborn bastard.
Luckily, the town is small enough and the clerk is young enough to be far more interested in Sam's pet ferret than the fact that Sam has brought him into the grocery store. It's early anyways; not like anyone's around.
“He bites,” Sam says, shaking his head and smiling apologetically, when the kid asks if he can pet Dean. As if to prove Sam's point, Dean growls at the kid, muzzle curling into a snarl. The kid eyes Dean warily, but backs off complacently enough, and Sam quickly finds the aisle that houses the coffee and grabs a box of poptarts for good measure, along with some Twinkies and pre-packaged cupcakes for Dean.
On their way up to the counter, Sam makes the mistake of taking a shortcut through the liquor aisle. Dean squeaks and digs his claws into Sam's shoulder viciously. “Ow, Dean. What did I tell you?”
Dean ignores him, nipping at his neck pointedly, looking between Sam and the beer cooler.
“You've got to be kidding me,” Sam mumbles, quite aware that he's talking to a ferret in the middle of the beer aisle. Dean bites him again. Harder this time.
“Fine,” Sam hisses, gritting his teeth. “Just stop chewing on me, jerk.”
The expected response is not forthcoming. Sam almost misses it. Almost.
--
The coffee maker gurgles happily, filling the motel room with a sweet aroma that has Sam just about drooling. Once he's set his coffee to brewing, he tosses the Twinkies and cupcakes into a corner and pours a beer into a bowl for Dean. Should distract him for a while, Sam hopes.
When Dean is sufficiently pre-occupied, Sam pushes the bed aside, intent on finding out what else Dean has stashed away under there.
He finds more socks, some loose change, a shoelace, a couple of his shirts, and a bar of motel soap.
Sam arches an eyebrow at the collection, bewildered. Especially since the shirts are bunched up in a pile, forming a nest-like area in which the rest of the things are tucked away lovingly. The fuck?
He thinks about asking Dean about it, but it's not like he can actually respond, right? So there's not really a point, and Sam's not entirely sure he wants to know the answers.
He pushes the bed back into place, leaving the pile untouched. He'll make Dean clean it up himself when he's back to normal.
For now, coffee awaits.
--
Ferrets, Sam learns, can't hold their liquor for shit.
By the time he's finished up his first cup of coffee and goes back for seonds, Dean has finished off the beer and the food. He stumbles across the room, apparently interested in obtaining some coffee as well, judging from the way he's sniffing the air, but he manages to walk head on into the leg of a chair.
Surprised, he jumps back, hissing, and tries to fight his unexpected enemy, but gnawing on a chair leg isn't exactly productive and it's almost too pathetic to be funny. Emphasis on the almost.
Sam refuses to give him any coffee, telling him that he's hyper enough as it is. He thinks Dean maybe wants to bite him again, but he's not coordinated enough to do so, thankfully. Sam takes his coffee back to the bed and resumes his research, keeping one careful eye on Dean to make sure he doesn't hurt himself.
He read up on ferrets, after all, and they have more balls than brains. Not so different than the real Dean, really, but at least his human brother knew better than to chew on electric wires or something like that.
More trouble than they're worth, ferrets. At least in Sam's opinion.
--
After an hour or so of stumbling around drunkenly, fighting with inanimate objects, Dean crawls back under the bed. Sam assumes that means he's going to sleep, seeing as ferrets do that for up to eighteen hours a day, according to google. Sam thinks that sounds like a fine idea. He hasn't been to bed yet, after all.
With a sigh, he shuts his laptop and sets it on the night table, flopping over on the bed. He's too tired, really, to bother with changing, or even taking off his boots, and within five minutes, he's asleep.
--
Sam wakes, entirely unsure what pulled him out of sleep. He blinks up at the ceiling, trying to catch hold of a slippery realization, and just when he's about to chock it up to imagination and go back to sleep, he hears a muffled thump and a grunt.
”Fuck,” he hears Dean say.
...waitaminute.
“Dean?” Sam asks, quietly, barely daring to hope.
“Sammy?” Dean responds, sounding relieved. There's another thump, and Dean swears again. “Sam, I'm stuck.”
“Where are you?”
A pause. “Under the bed.”
Before Sam can laugh, Dean chases it with, “Shut up.”
Sam swallows his mirth and climbs out of bed. He crosses the room and picks up the end of the bed, allowing a very human, very naked Dean to wriggle out from underneath. Sam has enough courtesy to avert his eyes while Dean finds some clothes.
“You were a ferret,” Sam says, when Dean's properly clothed and nursing a cup of coffee.
“Thank you Einstein.”
“What was it like?” Sam asks, unable to curb his curiosity.
“I had the attention span of a rodent,” Dean replies, simply.
“Ah,” Sam says. ”Just like any other day, then.” he nods, smirking over the brim of his own coffee cup.
Dean snorts, shrugging nonchalantly. “Whatever, dude.”
“By the way,” Sam says, remembering suddenly. “My shirts? What gives?”
“Dunno,” Dean says, frowning - which is about as close to embarrassed as Dean gets. Sam snickers.
“And dude? You were totally drunk off one beer.”
“I was also a fortieth of my normal size,” Dean asserts, defending his honor. “Besides, if anyone should be embarrassed, it's you.”
“What? Why?”
“Dude, you're drunk off one beer.” Dean grins wide. “You have the tolerance of a ferret,” he declares, laughing loudly.
Sam finds he has nothing clever to say to that. Which is a shame, because he has a feeling it's going to be a long time before Dean lets him forget it.