birthday wishes and fic for dolimir_k!
K, honey, you are truly one of the best, most genuine people I know. Not only do you make fandom a better place, you make the world better. Your determination and bravery are inspiring to me. Your kindness and generosity of spirit make me want to become a better person.
My life has been immeasurably enriched by knowing you. I hope you know how much I value you and our friendship; it’s meant more to me than you could possibly know that you’ve stayed with me through all the ups and downs of the past few years.
*hugs*
I wanted to write you a silly little something for your birthday - remember the prompt you gave me a month or so back? Well, it kind of spiraled away from where I thought it was going, and it picked up a little plot on the way. (Not much; just a little. *g*)
In any case, I hope you enjoy it. I’m sure it could stand some more work, but this is more or less how it wanted to be.
“Like Father, Like Sons”
by me! *twirls*
SPN, gen, pre-series, wee!chesters
rating: teen, for language
spoilers: none
summary: Sam's 11, Dean's 15, and John is 41. For a while, anyway.
word count: upwards of 5000. *blinks* How'd I manage that??
dedication: to dolimir, who shares the Papa Winchester love. This is only a small token of my affection and admiration. The happiest of birthdays to you, K. You deserve it!
a/n: Sadly, this is unbetaed (because I am a lousy, stinking procrastinator.) All concrit/comments are welcome. I’m always looking to improve.
In John Winchester’s experience, there were two ways a hunt could go bad. There were the regular old kinds of bad: Getting hurt. Missing the son of a bitch you were shooting at. Staking out a creature’s lair all night and coming up empty. Bad stuff, all of it.
They were a good half-hour into chasing a mess of little gremlin bastards - that is, if they even were gremlins, which John wasn’t sure of - when John first thought they were well on their way to having a bad hunt.
And, sure. Not knowing exactly what they were chasing before he and the boys started chasing them should have been his first clue that things might end up on a less than stellar note.
But it wasn’t until after the blinding flash of light and subsequent loss of consciousness that John decided that “bad” was, probably, an understatement.
He sat up woozily, ready to take stock of the situation. Absently rubbed a hand across his face.
And yanked it away, because the face he’d rubbed a hand across? Wasn’t his.
Neither was the hand he was staring at, for that matter. Too small for starters; too unlined, too hairless (just like the face that wasn’t his, his brain helpfully added).
He raised the hand to - his? the? - face and cautiously rubbed it. Smooth, and not in a just-shaved way; this was smooth in a completely unwhiskered way. Smooth and .. kind of chubby.
A buzzing feeling of oh crap, is this what I think it is? started in the base of his skull.
John heard a muffled grunt to his left and looked over at his oldest boy. Saw Dean’s eyes flutter open. Watched Dean sit up and look around. Noticed when Dean’s gaze fixed on him, and again when Dean’s mouth fell open.
Saw Dean’s face take on a wide-eyed, hesitant expression that was much more suited to Sam’s face.
John looked to his right, already knowing what he’d see. Not that it kept him from watching his own body sit up abruptly, Dean’s familiar shit-eating grin plastered all over John’s face.
Nope. Not a bad hunt, John thought. This one was seriously, completely, phenomenally, and unbelievably fucked up.
Crap.
*
First things first, John figured. He needed to figure out exactly what the hell had happened before they could so much as hope to fix it.
But he also knew that none of them were going to do one bit of useful thinking while they were hungry, and that was true even though the hunger pangs were coming from unfamiliar bellies.
They parked the Impala right in front of the diner. John watched, relieved, as Dean used his now-larger body to hustle the three of them toward the back, into the booth farthest away from the door.
Dean hung back before entering, putting a hand on John’s head to steer him into the seat opposite his, nearest the wall.
John flinched back, smacking Dean’s hand down. “He needs to sit there,” he hissed, with a quick jerk of his head in Sam’s direction.
Dean’s gaze flickered from John to Sam, back to John, then to Sam, who was standing to his left, slouching like an actual teenager, self-consciously picking at the sleeves of Dean’s jacket.
“Yeah," Dean muttered, shoving Sam in front of John. “Sorry about that.”
Dean put himself with his back to the wall without being told, training kicking in automatically.
They were still settling into the booth when the waitress appeared, a lot quicker than waitresses usually did in this kind of dive. Figured this was the one out-of-the-way diner with good service, John thought.
The girl - that’s what she was, maybe a couple years older than Dean - passed out smiles and menus, saying she’d be right back with some glasses of water.
“All right,” John said as soon as she was out of earshot. “We’re gonna eat, and then we’re gonna figure this out, got it?” He blinked a few times, wondering why he’d bothered with the reassuring words. Kind of thing he normally stifled.
A quick “yes, sir” from both boys. Dean looked at him with an optimistic look that face hadn’t worn in a good, long time. “Maybe this is just a temporary thing, huh?”
“'Maybe' doesn’t cut it,” John growled in Sammy’s high-pitched voice.
“Yeah,” Dean said, uncomfortable, and flipped his menu open. Kid was obviously hungry, the way he got absorbed in the menu, John noted. He took a second to congratulate himself on letting them stop and refuel before hitting the research.
Sam slid the other menu across the table but left it closed, not bothering to look at it.
“Sammy,” John said. “You need to eat something.”
“I know.”
John suppressed a frustrated noise. “Probably a good idea to see what they’ve got here.”
Sam looked at him. “I bet they have breakfast here all the time.”
“Dude,” Dean said, tearing his eyes away from the handwritten list of daily specials. “You are not getting pancakes.”
“Why not?”
John watched, a little intrigued at the chance to watch himself frown at Dean.
Sam.
Whichever.
“What if we’re stuck like this?” Dean made a frustrated little wiggling motion with his hand here. “Even if it’s just for a couple of days? Or what if it gets fixed and we stick around here for a while?”
Sam looked back at his brother with a completely blank expression. “So?”
Dean looked aghast. “That waitress is hot, man. You - I - have to order something that’s not so lame.”
John shook his head. Dean had always been fascinated by waitresses, even when he was small. Mary had always found it amusing - why wouldn’t he like them, she’d asked. Nice ladies who smile at him and bring him food? Seems pretty simple to me.
That waitress fascination had taken a decidedly different turn over the past couple of years. John idly wondered what Mary would make of it these days. He himself hadn’t yet decided if it was more cute or troublesome.
The jury was still out when this particular waitress came back with their glasses of water, carefully placing one in front of each of them. “Are you gentlemen ready to order?”
John was pretty sure that Dean thought the look he aimed at the waitress was a charming one.
And it might’ve been, had Dean been using his own face. But that look was on John’s face, and - especially given how old the girl wasn’t - the overall effect was just 'sleazy.'
Which made it even worse when Dean asked, “What’ve you got on tap, sweetheart?” Sweetheart, John thought? On tap?
Jesus.
To her credit, she didn’t make a fuss. Probably got hit on all the time by horny old men.
She simply narrowed her eyes at Dean, and in a cool voice, apologized that this establishment didn’t serve alcohol.
John gave her bonus points for not mentioning that very few people asked for booze at seven o’clock in the freaking morning.
“Riiiight,” said Dean, letting it roll right off him. “How about a Coke, then?”
John stifled the urge to kick Dean’s shin under the table. The moral victory might've been greater had he been able to do so in a way other than by reminding himself that he would, in effect, be kicking his own shin. “How about coffee, Dad?” John suggested.
Dean paused for a second, then his face split in a grin. “Sorry, son. That stuff’ll stunt your growth.”
There was a distinct snorting noise from Sam’s direction.
John put his face in his hands. “I need a drink,” he muttered.
“Sure thing, honey,” the waitress smiled. “I bet you’d like a chocolate milk, right?”
To his credit, Dean managed to cover his laugh with a cough.
“Super,” John said, hoping that his grimace passed as a smile on Sammy’s face.
“Okay, then,” she said. “A Coke and a chocolate milk. Um. Anything for him?” she asked, gesturing toward Sam, who was slumped over with his head resting on his folded arms.
“Milk,” Dean’s voice muttered.
That actually brought her up short for a second. “A…milk?”
Sam lifted his head off his arms a few inches. “Yes, please.”
“Okay, then,” she said. “I’ll be back with those and to take your order, okay?”
The Winchesters nodded in unison. She shook her head and walked away.
Once she was behind the counter, Dean reached across the table and smacked Sammy on the back of the head. “Milk?” he asked, tone bordering on scathing. “Loser.”
“Shut it,” Sam snarled. It was plain old weird, John realized, to hear Sam’s customary retort in Dean’s deeper voice. “And you just hit your own head, moron.”
“Boys,” he snapped, and was gratified that he got his “yes, sir” back immediately from both of them.
“You two just settle down,” he said. “We’re gonna eat and head out pronto. Dean, you’re gonna have to drive again.”
Dean tried, with a remarkable lack of success, to hide the enormous grin that announcement spurred. “No problem, Dad.”
“Okay,” John said. “Once we get to the motel, I’m gonna call Bobby, get him helping us on this one. In the meantime, keep your heads down, and remember to act -" your age? he thought. What words of wisdom you got for this one, Johnny? “Just remember you’re gonna have to try a little harder than normal to stay under people’s radar.”
Sam raised his head off his arms, sour look all over his face. “So I can’t have pancakes?”
“No,” Dean snapped, in unison with John’s “Eat what you want, kiddo.”
Sam nodded once before letting his head thunk back down onto his folded arms.
John thought he understood how the kid was feeling. No two ways about it, it was freaking weird to sit around a table knowing you were watching someone else inside your own body, and that you were in someone else’s.
Normally he’d have been all over Sam for not keeping a lookout, for not staying aware of his surroundings, but this seemed like a good a time as any to cut the kid some slack.
Sniff.
John felt his brow furrow, and put a hand up to his face to touch the wrinkled skin.
Sniff.
He glanced across at Dean, automatically looking to him for confirmation of something unusual. Dean was looking right across at him, forehead wrinkled as well. “You hear - “
SNIFF.
Sam sat up quickly, rubbing his nose . He scowled at Dean, then roughly shoved his brother’s arm. “You stink,” he muttered.
“Excuse me?”
“You stink,” Sammy repeated. “Your pits stink. Probably the rest of you, too.” He gave another huge sniff, somehow using his nose to point towards his armpits. “Stinky.”
Dean looked affronted. “Yeah, well,” he said, “stink washes off, and you’re ugly.”
John rolled his eyes. So much for the advice to ‘act your age.’
Sam fiddled with the flatware wrapped up in his napkin. Pulled out the spoon and turned the convex side toward himself; with a flourish, he examined his reflection. “I guess I am," he said firmly. "Now, I mean."
Dean growled and thumped Sam upside the head again. “Dad,” he began, looking over at John.
“What?” John grinned. “You walked right into that one, buddy.”
Sam sat up straighter, looking smug and not a little pleased.
They were spared whatever response Dean might have come up with by the return of their waitress. He did, however, ask her if she’d be kind enough to take his 'son’s' chocolate milk back to the kitchen and put it in a plastic cup with a lid.
John didn't so much as twitch. If it makes him feel better, he mused.
Besides, John hadn’t used a bendy straw in years.
She smiled prettily when she returned with the milk - which was a shame, because John just knew Dean was going to take that smile as encouragement - and asked if everyone had the chance to look over the menu.
Sure enough, Dean had to go and say, “That’s not all I’ve had a chance to look over.”
Figuring that this was as good a moment as any to employ a variation of the ‘while in Rome’ strategy, John let loose with the plaintive “DaaaAAAAAA-aaaad” the boys had thrown at him countless times.
It was oddly satisfying, he mused. Sam simply let Dean’s head fall back down onto the table, not bothering to cushion it with his arms this time.
John vowed to make sure Dean left the poor girl a decent tip. “I’m ready to order,” he said in as close to a bright tone of voice as he could manage.
Her shoulders relaxed. “Sure thing. What would you like, honey?”
“A burger with everything.”
She scribbled on her notepad. “A kid’s burger?”
“No, a double,” he said curtly, and quickly realized that, in Sammy's voice, 'curt' sounded a whole lot like 'snotty.' It was bad enough he kind of WAS a kid for the time being - he was damned if he was going to be a snotty one.
“Um,” he said, trying on one of Sammy’s dopey smiles. “I mean, a double burger, please, with everything. Please.”
“Okay,” she said. “As long as it’s okay with your dad.”
She looked expectantly at Dean, who was absorbed in using his straw to suck the last few drops of Coke from the bottom of his glass. John glared at him - not that it made a difference - and finally Sam used Dean’s longer legs to kick Dean in the shin, which got his attention.
Shame about the shins, though.
Dean looked up at the waitress. “What, then?”
She cleared her throat. “It’s okay for your son to get a double burger?”
"Oh, sure. Whatever Sammy here wants,” he grinned, ruffling the hair on Sammy’s head so hard John’s ears rang, “is fine with me.”
“Okay,” she nodded. “And what would you like to eat?” John was pretty sure even Dean had to notice how much emphasis she put on the last two words.
Dean’s expression turned serious. “Well, ah, I’m pretty hungry this morning. How about a bacon double cheeseburger, and a bowl of chili? Large?”
“Sure,” she said. “Did you want fries or rings with the burger?”
Dean shrugged. “Both. And an order of wings, too, with some barbeque sauce. Oh, and honey-mustard sauce, too, if you’ve got it.”
Sammy raised his head again, in what John could only assume was disbelief.
She scribbled some more, not so much as batting an eyelash.
John, however, was batting all of Sam’s eyelashes at his oldest boy. It was a poor substitute for bopping the kid in the head, but he figured he’d take what he could get.
The writing stopped. “Anything for the quiet one?”
Sammy nodded, not looking away from his menu. “The pancakes, please.”
Scritch, scritch. “Okay. That’s a double burger with everything; a bacon double cheeseburger, fries and rings, chili, and wings-“
“Make ‘em hot wings,” Dean interrupted.
More scribbling. “Hot wings with bbq and honey-mustard sauces; and pancakes.”
Dean nodded at her. “That’s good for starters.”
“It’ll be up soon.” John glared at Dean, who was absorbed in watching her walk away from the table.
“Dean. DEAN.” Dean started, then turned his attention to John.
“What the hell are you thinking, boy?”
Dean looked honestly puzzled. “About what?”
John rolled his eyes. Realized he was swinging his legs back and forth on the seat since they were too short to reach the floor. Stopped doing it.
“About your order, Dean.” He lowered his voice. “That’s MY gut you’re putting all that garbage into, remember.”
Dean shrugged. “”M hungry, and it sounds good,” he said. “Why? Don’t you like chili and stuff?”
“It’s more that ‘chili and stuff’ don’t exactly like me,” John said.
Dean looked at him blankly.
John shook his head. “Never mind,” he muttered. “If there’s any justice, you’ll still be in that body to figure it out.”
*
John registered the footsteps padding their way towards the table a second before he caught the scent of the food. He turned, pushing himself up on the seat to look over it and watch the waitress wielding the big, awkward tray.
Jeez, he was hungry.
And short.
“Cheeseburger with everything for the young man,” she smiled at John, setting the plate in front of him. “Careful now, hon. It’s hot.”
John nodded, then felt his eyes grow huge as the waitress began setting food in front of Dean’s eager face. “Wings, chili, fries and rings, and a bacon double burger for you, sir.”
The ‘thank you’ wasn’t even all the way out of Dean’s mouth before he was shoveling in the first of the chili.
John’s hand reflexively went to the shirt pocket where he stashed his Tums. Reached into it and pulled out a pack of bubble gum, a tiny metal car, and about six rubber bands.
Ah. Not his pocket. Right.
Their waitress fussed with the last plate, making a bit of a production out of it. “And here’s your pancakes,” she finished, leaning farther over the table than was really required to place the food in front of Sam.
Sam. In Dean's body. John watched her spend a little too long adjusting the plate of pancakes on the table in front of his son.
Hmmm.
“I, um, brought you some extra syrup. In case you wanted something.” Her face colored up, pinky-shy. “Sweet.”
John watched Sam smile a ‘thanks' up at her, the predatory hint that would’ve been there had Dean been using his own face totally absent.
The girl stood there, just smiling at him, then dropped her eyes and looked back up through her lashes.
And Sam went from smiling his innocent, dopey little smile to a look of white-faced, wide-eyed panic in less than two heartbeats. He straightened up so quickly he’d have smacked his head in the back of the booth if he’d been his usual height; as it was, his neck snapped back with a little crack.
“This is great,” Dean enthused, his mouth full of meaty, reddish, half-chewed food. That seemed to do it for the waitress; with a start, she murmured that she’d stop back to check on them, then hurried off.
John leaned over and patted his hand on the table next to Sammy’s plate. “Sammy,” he whispered. “What’s going on, buddy?”
“Dad,” Sam gasped, “I gotta. There’s something. I mean, I’m. There’s.” And that look of panic was another one that was completely foreign on Dean’s face.
Dean continued shoveling in the chili, only pausing to take a mammoth bite from the bacon burger. “Awesome,” he grunted again, barbecue sauce dotting his chin.
“Napkin, Dean,” John muttered. “I like that shirt.”
John turned back to Sammy. “Can you tell me what’s going on?”
Sam’s pallor had vanished, replaced by a deep flush from his collar to hairline. “No,” he whined.
John exhaled slowly. It couldn’t be something too bad; Sammy knew better than to keep anything of vital importance hidden.
So John made himself calm down. Took a bite out of his cheeseburger. Chewed on it. And spit it out, because holy Christ, what was that taste?
“Ach,” he coughed, “bleah. What the hell is wrong with this?”
Sammy glanced at the mush of spit-out burger. “Are there onions on that?”
“Yeah,” John said. “Burger with everything.”
“There you go,” Sam answered, like he hadn’t been freaking out and turning eight different shades of red just a second ago. “I hate onions, and you’re....”
The rest of the sentence went unsaid. Because yeah, it made sense - John was eating with someone else’s taste buds. And, when he thought of it like that, made him lose his appetite in a quick hurry.
“Well, come on, then,” John said, and slid out of the booth.
“What?” squeaked Sam. John quickly killed a grin at the memory of Dean squeaking like that on a regular basis just a couple of years before. “I can’t GO anywhere, Dad!”
John stood at the end of the table. “Why the hell not,” he hissed.
“Because I can’t get up!”
This time, John felt his forehead creasing. “You can’t get up?” he repeated.
“No.” Now, that particular snarl sounded a lot more like Dean’s voice.
“Did you want to fill me in as to why not?”
The waitress picked that moment to stop by and coo, “Did you need something, sweetie?”
John shook his head, then inspiration hit. “My brother’s just gonna take me to the bathroom.”
Whoa. The look Sam shot his way was pretty close to John’s own ‘marine glare.’ He took a second to wonder if it was that effective because it was on Dean’s face, or because determined little Sammy was the one giving it to him.
“You’re eleven, Sam,” Sam snarled, never looking away from John. “I’m pretty sure you can use the toilet on your own.”
Well. He was wearing Sam’s face, after all; may as well take advantage of it. “But I want you to come with me,” John whined, and hoped he was doing that puppy-eyed thing the right way.
Not that it mattered, really. Evidently, the rightful owner of that look was impervious to it.
“Dad,” Sam gritted out, knocking his elbow into Dean’s side. “Tell him to go without me.”
Dean glanced up from his plate, half a burger in one hand, chicken bone in the other. He glanced at Sam, then at John, then back at Sam.
“Go’th y’bruvver,” he grunted, obviously having decided to fall back on John’s standard reply. Dean sighed deeply and turned back to his food. John was pretty sure his face hadn’t worn a look that blissfully contented in years.
“Fine,” Sam spit, and good lord, the kid was taking to the whole ‘moody adolescent’ thing with a little too much zeal. “Fine,” he ground out again, worming his way out of the booth.
With, John noticed, both of his hands stuffed all the way into his pockets. Almost like he was hiding something in there.
“Go,” Sam grunted, and bumped into John a little harder than was, technically, necessary. Or respectful, for that matter, but John thought he’d begun to clue in to what Sammy’s freaking deal was. He all of a sudden had a lot more sympathy for the kid.
John hustled back to the bathroom, feeling Sam dogging his steps every bit of the way. He shoved the door open and did a quick sweep of the room, hoping nobody else was using the facility at the time.
Mercifully, it was, because this conversation, John thought, was going to suck in all kinds of ways. Even more than it would in normal circumstances, and that was a whole lot.
“Sammy,” he started, careful to keep his tone gentle.
Sam walked right past him, silently jostling John as he passed. He stalked into the stall and closed the door behind him. “I don’t,” he grumbled, “wanna talk about it.”
John sighed and ran his hand over his hair, realizing as he did that Sammy was past due for a haircut. “Look,” he said, still gently. He moved to face the stall door, leaning up against the wall, making sure his body language read as ‘relaxed.’ “It’s completely normal, is the thing.”
“Normal?” Sam snorted thickly. “Nuh-uh, Dad. It’s weird,” and that was definitely a sniffle, “and it won’t go away!”
John smiled. “Oh, it’ll go away,” he said calmly.
“How?” Sam demanded, slapping the door open. His eyes were bright and almost terrified. “Because it was normal, and then that waitress girl looked at me, and now it’s not normal. Not at all.”
John drummed his fingers on the wall behind him. “Sammy. You have to calm down, first of all.”
“Calm down?” Sammy squawked. “My, my - thing - it’s, like, out of control! There is something weird going on, Dad! I think she DID something to me! ”
And the hell with being in the wrong body, John couldn’t keep himself from crossing to Sam and laying hands on him to try to settle him down. He grabbed Sam by the shoulders, even though he had to reach up to do it, and gave him a quick shake.
“Sammy,” he said again. “The waitress didn't do anything to you."
John waited for Sam to meet his eyes and nod. "Okay," John said. "Now. The first thing you have to remember is that you’re in your brother’s body. Technically, it’s not.” He cleared his throat. “It’s not really your…thing.”
A shuddery inhale from Sam. Good. Little steps; if Sam could get control of his breathing and even it out, he’d automatically start to calm down.
“Look,” John said again, trying to marshal his thoughts into some kind of order. “This isn’t how I wanted to have this talk. I kind of figured we were coming up to a point where we’d have to have it, but. This isn’t the ideal situation, is what I’m saying."
“Talk?” Sam asked, voice still wavering.
“Yeah,” John said. “The you’re-growing-up, things-are-changing talk.” He huffed out a breath. “Remember when we were at Bobby’s a couple years back? Dean and I went out for a ride, and you stayed back at the house?”
“Um, yeah. I guess so. I wanted to go with you, right?”
John nodded. “Yeah, you sure did. Got your mouth washed out for cussing at me when I told you ‘no,’ as I remember.”
“Don’t like you keeping secrets,” he muttered defensively.
“Well,” John said. “Wasn’t a secret, exactly. This is the talk I needed to have with your brother, and some conversations are best had one-on-one.”
Sam shrugged. Glanced at John and flushed. Shoved his hands farther into his pockets, or tried to.
“All right, now,” John said. “Enough of that. Not like it’s gonna help you.”
“Well, then, what will,” Sam grumbled.
John allowed a small laugh. “We’ll get to that,” he answered, walking to the sink and hoisting his smaller body onto the counter. “Why don’t you come over here and sit next to me.”
“Why,” Sam wondered.
“Remember how I said some things are tough to talk about?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, it can be a little easier to talk about certain stuff if you don’t have to look a person in the eyes while you’re doing it.” Especially when that person is your dad, John thought, and particularly when he’s in your body.
Sam shuffled over to the counter, yanking his hands out of his pockets on the way. With a twist and a grunt, he jumped up onto the counter on the opposite side of the sink.
John exhaled loudly. “Okay. First of all, let’s get our terms out there. It’s not a ‘thing,’ it’s your penis.”
Sam clapped his hands over Dean's face. “Dad!”
“No use calling things anything but what they are,” John said. “Doesn’t change anything if you do, you know that.”
The hands stayed over Dean's - Sam’s, John thought - face. This had been no walk in the park with Dean, either - God help him, John was pretty sure this was his least favorite part of parenting - but at least Dean had been ready to hear it and learn about it. Hell. At least Dean had been in his own body.
John continued, glancing over at Sammy every couple of sentences. “What happened out there is that you got an erection. That’s what it’s called when your penis gets stiff like it did.”
“But why?” Sam wailed suddenly. “It just happened out of nowhere!”
“Yeah, it probably seemed like that to you, “John agreed. “Because in your head, you’re Sam, and you’re eleven. But you’re in Dean’s body for the time being, and that body is fifteen years old. Dean - his body, I mean - responds to things differently than yours does.”
“Like what?” hissed Sammy.
“Like the girl waiting on us out there, I’m guessing.”
Sam threw him a look of grave disbelief. “What?”
“Just listen,” John said. “There’s two parts to what’s going on here. There’s the physical part, which is the part you’re experiencing ahead of schedule because of this whole body swapping deal." Christ, John thought. What I wouldn't give to never have had to use the phrase 'this body swapping deal'.
He steered his mind back to the current matter. "You wouldn’t notice her if you were yourself, but. If you can’t tell by the way your brother is making a fool of himself out there, Dean thinks our waitress is a fine looking young lady.”
“He thinks she’s cute,” Sam said skeptically, “so he’s acting like an idiot?”
“Yep,” John grinned. “He likes the way she looks - he’s physically attracted to her, is what it is - so his body is responding to hers.”
“Geez,” Sam said. “Why?”
John thought for a minute. “Well. Once a person gets to a certain age, his body changes. Biologically, it’s ready to start making babies.”
Sam squawked again, flinching so hard he nearly fell off the counter. “Babies?”
“I said biologically, remember. You’re nowhere near ready to actually have kids, and you’re not interested in it yet, either. But the body you’re in right now is getting ready to be able to do that, someday, and this is all a part of it.”
John noted Sam’s expression of disbelief and disgust and smiled. Dean’s reaction had been much the same, a couple years back.
Granted, from the way Dean was acting with their waitress, the boy had gotten past it. “I know. Kind of hard to believe, isn’t it.”
Sam made a little noise somewhere between a snort and a huff. “Not kind of.”
“Yeah,” John agreed. “So. You ready to hear the rest of it?”
Sam stared at him for a second, then nodded.
John had made sure both the boys were familiar with basic anatomy early on as a part of hunting and basic first aid, which made explaining the physical process easy enough. Sam cottoned on quickly, though he seemed uneasy about having such an obvious physical reaction to finding another person attractive.
“So is it - am I gonna - get. That way. Whenever I see a pretty girl?” Sam asked.
“For a while?” John said. “It’s gonna seem like it.”
“That’s gonna be awful.”
“Can be,” John allowed. “Sometimes.”
“It’s like,” Sam began. “Like it took over my brain.”
John looked at him, waiting for him to continue. “Like it took my thinking away. I could hardly talk, Dad!”
“It’s kinda scary, I know,” John said. He slid down from the counter and walked over to stand in front of Sammy. “But there’s something I want you to remember.”
The disgust had faded from Sammy’s tone. “What?”
There was still a sense of fear hanging over the kid, which was not at all where John wanted to leave things. He let his thoughts stray to Mary for a moment, and sighed.
“This is all normal and natural, like I said,” John began. “But it can be - a really beautiful thing, too. You’re having these feelings now, before your brain is ready for ‘em, so it all seems weird. Like you said, it feels like it’s taking over your brain, like your body’s not in your control.”
Sam nodded, his face suffused with the exact same look Dean had worn when he was much still a child who believed his Daddy could fix anything.
“I don’t want you to think this is all about bodies, though. You’re only getting half of it like this, being in Dean’s body with your mind. You’re supposed to enjoy the feeling.”
Sam shot him a look of disbelief.
“Really,” John assured him. “It’s supposed to be enjoyable, pleasurable, even. In a couple years, it will be. But just because you’re feeling it now doesn’t mean you have to do anything about it, okay? That’s a good thing to remember, by the way.”
Sam flushed. “Wouldn’t know what to do,” he mumbled.
“That, you’ll figure out,” John grinned. “You get a little older, you’ll be test driving the equipment pretty regularly.”
John took a second to let himself enjoy Sam’s blush racing over Dean’s face. Wasn’t like blushing was something Dean did all that much any more - if he ever had, John thought.
“You mean, ah," Sam started. Raised his right hand and waggled it in the air, kind of gestured toward his crotch.
“Yep,” John said.
“So, um," Sam said, barely loud enough to be heard. “Does that mean that Dean - ? That he, um, test drives?”
John laughed loudly, enjoying the sound of Sam’s clear, bell-like laughter. “Well, he doesn’t spend a half hour in the shower every morning getting clean, that much I know.”
“Oh. OHHHH.” A giggle slipped out before Sam could catch it. “Oh, man!”
“Not that you need to give him any grief about it,” John cautioned. “Remember that in a couple years, you’ll be doing your share of using up the hot water.”
Sam grinned cheekily, a look well-suited to his brother’s face. “Yes, sir.”
John slapped him on the leg. “We can talk about the rest of it in a couple years, when you get here in your own skin.”
“The rest of it?” Sam asked. “There’s more?”
“Sure there is,” John said. “There’s health stuff. Safety. Precautionary things.”
Sam nodded gravely.
“And there’s respect, too," John went on. “For the other person, and for yourself. It used to be called ‘how to treat a lady,’ back in the day.”
And Sam grinned again. “Like Dean does?”
John had to chuckle at that. “Probably not,” John managed. “You see how much luck your brother’s having out there with our waitress.”
Sammy laughed so much he ended up hanging on to the edge of the sink. “Your brother can teach you a lot of things," John said, "but you’re probably better off sticking with your own instincts when it comes to women.”
Sam slid off the counter, scuffing the toe of Dean’s boot on the floor. “Dad,” he said.
John knew, knew he was about to come face to face with A Moment. Kind of thing he usually hated.
Usually.
He reached up to mess Sam’s hair, laughed when he realized he could only just reach the top of Dean’s head. “No problem,” he grinned. “We okay here?”
Sam nodded. “Probably should go check on De - on Dad,” he said, exaggerating the last word. “The old guy had a lot of food out there.”
John smiled all the way back to the table.
And broke out laughing when he caught sight of his own pale, greenish face asking the waitress if she knew where he could get some Tums.
~fin~
My life has been immeasurably enriched by knowing you. I hope you know how much I value you and our friendship; it’s meant more to me than you could possibly know that you’ve stayed with me through all the ups and downs of the past few years.
*hugs*
I wanted to write you a silly little something for your birthday - remember the prompt you gave me a month or so back? Well, it kind of spiraled away from where I thought it was going, and it picked up a little plot on the way. (Not much; just a little. *g*)
In any case, I hope you enjoy it. I’m sure it could stand some more work, but this is more or less how it wanted to be.
“Like Father, Like Sons”
by me! *twirls*
SPN, gen, pre-series, wee!chesters
rating: teen, for language
spoilers: none
summary: Sam's 11, Dean's 15, and John is 41. For a while, anyway.
word count: upwards of 5000. *blinks* How'd I manage that??
dedication: to dolimir, who shares the Papa Winchester love. This is only a small token of my affection and admiration. The happiest of birthdays to you, K. You deserve it!
a/n: Sadly, this is unbetaed (because I am a lousy, stinking procrastinator.) All concrit/comments are welcome. I’m always looking to improve.
In John Winchester’s experience, there were two ways a hunt could go bad. There were the regular old kinds of bad: Getting hurt. Missing the son of a bitch you were shooting at. Staking out a creature’s lair all night and coming up empty. Bad stuff, all of it.
They were a good half-hour into chasing a mess of little gremlin bastards - that is, if they even were gremlins, which John wasn’t sure of - when John first thought they were well on their way to having a bad hunt.
And, sure. Not knowing exactly what they were chasing before he and the boys started chasing them should have been his first clue that things might end up on a less than stellar note.
But it wasn’t until after the blinding flash of light and subsequent loss of consciousness that John decided that “bad” was, probably, an understatement.
He sat up woozily, ready to take stock of the situation. Absently rubbed a hand across his face.
And yanked it away, because the face he’d rubbed a hand across? Wasn’t his.
Neither was the hand he was staring at, for that matter. Too small for starters; too unlined, too hairless (just like the face that wasn’t his, his brain helpfully added).
He raised the hand to - his? the? - face and cautiously rubbed it. Smooth, and not in a just-shaved way; this was smooth in a completely unwhiskered way. Smooth and .. kind of chubby.
A buzzing feeling of oh crap, is this what I think it is? started in the base of his skull.
John heard a muffled grunt to his left and looked over at his oldest boy. Saw Dean’s eyes flutter open. Watched Dean sit up and look around. Noticed when Dean’s gaze fixed on him, and again when Dean’s mouth fell open.
Saw Dean’s face take on a wide-eyed, hesitant expression that was much more suited to Sam’s face.
John looked to his right, already knowing what he’d see. Not that it kept him from watching his own body sit up abruptly, Dean’s familiar shit-eating grin plastered all over John’s face.
Nope. Not a bad hunt, John thought. This one was seriously, completely, phenomenally, and unbelievably fucked up.
Crap.
*
First things first, John figured. He needed to figure out exactly what the hell had happened before they could so much as hope to fix it.
But he also knew that none of them were going to do one bit of useful thinking while they were hungry, and that was true even though the hunger pangs were coming from unfamiliar bellies.
They parked the Impala right in front of the diner. John watched, relieved, as Dean used his now-larger body to hustle the three of them toward the back, into the booth farthest away from the door.
Dean hung back before entering, putting a hand on John’s head to steer him into the seat opposite his, nearest the wall.
John flinched back, smacking Dean’s hand down. “He needs to sit there,” he hissed, with a quick jerk of his head in Sam’s direction.
Dean’s gaze flickered from John to Sam, back to John, then to Sam, who was standing to his left, slouching like an actual teenager, self-consciously picking at the sleeves of Dean’s jacket.
“Yeah," Dean muttered, shoving Sam in front of John. “Sorry about that.”
Dean put himself with his back to the wall without being told, training kicking in automatically.
They were still settling into the booth when the waitress appeared, a lot quicker than waitresses usually did in this kind of dive. Figured this was the one out-of-the-way diner with good service, John thought.
The girl - that’s what she was, maybe a couple years older than Dean - passed out smiles and menus, saying she’d be right back with some glasses of water.
“All right,” John said as soon as she was out of earshot. “We’re gonna eat, and then we’re gonna figure this out, got it?” He blinked a few times, wondering why he’d bothered with the reassuring words. Kind of thing he normally stifled.
A quick “yes, sir” from both boys. Dean looked at him with an optimistic look that face hadn’t worn in a good, long time. “Maybe this is just a temporary thing, huh?”
“'Maybe' doesn’t cut it,” John growled in Sammy’s high-pitched voice.
“Yeah,” Dean said, uncomfortable, and flipped his menu open. Kid was obviously hungry, the way he got absorbed in the menu, John noted. He took a second to congratulate himself on letting them stop and refuel before hitting the research.
Sam slid the other menu across the table but left it closed, not bothering to look at it.
“Sammy,” John said. “You need to eat something.”
“I know.”
John suppressed a frustrated noise. “Probably a good idea to see what they’ve got here.”
Sam looked at him. “I bet they have breakfast here all the time.”
“Dude,” Dean said, tearing his eyes away from the handwritten list of daily specials. “You are not getting pancakes.”
“Why not?”
John watched, a little intrigued at the chance to watch himself frown at Dean.
Sam.
Whichever.
“What if we’re stuck like this?” Dean made a frustrated little wiggling motion with his hand here. “Even if it’s just for a couple of days? Or what if it gets fixed and we stick around here for a while?”
Sam looked back at his brother with a completely blank expression. “So?”
Dean looked aghast. “That waitress is hot, man. You - I - have to order something that’s not so lame.”
John shook his head. Dean had always been fascinated by waitresses, even when he was small. Mary had always found it amusing - why wouldn’t he like them, she’d asked. Nice ladies who smile at him and bring him food? Seems pretty simple to me.
That waitress fascination had taken a decidedly different turn over the past couple of years. John idly wondered what Mary would make of it these days. He himself hadn’t yet decided if it was more cute or troublesome.
The jury was still out when this particular waitress came back with their glasses of water, carefully placing one in front of each of them. “Are you gentlemen ready to order?”
John was pretty sure that Dean thought the look he aimed at the waitress was a charming one.
And it might’ve been, had Dean been using his own face. But that look was on John’s face, and - especially given how old the girl wasn’t - the overall effect was just 'sleazy.'
Which made it even worse when Dean asked, “What’ve you got on tap, sweetheart?” Sweetheart, John thought? On tap?
Jesus.
To her credit, she didn’t make a fuss. Probably got hit on all the time by horny old men.
She simply narrowed her eyes at Dean, and in a cool voice, apologized that this establishment didn’t serve alcohol.
John gave her bonus points for not mentioning that very few people asked for booze at seven o’clock in the freaking morning.
“Riiiight,” said Dean, letting it roll right off him. “How about a Coke, then?”
John stifled the urge to kick Dean’s shin under the table. The moral victory might've been greater had he been able to do so in a way other than by reminding himself that he would, in effect, be kicking his own shin. “How about coffee, Dad?” John suggested.
Dean paused for a second, then his face split in a grin. “Sorry, son. That stuff’ll stunt your growth.”
There was a distinct snorting noise from Sam’s direction.
John put his face in his hands. “I need a drink,” he muttered.
“Sure thing, honey,” the waitress smiled. “I bet you’d like a chocolate milk, right?”
To his credit, Dean managed to cover his laugh with a cough.
“Super,” John said, hoping that his grimace passed as a smile on Sammy’s face.
“Okay, then,” she said. “A Coke and a chocolate milk. Um. Anything for him?” she asked, gesturing toward Sam, who was slumped over with his head resting on his folded arms.
“Milk,” Dean’s voice muttered.
That actually brought her up short for a second. “A…milk?”
Sam lifted his head off his arms a few inches. “Yes, please.”
“Okay, then,” she said. “I’ll be back with those and to take your order, okay?”
The Winchesters nodded in unison. She shook her head and walked away.
Once she was behind the counter, Dean reached across the table and smacked Sammy on the back of the head. “Milk?” he asked, tone bordering on scathing. “Loser.”
“Shut it,” Sam snarled. It was plain old weird, John realized, to hear Sam’s customary retort in Dean’s deeper voice. “And you just hit your own head, moron.”
“Boys,” he snapped, and was gratified that he got his “yes, sir” back immediately from both of them.
“You two just settle down,” he said. “We’re gonna eat and head out pronto. Dean, you’re gonna have to drive again.”
Dean tried, with a remarkable lack of success, to hide the enormous grin that announcement spurred. “No problem, Dad.”
“Okay,” John said. “Once we get to the motel, I’m gonna call Bobby, get him helping us on this one. In the meantime, keep your heads down, and remember to act -" your age? he thought. What words of wisdom you got for this one, Johnny? “Just remember you’re gonna have to try a little harder than normal to stay under people’s radar.”
Sam raised his head off his arms, sour look all over his face. “So I can’t have pancakes?”
“No,” Dean snapped, in unison with John’s “Eat what you want, kiddo.”
Sam nodded once before letting his head thunk back down onto his folded arms.
John thought he understood how the kid was feeling. No two ways about it, it was freaking weird to sit around a table knowing you were watching someone else inside your own body, and that you were in someone else’s.
Normally he’d have been all over Sam for not keeping a lookout, for not staying aware of his surroundings, but this seemed like a good a time as any to cut the kid some slack.
Sniff.
John felt his brow furrow, and put a hand up to his face to touch the wrinkled skin.
Sniff.
He glanced across at Dean, automatically looking to him for confirmation of something unusual. Dean was looking right across at him, forehead wrinkled as well. “You hear - “
SNIFF.
Sam sat up quickly, rubbing his nose . He scowled at Dean, then roughly shoved his brother’s arm. “You stink,” he muttered.
“Excuse me?”
“You stink,” Sammy repeated. “Your pits stink. Probably the rest of you, too.” He gave another huge sniff, somehow using his nose to point towards his armpits. “Stinky.”
Dean looked affronted. “Yeah, well,” he said, “stink washes off, and you’re ugly.”
John rolled his eyes. So much for the advice to ‘act your age.’
Sam fiddled with the flatware wrapped up in his napkin. Pulled out the spoon and turned the convex side toward himself; with a flourish, he examined his reflection. “I guess I am," he said firmly. "Now, I mean."
Dean growled and thumped Sam upside the head again. “Dad,” he began, looking over at John.
“What?” John grinned. “You walked right into that one, buddy.”
Sam sat up straighter, looking smug and not a little pleased.
They were spared whatever response Dean might have come up with by the return of their waitress. He did, however, ask her if she’d be kind enough to take his 'son’s' chocolate milk back to the kitchen and put it in a plastic cup with a lid.
John didn't so much as twitch. If it makes him feel better, he mused.
Besides, John hadn’t used a bendy straw in years.
She smiled prettily when she returned with the milk - which was a shame, because John just knew Dean was going to take that smile as encouragement - and asked if everyone had the chance to look over the menu.
Sure enough, Dean had to go and say, “That’s not all I’ve had a chance to look over.”
Figuring that this was as good a moment as any to employ a variation of the ‘while in Rome’ strategy, John let loose with the plaintive “DaaaAAAAAA-aaaad” the boys had thrown at him countless times.
It was oddly satisfying, he mused. Sam simply let Dean’s head fall back down onto the table, not bothering to cushion it with his arms this time.
John vowed to make sure Dean left the poor girl a decent tip. “I’m ready to order,” he said in as close to a bright tone of voice as he could manage.
Her shoulders relaxed. “Sure thing. What would you like, honey?”
“A burger with everything.”
She scribbled on her notepad. “A kid’s burger?”
“No, a double,” he said curtly, and quickly realized that, in Sammy's voice, 'curt' sounded a whole lot like 'snotty.' It was bad enough he kind of WAS a kid for the time being - he was damned if he was going to be a snotty one.
“Um,” he said, trying on one of Sammy’s dopey smiles. “I mean, a double burger, please, with everything. Please.”
“Okay,” she said. “As long as it’s okay with your dad.”
She looked expectantly at Dean, who was absorbed in using his straw to suck the last few drops of Coke from the bottom of his glass. John glared at him - not that it made a difference - and finally Sam used Dean’s longer legs to kick Dean in the shin, which got his attention.
Shame about the shins, though.
Dean looked up at the waitress. “What, then?”
She cleared her throat. “It’s okay for your son to get a double burger?”
"Oh, sure. Whatever Sammy here wants,” he grinned, ruffling the hair on Sammy’s head so hard John’s ears rang, “is fine with me.”
“Okay,” she nodded. “And what would you like to eat?” John was pretty sure even Dean had to notice how much emphasis she put on the last two words.
Dean’s expression turned serious. “Well, ah, I’m pretty hungry this morning. How about a bacon double cheeseburger, and a bowl of chili? Large?”
“Sure,” she said. “Did you want fries or rings with the burger?”
Dean shrugged. “Both. And an order of wings, too, with some barbeque sauce. Oh, and honey-mustard sauce, too, if you’ve got it.”
Sammy raised his head again, in what John could only assume was disbelief.
She scribbled some more, not so much as batting an eyelash.
John, however, was batting all of Sam’s eyelashes at his oldest boy. It was a poor substitute for bopping the kid in the head, but he figured he’d take what he could get.
The writing stopped. “Anything for the quiet one?”
Sammy nodded, not looking away from his menu. “The pancakes, please.”
Scritch, scritch. “Okay. That’s a double burger with everything; a bacon double cheeseburger, fries and rings, chili, and wings-“
“Make ‘em hot wings,” Dean interrupted.
More scribbling. “Hot wings with bbq and honey-mustard sauces; and pancakes.”
Dean nodded at her. “That’s good for starters.”
“It’ll be up soon.” John glared at Dean, who was absorbed in watching her walk away from the table.
“Dean. DEAN.” Dean started, then turned his attention to John.
“What the hell are you thinking, boy?”
Dean looked honestly puzzled. “About what?”
John rolled his eyes. Realized he was swinging his legs back and forth on the seat since they were too short to reach the floor. Stopped doing it.
“About your order, Dean.” He lowered his voice. “That’s MY gut you’re putting all that garbage into, remember.”
Dean shrugged. “”M hungry, and it sounds good,” he said. “Why? Don’t you like chili and stuff?”
“It’s more that ‘chili and stuff’ don’t exactly like me,” John said.
Dean looked at him blankly.
John shook his head. “Never mind,” he muttered. “If there’s any justice, you’ll still be in that body to figure it out.”
*
John registered the footsteps padding their way towards the table a second before he caught the scent of the food. He turned, pushing himself up on the seat to look over it and watch the waitress wielding the big, awkward tray.
Jeez, he was hungry.
And short.
“Cheeseburger with everything for the young man,” she smiled at John, setting the plate in front of him. “Careful now, hon. It’s hot.”
John nodded, then felt his eyes grow huge as the waitress began setting food in front of Dean’s eager face. “Wings, chili, fries and rings, and a bacon double burger for you, sir.”
The ‘thank you’ wasn’t even all the way out of Dean’s mouth before he was shoveling in the first of the chili.
John’s hand reflexively went to the shirt pocket where he stashed his Tums. Reached into it and pulled out a pack of bubble gum, a tiny metal car, and about six rubber bands.
Ah. Not his pocket. Right.
Their waitress fussed with the last plate, making a bit of a production out of it. “And here’s your pancakes,” she finished, leaning farther over the table than was really required to place the food in front of Sam.
Sam. In Dean's body. John watched her spend a little too long adjusting the plate of pancakes on the table in front of his son.
Hmmm.
“I, um, brought you some extra syrup. In case you wanted something.” Her face colored up, pinky-shy. “Sweet.”
John watched Sam smile a ‘thanks' up at her, the predatory hint that would’ve been there had Dean been using his own face totally absent.
The girl stood there, just smiling at him, then dropped her eyes and looked back up through her lashes.
And Sam went from smiling his innocent, dopey little smile to a look of white-faced, wide-eyed panic in less than two heartbeats. He straightened up so quickly he’d have smacked his head in the back of the booth if he’d been his usual height; as it was, his neck snapped back with a little crack.
“This is great,” Dean enthused, his mouth full of meaty, reddish, half-chewed food. That seemed to do it for the waitress; with a start, she murmured that she’d stop back to check on them, then hurried off.
John leaned over and patted his hand on the table next to Sammy’s plate. “Sammy,” he whispered. “What’s going on, buddy?”
“Dad,” Sam gasped, “I gotta. There’s something. I mean, I’m. There’s.” And that look of panic was another one that was completely foreign on Dean’s face.
Dean continued shoveling in the chili, only pausing to take a mammoth bite from the bacon burger. “Awesome,” he grunted again, barbecue sauce dotting his chin.
“Napkin, Dean,” John muttered. “I like that shirt.”
John turned back to Sammy. “Can you tell me what’s going on?”
Sam’s pallor had vanished, replaced by a deep flush from his collar to hairline. “No,” he whined.
John exhaled slowly. It couldn’t be something too bad; Sammy knew better than to keep anything of vital importance hidden.
So John made himself calm down. Took a bite out of his cheeseburger. Chewed on it. And spit it out, because holy Christ, what was that taste?
“Ach,” he coughed, “bleah. What the hell is wrong with this?”
Sammy glanced at the mush of spit-out burger. “Are there onions on that?”
“Yeah,” John said. “Burger with everything.”
“There you go,” Sam answered, like he hadn’t been freaking out and turning eight different shades of red just a second ago. “I hate onions, and you’re....”
The rest of the sentence went unsaid. Because yeah, it made sense - John was eating with someone else’s taste buds. And, when he thought of it like that, made him lose his appetite in a quick hurry.
“Well, come on, then,” John said, and slid out of the booth.
“What?” squeaked Sam. John quickly killed a grin at the memory of Dean squeaking like that on a regular basis just a couple of years before. “I can’t GO anywhere, Dad!”
John stood at the end of the table. “Why the hell not,” he hissed.
“Because I can’t get up!”
This time, John felt his forehead creasing. “You can’t get up?” he repeated.
“No.” Now, that particular snarl sounded a lot more like Dean’s voice.
“Did you want to fill me in as to why not?”
The waitress picked that moment to stop by and coo, “Did you need something, sweetie?”
John shook his head, then inspiration hit. “My brother’s just gonna take me to the bathroom.”
Whoa. The look Sam shot his way was pretty close to John’s own ‘marine glare.’ He took a second to wonder if it was that effective because it was on Dean’s face, or because determined little Sammy was the one giving it to him.
“You’re eleven, Sam,” Sam snarled, never looking away from John. “I’m pretty sure you can use the toilet on your own.”
Well. He was wearing Sam’s face, after all; may as well take advantage of it. “But I want you to come with me,” John whined, and hoped he was doing that puppy-eyed thing the right way.
Not that it mattered, really. Evidently, the rightful owner of that look was impervious to it.
“Dad,” Sam gritted out, knocking his elbow into Dean’s side. “Tell him to go without me.”
Dean glanced up from his plate, half a burger in one hand, chicken bone in the other. He glanced at Sam, then at John, then back at Sam.
“Go’th y’bruvver,” he grunted, obviously having decided to fall back on John’s standard reply. Dean sighed deeply and turned back to his food. John was pretty sure his face hadn’t worn a look that blissfully contented in years.
“Fine,” Sam spit, and good lord, the kid was taking to the whole ‘moody adolescent’ thing with a little too much zeal. “Fine,” he ground out again, worming his way out of the booth.
With, John noticed, both of his hands stuffed all the way into his pockets. Almost like he was hiding something in there.
“Go,” Sam grunted, and bumped into John a little harder than was, technically, necessary. Or respectful, for that matter, but John thought he’d begun to clue in to what Sammy’s freaking deal was. He all of a sudden had a lot more sympathy for the kid.
John hustled back to the bathroom, feeling Sam dogging his steps every bit of the way. He shoved the door open and did a quick sweep of the room, hoping nobody else was using the facility at the time.
Mercifully, it was, because this conversation, John thought, was going to suck in all kinds of ways. Even more than it would in normal circumstances, and that was a whole lot.
“Sammy,” he started, careful to keep his tone gentle.
Sam walked right past him, silently jostling John as he passed. He stalked into the stall and closed the door behind him. “I don’t,” he grumbled, “wanna talk about it.”
John sighed and ran his hand over his hair, realizing as he did that Sammy was past due for a haircut. “Look,” he said, still gently. He moved to face the stall door, leaning up against the wall, making sure his body language read as ‘relaxed.’ “It’s completely normal, is the thing.”
“Normal?” Sam snorted thickly. “Nuh-uh, Dad. It’s weird,” and that was definitely a sniffle, “and it won’t go away!”
John smiled. “Oh, it’ll go away,” he said calmly.
“How?” Sam demanded, slapping the door open. His eyes were bright and almost terrified. “Because it was normal, and then that waitress girl looked at me, and now it’s not normal. Not at all.”
John drummed his fingers on the wall behind him. “Sammy. You have to calm down, first of all.”
“Calm down?” Sammy squawked. “My, my - thing - it’s, like, out of control! There is something weird going on, Dad! I think she DID something to me! ”
And the hell with being in the wrong body, John couldn’t keep himself from crossing to Sam and laying hands on him to try to settle him down. He grabbed Sam by the shoulders, even though he had to reach up to do it, and gave him a quick shake.
“Sammy,” he said again. “The waitress didn't do anything to you."
John waited for Sam to meet his eyes and nod. "Okay," John said. "Now. The first thing you have to remember is that you’re in your brother’s body. Technically, it’s not.” He cleared his throat. “It’s not really your…thing.”
A shuddery inhale from Sam. Good. Little steps; if Sam could get control of his breathing and even it out, he’d automatically start to calm down.
“Look,” John said again, trying to marshal his thoughts into some kind of order. “This isn’t how I wanted to have this talk. I kind of figured we were coming up to a point where we’d have to have it, but. This isn’t the ideal situation, is what I’m saying."
“Talk?” Sam asked, voice still wavering.
“Yeah,” John said. “The you’re-growing-up, things-are-changing talk.” He huffed out a breath. “Remember when we were at Bobby’s a couple years back? Dean and I went out for a ride, and you stayed back at the house?”
“Um, yeah. I guess so. I wanted to go with you, right?”
John nodded. “Yeah, you sure did. Got your mouth washed out for cussing at me when I told you ‘no,’ as I remember.”
“Don’t like you keeping secrets,” he muttered defensively.
“Well,” John said. “Wasn’t a secret, exactly. This is the talk I needed to have with your brother, and some conversations are best had one-on-one.”
Sam shrugged. Glanced at John and flushed. Shoved his hands farther into his pockets, or tried to.
“All right, now,” John said. “Enough of that. Not like it’s gonna help you.”
“Well, then, what will,” Sam grumbled.
John allowed a small laugh. “We’ll get to that,” he answered, walking to the sink and hoisting his smaller body onto the counter. “Why don’t you come over here and sit next to me.”
“Why,” Sam wondered.
“Remember how I said some things are tough to talk about?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, it can be a little easier to talk about certain stuff if you don’t have to look a person in the eyes while you’re doing it.” Especially when that person is your dad, John thought, and particularly when he’s in your body.
Sam shuffled over to the counter, yanking his hands out of his pockets on the way. With a twist and a grunt, he jumped up onto the counter on the opposite side of the sink.
John exhaled loudly. “Okay. First of all, let’s get our terms out there. It’s not a ‘thing,’ it’s your penis.”
Sam clapped his hands over Dean's face. “Dad!”
“No use calling things anything but what they are,” John said. “Doesn’t change anything if you do, you know that.”
The hands stayed over Dean's - Sam’s, John thought - face. This had been no walk in the park with Dean, either - God help him, John was pretty sure this was his least favorite part of parenting - but at least Dean had been ready to hear it and learn about it. Hell. At least Dean had been in his own body.
John continued, glancing over at Sammy every couple of sentences. “What happened out there is that you got an erection. That’s what it’s called when your penis gets stiff like it did.”
“But why?” Sam wailed suddenly. “It just happened out of nowhere!”
“Yeah, it probably seemed like that to you, “John agreed. “Because in your head, you’re Sam, and you’re eleven. But you’re in Dean’s body for the time being, and that body is fifteen years old. Dean - his body, I mean - responds to things differently than yours does.”
“Like what?” hissed Sammy.
“Like the girl waiting on us out there, I’m guessing.”
Sam threw him a look of grave disbelief. “What?”
“Just listen,” John said. “There’s two parts to what’s going on here. There’s the physical part, which is the part you’re experiencing ahead of schedule because of this whole body swapping deal." Christ, John thought. What I wouldn't give to never have had to use the phrase 'this body swapping deal'.
He steered his mind back to the current matter. "You wouldn’t notice her if you were yourself, but. If you can’t tell by the way your brother is making a fool of himself out there, Dean thinks our waitress is a fine looking young lady.”
“He thinks she’s cute,” Sam said skeptically, “so he’s acting like an idiot?”
“Yep,” John grinned. “He likes the way she looks - he’s physically attracted to her, is what it is - so his body is responding to hers.”
“Geez,” Sam said. “Why?”
John thought for a minute. “Well. Once a person gets to a certain age, his body changes. Biologically, it’s ready to start making babies.”
Sam squawked again, flinching so hard he nearly fell off the counter. “Babies?”
“I said biologically, remember. You’re nowhere near ready to actually have kids, and you’re not interested in it yet, either. But the body you’re in right now is getting ready to be able to do that, someday, and this is all a part of it.”
John noted Sam’s expression of disbelief and disgust and smiled. Dean’s reaction had been much the same, a couple years back.
Granted, from the way Dean was acting with their waitress, the boy had gotten past it. “I know. Kind of hard to believe, isn’t it.”
Sam made a little noise somewhere between a snort and a huff. “Not kind of.”
“Yeah,” John agreed. “So. You ready to hear the rest of it?”
Sam stared at him for a second, then nodded.
John had made sure both the boys were familiar with basic anatomy early on as a part of hunting and basic first aid, which made explaining the physical process easy enough. Sam cottoned on quickly, though he seemed uneasy about having such an obvious physical reaction to finding another person attractive.
“So is it - am I gonna - get. That way. Whenever I see a pretty girl?” Sam asked.
“For a while?” John said. “It’s gonna seem like it.”
“That’s gonna be awful.”
“Can be,” John allowed. “Sometimes.”
“It’s like,” Sam began. “Like it took over my brain.”
John looked at him, waiting for him to continue. “Like it took my thinking away. I could hardly talk, Dad!”
“It’s kinda scary, I know,” John said. He slid down from the counter and walked over to stand in front of Sammy. “But there’s something I want you to remember.”
The disgust had faded from Sammy’s tone. “What?”
There was still a sense of fear hanging over the kid, which was not at all where John wanted to leave things. He let his thoughts stray to Mary for a moment, and sighed.
“This is all normal and natural, like I said,” John began. “But it can be - a really beautiful thing, too. You’re having these feelings now, before your brain is ready for ‘em, so it all seems weird. Like you said, it feels like it’s taking over your brain, like your body’s not in your control.”
Sam nodded, his face suffused with the exact same look Dean had worn when he was much still a child who believed his Daddy could fix anything.
“I don’t want you to think this is all about bodies, though. You’re only getting half of it like this, being in Dean’s body with your mind. You’re supposed to enjoy the feeling.”
Sam shot him a look of disbelief.
“Really,” John assured him. “It’s supposed to be enjoyable, pleasurable, even. In a couple years, it will be. But just because you’re feeling it now doesn’t mean you have to do anything about it, okay? That’s a good thing to remember, by the way.”
Sam flushed. “Wouldn’t know what to do,” he mumbled.
“That, you’ll figure out,” John grinned. “You get a little older, you’ll be test driving the equipment pretty regularly.”
John took a second to let himself enjoy Sam’s blush racing over Dean’s face. Wasn’t like blushing was something Dean did all that much any more - if he ever had, John thought.
“You mean, ah," Sam started. Raised his right hand and waggled it in the air, kind of gestured toward his crotch.
“Yep,” John said.
“So, um," Sam said, barely loud enough to be heard. “Does that mean that Dean - ? That he, um, test drives?”
John laughed loudly, enjoying the sound of Sam’s clear, bell-like laughter. “Well, he doesn’t spend a half hour in the shower every morning getting clean, that much I know.”
“Oh. OHHHH.” A giggle slipped out before Sam could catch it. “Oh, man!”
“Not that you need to give him any grief about it,” John cautioned. “Remember that in a couple years, you’ll be doing your share of using up the hot water.”
Sam grinned cheekily, a look well-suited to his brother’s face. “Yes, sir.”
John slapped him on the leg. “We can talk about the rest of it in a couple years, when you get here in your own skin.”
“The rest of it?” Sam asked. “There’s more?”
“Sure there is,” John said. “There’s health stuff. Safety. Precautionary things.”
Sam nodded gravely.
“And there’s respect, too," John went on. “For the other person, and for yourself. It used to be called ‘how to treat a lady,’ back in the day.”
And Sam grinned again. “Like Dean does?”
John had to chuckle at that. “Probably not,” John managed. “You see how much luck your brother’s having out there with our waitress.”
Sammy laughed so much he ended up hanging on to the edge of the sink. “Your brother can teach you a lot of things," John said, "but you’re probably better off sticking with your own instincts when it comes to women.”
Sam slid off the counter, scuffing the toe of Dean’s boot on the floor. “Dad,” he said.
John knew, knew he was about to come face to face with A Moment. Kind of thing he usually hated.
Usually.
He reached up to mess Sam’s hair, laughed when he realized he could only just reach the top of Dean’s head. “No problem,” he grinned. “We okay here?”
Sam nodded. “Probably should go check on De - on Dad,” he said, exaggerating the last word. “The old guy had a lot of food out there.”
John smiled all the way back to the table.
And broke out laughing when he caught sight of his own pale, greenish face asking the waitress if she knew where he could get some Tums.
~fin~