Supernatural FIC: give or take the subject or the verb
(Originally posted yesterday over at JJ's bday_princess comm here, but I'm reposting here because I'm all anal and OCD like that...)
Title: give or take the subject or the verb
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: ADULT (WINCEST)
Summary: Dean and Sam have to explore their feelings in order to solve the case.
Notes: For my favoritest princess on the occasion of her birthday! JJ, I had plans! Big grand plans to write you tons of stories and drabbles, but I am far too dependent, and writing without you is hard, so this will have to do. *g*
Many many thanks on this one. Thanks and love to estrella30 for cheerleading and encouraging and providing the squee. Thanks and *squishes* to azewewish for audiencing when I freaked the hell out, even though she doesn't like Wincest. That's a friend, yo. And ♥♥♥ and undying gratitude to fryadvocate for putting up with all my obnoxious needy spazzing and handwringing and angst, for the fantastic beta, and for being totally awesome all around.
Title borrowed with apologies from the brilliant Cory Brenan's Miss Ferguson
give or take the subject or the verb
They keep a P.O. box in Omaha, and when they drive through Nebraska on their way to Tennessee, Dean decides to stop and check, though now he can't remember if it's because he thought of it, or because Sam mentioned it.
There's a big envelope from the University of Washington addressed to a Mr. Sam Winchester, and Dean feels his stomach drop.
"I didn't think it would come this soon," Sam says.
And it's just like before, with Sam not showing his fucking hand until he's halfway out the door.
"Grad school?" Dean manages to keep his voice steady. He knew this day would come. It's been over a year since Dad, and Dean knew that Sam would leave eventually. He just didn't think it'd be this soon.
"I didn't want to go back to California."
Dean nods but doesn't answer.
"Dean..." Sam is using that tone of voice, part pleading, part apologetic, part exasperated.
"C'mon, Sam." Dean clears his throat and hands the mail over. "We've still got a job to do, right?"
***
Dean drops Sam off at the airport in Nashville. Pulls up to the passenger unloading zone. He doesn't park like Sam was hoping he would. He doesn't even get out of the car. The ride there had been dead silent, and Sam didn't know how to break it. Didn't know how to apologize, or tell Dean that it wasn't him that Sam was leaving.
So Dean just pulls up to the curb and stares straight ahead as Sam unloads his stuff.
"Is this it, then?" Sam asks, bent over to peer inside the car. "If I leave, don't come back?"
Dean's closes his eyes for a moment and shakes his head. "You're not going to want to come back, Sam."
Before Sam can think of a way to respond to that, Dean smiles and says, "I'll keep in touch. Let you know about the big jobs, in case..."
Sam nods, but can't speak, because Dean's smile hurts almost as much as what he left unsaid. In case I don't come back.
***
It's amazing to Dean how quickly he falls into a solo routine. Six months pass without too much notice. There are some differences, of course. He finds his own jobs, has to rely on himself to catch the right patterns and do the right research. But it's not that big of a deal. It's always been something he could do. It just isn't a part of the job he likes all that much.
It doesn't matter. Dean is doing what he has to do. Doing the same thing he's always done, only now he's alone.
Well, not always.
There's a guy who's been following Dean's pool game all night long. Tall and lanky, with shaggy brown hair, and Dean can tell himself that he doesn't know why the guy strikes him as familiar, or why he keeps expecting green eyes where there are brown.
Dean orders another beer and waits. It isn't long before the guy walks up to Dean's table and lays his quarters. Then he gives Dean a puppy dog smile and Dean's not quite sure who's playing whom.
Another beer and Dean's pretty sure he won't care.
***
"You look like you could use a friend." Sam looks up from his beer to see a pretty girl with short blonde hair sit down across from him. She's not wearing a bra, her black tank top showing off the tattoos around her biceps, and her cocky smile is so familiar it hurts. "That or another drink. Why so glum?"
Sam grins and shakes his head. "I'm pretty sure you don't want to hear about my problems." It isn't often that Sam tries to drown his sorrows, but when it does happen, he likes to give it his all.
She cocks her head. "You never know. I was a psych major."
Which makes Sam laugh. It's been a while since that's happened.
"Or maybe I'm just trying to get into your pants, and I figure a sympathetic ear is the best way to accomplish that." She gives him a lopsided grin.
"Is that true?" Sam knows he sounds dumb, but he can't help but ask. He never gets hit on so blatantly. That's more Dean's area of expertise.
The girl gives him a slow wink and says, "I guess you'll just have to find out."
Sam takes a sip of his beer and says, "I think my family issues actually fall under abnormal psychology." He tries not to be that guy, the one who gets all issue-y in front of other people. Especially ones he just met, but tonight he can't stop thinking about Dean, about where he might be, what he might be doing, and the girl did sit down at his table.
If she's really looking to get into Sam's pants, she's going to have to work for it.
***
Dean slams the guy into the wall as soon as the motel room door shuts behind them. The guy (Josh? John? Jake?) grunts and attacks Dean's mouth as Dean works on getting him naked. Dean finally succeeds in getting the guy's shirt off, and the guy pushes away from the wall and guides them towards the bed.
The thing is, Dean's drunker than he realized, because the guy's face keeps blurring, and Dean lands on the bed with a grunt. The guy is undoing Dean's pants, and Dean sort of laughs and says, "Fuck." The room is spinning around him now. God, he's drunk.
He tries to figure out how drunk he is, and thinks that maybe it would be easier if the room would stop moving.
"You aren't going to pass out on me, are you?" the guy asks as his fingers wrap around Dean's cock, and Dean's eyes roll back at how fucking good that feels. Drunk or not, sex is always good, he decides.
"Not yet." Dean reaches and grabs the back of the guy's neck and pulls him down for another kiss. "You're not gonna mug me and run off when I do, are you?" Even as he says it, Dean groans internally as his sense of self-preservation finally kicks in. He knows better than to get this shit-faced around strangers, especially when there are still people-shaped things around that would love nothing more than to kill the Winchester boys in messy and violent ways.
Boy, Dean's mind corrects. There is only one Winchester here, and if this guy wants to slit Dean open from top to bottom, there's nobody around that's gonna stop him.
But the guy just smiles. He smiles that harmless puppy smile and Dean remembers how he got here in the first place. And then he does this thing-- a weird flick of his wrist-- and Dean stops thinking for awhile.
***
Sam's on the road again, with Dean, only Dean looks like Hank Williams III and he's chain smoking Lucky Strikes even though Sam keeps asking him to stop. And the Impala is the Impala, but in the shape of a big red truck. There's a piano in the truck bed that they're delivering for someone. It's a haunted piano, but Dean doesn't seem to care all that much that it's trying to eat Sam.
"Just play your scales!" Dean tells him as he lights another cigarette. "Practice makes perfect!"
Then they are in their motel room, and Hank-Dean is still smoking. He's using Sam's computer as an ashtray, and he keeps calling Sam 'Sammy', talking about a leprechaun that he's been hunting in a really bad, twangy Irish accent. The wallpaper has tiny pink hippos all over it, and Sam is pretty sure they're moving, but he can only see it out of the corner of his eye.
Then there is wet heat around his cock, and when Sam looks down, there's a guy between his legs, which is different, but it feels too good for Sam much to care. Especially since it's not Hank anymore, and the smell of cigarette smoke is gone.
"Oh, god." Sam threads his fingers through the guy's hair and moves his hips until the guy pins him down, which ratchets Sam's arousal up a few more notches. When Sam closes his eyes, there is nothing but the sensation, hot, wet and it's quite possibly the best blowjob that he's ever had.
The guy pulls back and swirls his tongue over the head of Sam's cock and it's just enough to set Sam off. He clenches his fingers in the guy's hair and comes. The world tilts and pauses, and when Sam sits up and opens his eyes, he expects his own room.
But the motel room is still there, as is the guy, who's rubbing his head where Sam pulled his hair. The pink hippos, however, are gone.
"Oh god." Sam runs his hand through his hair, and it's short. Too short. He pulls his hand away and looks down at the two black leather bracelets encircling his wrist where there should only be one. Then his head starts to throb, and his stomach lurches.
"Hey, man. Are you okay?"
"I, um." Sam recognizes the voice, even with the difference of hearing it from the inside, and no. This can't be happening. It's got to be some sort of illusion. "I don't think so."
"Oh, man." The guy sighs and sits back on his heels. "This isn't going to be one of those, 'I'm gay when I'm drunk but straight when I'm sober' things, is it?"
"I'm not gay!" Sam says, because, yeah, that's what he should be focusing on. At the look on the guy's face, though, he adds. "I'm bi." Because he doesn't really want to be that asshole. "Sorry. I just. Um. Really weird dream."
"You were pretty messed up last night," Guy says.
Sam's head throbs painfully as if to testify to that. "Sorry," he says again. "Can we maybe start over?"
Guy gives Sam a bashful smile that's disturbingly familiar, though for the life of him Sam can't think of why. He leans over and kisses Sam, and really, Sam was hoping for something more along the lines of a name.
Sam freezes for a moment, unsure of how to respond. Then the guy's tongue sweeps into Sam's mouth, and Sam can taste himself. But it's not Sam's come. It's Dean's, which is fucked up on so many levels because while Sam isn't hard again yet, he's pretty sure it's only a very short matter of time.
Sam groans into the kiss and leans back, lets the guy's body settle over him. Lets the guy guide the kiss. Just opens up and lets it happen as he licks the taste of Dean out of some strange guy's mouth and hopes to God that this is still a dream.
***
The first thing that Dean sees when he opens his eyes is a framed picture on a night table, taken when Dean was about eight. It's of Sam, Dad and Dean. Dad is smiling, with Sam tucked under one of his arms like he's a sack of potatoes, and Sammy's laughing and Dean...
Dean looks happy.
There's only one copy of that picture, and Sam has it. Clearly they've switched bodies somehow.
The second thing Dean sees is a girl pulling her pants on. He watches her for a moment, the smooth line of her back as she bends over to pull on her shoes. She's still topless, which Dean appreciates.
"Leaving already?" Dean stretches, and he can feel the difference in the body. For one thing, he's not completely hung over.
The girl turns and smiles. "Last night was a one-shot deal." She, regretfully, pulls on a black tank top and leans over. "Not that I wouldn't love to stay and give you another go."
Dean grins. Go, Sammy! The girl is smokin' hot, and totally not Sam's normal deal.
"But I have to get to the library," she says.
And that's one Dean hasn't heard before. "The library?"
"To work."
"Sure." Dean takes in the tattoos on her arms, her short, spiked hair, the funky amulet necklace, the jeans and combat boots she's wearing and nods. She's a librarian. "Because we're in Seattle."
The girl gives him an amused look. "I hope you and your brother work things out."
"Thanks." Dean props himself up on his elbows and watches as she leaves the room. Leave it to Sam to get a hot girl and then bore her to death with his angst. Of course, she had come home with him. Which was just one of the many weird things about this morning, because Sam doesn't generally do one-night stands.
Dean picks up the cell phone on the nightstand and searches through the names until he finds his own number and dials.
Sammy has some explaining to do.
***
"Oh god." Sam is panting, still recovering from his third orgasm in way too short a time period, (and does Dean have this kind of stamina all the time? Because he's still feeling kind of hungover...) when the phone rings.
Sam gives the guy, whose name he has yet to learn, an apologetic look as he reaches over him to grab it. "I've gotta get this."
"I'll give you a minute." The guy pushes off the bed and goes into the bathroom.
"Dean," Sam hisses as soon as the bathroom door closes.
"Hey, so your psychic abilities transferred, huh?"
And, wow, Sam didn't know his voice could sound that color of obnoxious. "What the hell happened, Dean?"
There's a snort on the other end, and then Dean says, "Apparently you've stepped up your game, Sammy. Because the girl that just left here... Damn."
"What?" Maybe Sam really is still dreaming, because he can't believe that this is the conversation right now.
"I'm just sayin', I'm surprised. She didn't really seem like your type."
Sam glances at the bathroom door, and thinks he can hear the shower running. He gets up and finds the guy's jeans on the floor, hoping for a wallet. "I woke up with a guy sucking my cock. You really want to talk about types right now?"
Dean coughs. "Uh, what if I told you he was a girl last night?"
"Not unless he was in drag. So, uh. No." Sam tucks the phone against his shoulder as he searches through pockets. He finds the wallet in the last one he checks. The guy's name is Jason.
"Why are you whispering?" Dean asks suddenly. "Is Jake still there?"
"That's not his name. God, you're such a pig." Sam finally finds his pants and pulls them on. "And, uh. Yeah."
"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. I'm learning all sorts of things about you today." Dean sounds entirely too smug and this conversation is way off course.
"Hey, Dean. How about we talk about the part where we switched bodies? What the hell were you hunting?"
"Wait a second. What makes you think it was something I did?" He actually has the gall to sound offended.
Sam sighs and rolls his eyes. "Why don't I fly out there and we can figure this out?"
"No. There's no way you're leaving my car in the middle of bumfuck nowhere."
They are really going to have a talk about priorities one of these days, Sam thinks. "Well then you'll have to fly out here."
"Fly? Really?" Dean sounds a little freaked. "Why can't I drive?"
"It'll take too long. And I live in Seattle. I don't have a car."
"Well I can steal one," Dean says like that's a reasonable solution.
"That'll take too long." Sam glances over his shoulder when he hears the shower shut off. "Look, just get a ticket and get out here. Give me a call when you arrive."
"Sammy--"
"If you crash and die, you can always come reclaim your body."
"Not funny," Dean says after a moment. "And don't think I won't. And don't do anything stupid while you're in my body."
Sam boggles. "You're the one telling me that? I can't believe this."
"I'm serious, Sammy. I want it as pretty as it was when I left it."
"You're so obnoxious. Just get here." Sam snaps the phone shut.
"Ex?"
Sam turns to see Jason leaning against the doorway, a towel wrapped around his waist, and feels himself getting hard again. Oh my god, Dean, are you for real? "Brother, actually."
"Older or younger?"
"Depends." Sam laughs a little. "Mentally or physically?"
Jason smiles and sits down on the edge of the bed. "You guys get along?"
"I guess. I mean, we fight and stuff. I let him down a lot, I think." Sam rubs the back of his neck and looks away. "I'd do anything for him."
"He's on his way here?" There's an odd tone in Jason's voice. Sam would say 'coy' if he were talking to a girl.
"On his way from Seattle," Sam says.
"So it'll be awhile, then?"
Sam knows he should be doing research, finding out what did this to them and what will switch them back. He should be ready with ideas when Dean shows up, but then Jason smiles, and Sam knows that none of that is going to happen.
***
Dean picks a pair of flannel pants up off the floor and pulls them on, and walks out into the living room.
"Hey, there, hot stuff."
"Jesus!" Dean clutches his chest and stumbles back a few steps.
There's a cute brunette sitting cross-legged on the couch, eating a bowl of what appears to be Lucky Charms. She snorts and says, "Jumpy much?"
"Uh, sorry. You startled me," Dean says slowly.
She gives him a no shit look as she picks up the remote and mutes the T.V. "I talked to the landlord about our water heater. He says he can come on Wednesday. I have class, but I was totally going to skip anyway, so I can be here."
"Right. Cool." Dean tries to remember if Sam ever mentioned having a roommate, but they don't really ever talk about that stuff. The stuff revolving around Sam's "normal life".
"So..." The girl tilts her head and gives him a coy smile.
Dean's really not sure where this is going, so he claps his hands together and rocks back on his heels. "So."
She throws a couch pillow at him. "You so got laid last night!" She seems excited.
"Maybe."
"Ahhh. She was hot, Sam!"
Dean laughs. "You sound surprised."
"That you could get a hot girl? No. That you would actually bring her home? Yes." She rolls her eyes. "You're such a goddamn monk."
"Yes! Thank you!" Dean feels somewhat vindicated hearing that from someone else. "God, tell me about it!"
The girl smirks and wrinkles her brow. "You feeling alright?"
"All that sex must have gone to my head." Dean winks and sits down next to her. "Actually, I'm leaving town for a few days."
She loses her smile. "Is something wrong?"
"Ah, family thing. My brother seems to have gotten himself into a situation. I need to meet up with him in Iowa as soon as possible."
"Iowa?" She waits for him to say more, and when he doesn't, does this little Okay, whatever move with her shoulders and unfolds into a standing position. "Want me to order your airline tickets while you shower?" She asks as she walks to the kitchen to deposit her bowl in the sink.
Dean turns and sniffs his armpit and smiles. "That was subtle."
She turns back to him and winks. "Actually this works out great. Amy and I are going out again tonight, and I think she might actually put out this time."
"Really?" Sam's roommate is a hot lesbian? Go Sammy!
"Seriously, Sam," she said as she sat back down with her laptop. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, why?"
She bites her lip and gives him an odd look. "I don't think I've ever seen you leer before."
Dean clears his throat and stands up. "I’m gonna go get a shower now."
***
Jason leaves mid-morning, but it's somewhere around the middle of the day when Sam finally rallies enough to get up, showered and dressed. He's actually tempted to stay in bed all day. He feels warm and sated and strangely content. But he's also hungry, so he ventures out of the motel room and into the nearest diner.
The cute waitress behind the counter eyes him as soon as he walks in the door, which just makes Sam feel a little self-conscious. He's not used to people responding to him like that, and he's not quite sure how to handle it.
He slides into the nearest empty booth and tries to look as inconspicuous as possible. Which, as it turns out, is not all that inconspicuous, because the waitress is at the table almost as soon as he's settled.
"So you're back." She gives him a wicked smile.
Sam nods, raises his eyebrows, and says, "I guess I am."
"What can I get you?"
"Uh. Burger and fries," Sam says. It's what Dean always gets. "Oh. And some coffee."
Her smile fades a little. "Sure thing, sweetheart."
Sam feels like he's missing something as she walks off. He mentally shrugs as he gets up to go to the bathroom.
As he's washing his hands, he hears the door open and close, then the click of the lock sliding into place.
Sam looks over his shoulder to see the waitress standing there. "I, uh. I think this is the men's room."
She smiles and nods. "I wasn't sure you'd be back in."
"Well, here I am," Sam says stupidly.
The waitress nods again. "I want to make sure we're on the same page."
"Okay."
"I want to fuck you. Right now."
Sam's not actually sure how this switch between him and Dean works, but some part of Dean's overdeveloped lizard brain must have been left behind, because instead of making his excuses or apologies and ducking out of there as quickly as possible, Sam just cocks his head, smiles and drawls, "Sure thing, darlin'. All you had to do was ask."
***
"You look nervous."
Dean looks up at the girl who sits down next to him and tries to smile, but the plane is going to be taking off soon and he really does hate flying.
"I hate flying."
He'd tried distracting himself with music, since Hot Lesbian Roommate had thrown Sam's ipod into his bag, but, really. After flipping through the playlists, Dean realized he had failed Sam somewhere along the way. His brother had the most depressing taste in music ever.
"Really? A big guy like you?"
When Dean looks over, he sees that the girl is smiling, and she's pretty cute. He blows his bangs out of his face and tries to smile again. "Ah, well. We all have our Achilles heel, right?"
And where the fuck had that come from?
But amazingly enough, the girl smiles and holds out her hand. "I'm April."
"Dean. Ah. Sam." Dean winces a little at his slip. He probably could have stayed with Dean.
April laughs. "Which is it?"
"Sam. My name's Sam, but some of my buddies call me Dean. Uh, it's a whole thing." He waves his hand. "Did I mention I hate flying?"
"You did." She places her hand on his knee and smiles again, and Dean realizes she's completely eating this up. "I'll hold your hand when we take off if you want."
Dean's laugh sounds nervous even in his own ears. "Be careful, I might take you up on that." And then, "You wouldn't think I’m completely lame?"
"Not at all." She moves her hand from his knee to lace her fingers through his. "Wow. You have huge hands." Her tongue darts out to wet her lips and damn.
Dean is so in.
"You know what would really take my mind off my nervousness?" He asks as the stewardess starts her safety lecture.
A look of annoyance crosses April's face. "Let me guess. Joining the Mile High club?"
"Uh." Dean blinks and hopes he has Sam's startled right. "I was actually going to say 'driving'." He tries for adorably clueless next. "Mile High club?"
April blushes. "You know..." She waves her free hand and waggles her eyebrows.
Dean shakes his head.
So she leans over and whispers her explanation, and, really. Dean's going to hell for enjoying this so much. When she leans back, he tries to look embarrassed.
He slouches down in his seat a little, like he's seen Sam do, and says, "I don't think there'd be enough room for me to do that in those bathrooms."
April laughs, and it's such a happy sound that Dean joins her. Until they start to move.
"Oh, god." Dean closes his eyes and leans his head back, flirting momentarily forgotten.
"Hey."
April untangles their fingers, and when Dean looks over, and she's spreading a blanket over their laps. "You're right," she says. "You wouldn't fit in the bathroom."
"Oh." Dean licks his lips. "Oh," he says again when she starts to undo his pants under the blanket.
"Do you want me to stop?"
She's got his fly open, and she's rubbing his cock through his boxers, and Dean thinks he might really like this girl.
"I really kinda don't."
"See." April's got her back turned to the aisle, and Dean hopes that nobody else can see what's going on. "I think that you just need something positive to associate with flying."
Dean leans back and closes his eyes again. "Amen to that."
***
Sam is out of bed and on his feet before he realizes that the knocking on the door is what woke him up.
"Dude, you better be in there!" And it's weird to hear his voice with Dean's particular inflection.
A glance down at his cell phone reveals that he's missed some calls. "Crap."
"I mean it, Sammy! If you're not there, I'm going to hunt you down and-- Aw, hell. I can't even do anything to you. Dammit, Sam!"
Sam pulls on his jeans and opens the door. And, wow. There's weird and surreal and this is not happening, and then there's looking at your brother's annoyed expression on your own face which reaches a whole new level of fucked up.
"Hey, Dean."
Dean shakes his head a little and widens his eyes. "Oh, hey there, Sammy!" he says brightly. "How are you? Nice weather we're having. You little shit." He punches Sam's arm as he passes him.
"Sorry." Sam scratches his neck as he closes the door behind Dean. He grabs a T-shirt as he passes Dean's bag. "I was sleeping."
"Oh, well sorry to disturb your nap." Dean sounds pissy. "Uh, Sam?"
"What?"
Sam hisses as Dean skims his fingers over Sam's lower back. When Sam twists to look at what he's touching, he sees a set of scratch marks he hadn't noticed before. "Huh."
"I'm guessing Jake didn't leave these," Dean says.
"His name wasn't Jake."
"Didn't mean to insult your boyfriend."
Sam gapes. "You're the one who brought him home! You're mad at me for sleeping with him?"
"And who's responsible for these?" Dean grabs Sam's sides over the scratch marks.
"Some waitress at that diner down the street." Sam knocks Dean's hands away and tugs the shirt on.
Dean looks annoyed for a moment, then stricken. "Aw, man. Not Cheri? The blonde with the--" He cups his hands in front of his chest.
Sam nods.
"Man." Dean looks pained. "Was she good at least? Because she looked. Well." He gestured at Sam's back. "Damn. I knew I should have seized that opportunity yesterday." He sits down on the edge of the bed and cradles his head in his hands for a moment ,then looks up. "Hey, Sammy?"
"Yeah?" Sam asks cautiously.
"Should we be weirded out that we're having sex in each other's bodies?"
Sam thinks about it for a moment then snorts. "Well, it’s not like we're masturbating." Because that would be weird. "Besides, you're the one with no sense of boundaries and a libido that won't quit." Then the full impact of Dean's question hits him. "Wait. Who'd you have sex with?"
"Some girl on the plane." Dean waves his hand. "She practically straddled me before we left the runway. I've gotta tell you, Sam. You are definitely not living up to your full potential." He suddenly looks excited. "You wouldn’t even believe it! I was just sitting there, and she had this blanket, and she just sort of--"
"Dean!" The ridiculousness of the conversation triggers a panic attack so suddenly that Sam has to pause to catch his breath. "What are we going to do?"
"Hey, whoa. Sam. We'll figure it out." Dean catches Sam's eyes and then nods. "We'll figure out what did this and find out how to switch back. Okay?"
"Okay." Sam nods. "Yeah. Okay."
"We'll figure it out," Dean says again. "We always do, right?"
"Right."
***
Dean's seen some fucked up shit in his time. It kind of comes with the territory. But this. This is some fucked up shit right here.
He watches Sam pace back and forth in the tiny confines of the motel room, and it's just. Weird. Sam moves like Sam, but not, too. And he keeps yawning, his eyelids drooping, and Dean's beginning to wonder if Sam's been drugged. It's weird to see his body in such a sleepy, Sam-like state.
Well, it's weird to be watching his body from the outside, period.
Sam takes another turn around the room and Dean goes back to flipping through Dad's journal, trying to find out what would make them spontaneously switch like that, but so far he's come up with nothing.
"Are you sure it wasn't something you've been hunting?" Sam asks for the fourth time.
"I already told you, I haven't been hunting anything that could do this. Or would do this," Dean says. "It doesn't make sense. It wouldn't make sense to involve you. And it's not." He tries to put his finger on what's bothering him, but he can't quite figure it out. "It's not exactly malevolent, is it? I mean, annoying yes, but in terms of evil?" He flips the journal closed. "It's a goddamn Disney movie."
Sam's mouth twitches into a smile. "Hey, Dean?"
"Yeah?"
"It's good to see you."
Dean raises an eyebrow and smirks, and Sam laughs in response.
"You know what I mean. It's good-- I've missed you."
There's a weird lump in Dean's throat, and he thinks that maybe Sam's body's getting sick. "It's good to see you too, Sam. And may I just say, you've never looked better?"
Sam punches Dean's arm and yawns again.
"Maybe we should get some sleep and start again tomorrow."
But Sam is already shedding his pants and crawling into bed. "I don't know why I'm so tired," he says. He falls asleep between one breath and the next.
Dean is tired, but wide awake. There's a weird current of energy thrumming through his body and Dean realizes that it's been there all day. An anxious energy, something desperate and crushing and guilty. The weird thing is, he only notices it's there because it starts to fade as he watches Sam sleep.
Suddenly Dean's too tired to think about it anymore, so he slips into bed next to Sam, ready for some rest. Dean is on the edge of sleep when the screaming starts, and he slips fully into a nightmare already in progress before he can pull himself out.
***
Consciousness comes slowly to Sam. He can feel the sunlight filtering in through the blinds, and when he opens his eyes, the room is a cheerful early-morning yellow. Sam feels an overwhelming sense of contentment as he stretches. Until he sees Dean sitting in the chair, an all-too-familiar look on his face.
It's the haunted expression that greets Sam in the mirror most mornings.
"I'm sorry," Sam says.
Dean doesn't say anything for a moment. When he does speak, his voice is rough. "Is it always like that? Sam." He leans forward and scrubs his hands over his face. "Is that what it's always like for you?"
Sam sits up and rubs his neck. "Not always. It's not always so bad." Sometimes there was just the bliss of absolute nothingness. "D'you find anything?"
"Um." Dean looks like he wants to say more, but he glances back at Dad's journal and clears his throat. "Yeah. I thinks so." He turns the book around so that Sam can see the picture and walks over to the bed. "Look familiar?"
It's a sketch of a necklace, an amulet or something. The description is brief and not big on details, but from what Sam can see, it's kind of like a monkey's paw. A "careful what you wish for" sort of thing.
Sam shakes his head. "Should it?"
Dean frowns and taps the picture. "It's the necklace your girlfriend was wearing."
"Celeste?" Sam asks, confused.
"If that was her name. So, I gotta ask you, Sam. You say anything the other night that would make her or the necklace think, 'Hey, how 'bout a body swap?'"
"I don't--" Sam stops, and he can hear the echo of his voice in his head. Sometimes I wish that Dean could see things from my perspective. "Oh god."
Dean snorts. "Okay, you know what? No more tiny blondes for you. You stick to brunettes and redheads. You hear me?"
"I'm sorry."
"Whatever. Don't start getting all guilt-stricken on me, now." Dean slaps the journal on the table and stands up. "I'm going to get a shower, and then we'll figure out where to go from here."
As soon as the bathroom door closes, Sam pulls out his cell phone and dials information. He remembers that Celeste said she was a librarian at the University, and he figures trying to call her is worth a shot. She probably doesn't even realize what her necklace does.
Luck seems to be on his side for once, because when he asks for her, he gets put on hold, and a few moments later, she comes on the line.
"Celeste? It's Sam," he says, hoping that maybe she won't notice the difference in his voice.
"Hey, Sam!" She sounds cheerful. "What can I do for you?"
"Um, actually. This will probably sound weird, but I wanted to ask you about your necklace."
There's a long pause, and then she says, "Wow. I don't think anyone's ever figure it out before."
Sam feels like he just swallowed a stone. "So you know, then."
"Well, yeah."
"So you cursed me on purpose!" Sam's hysteria momentarily threatens to overwhelm him. "Why would you do that?"
"It's not a curse, Sam," Celeste says, almost gently. "It's an opportunity. Here's your chance to settle things between you and Dean."
"How do I reverse it?"
"You figure things out." She sighs. "Look. I can't give you the answer to this. I don't even know it. The spell works differently each time. What I can tell you is, the desire for this-- Understanding, or whatever it is you're seeking. It had to come from both sides."
Sam makes a frustrated noise into the phone. "So what? We're supposed to explore our feelings? Have a nice heart to heart? Because I gotta tell you, that's not exactly our family's m.o."
"Then you'll have to find some other way."
"And if we killed you? Destroyed the necklace?"
"This isn't the kind of deal that some salt and holy water's gonna solve. Look. I've got spazzing undergrads with term papers that need my attention. Just explore your feelings and go with it. Good luck, Sam." She hangs up without another word, and Sam is left staring at the phone.
He flops back down on the bed and tries to think of a way to break the news to Dean. Luckily, he has time, as it seems Dean is intent on using up all of the hot water.
***
It's weird, Dean thinks. The differences that he notices between his body and Sam's. He would have thought that he would notice the height difference, or that the hair would bother him. But it's kind of like a Quantum Leap thing. He's acclimated to Sam's body in those ways.
What he notices is that Sam's skin is way more sensitive than his. When he turns in the shower to wet his hair, the water hitting the small of his back makes him suck in a breath at the sensation. When he runs his soapy hands over his chest, his nipples harden under his finger tips, and this body really is wasted on Sam.
Dean's mind starts to wander as he thinks of how great sex would be with a body this responsive. Not a quickie on a plane, but sex sex. Like sweaty, dirty marathon sex.
He trails his fingers down his stomach and imagines it's someone's tongue. And without consciously thinking about it, it switches to his tongue, and Dean's thinking about what he could do to a body this responsive. How it would arch into his touch.
He can imagine the helpless whine caught in the back of the throat, the hitch of his breath. The way Sam's neck would arch back as Dean licked at his throat. Dean's hand drops to his cock, and he catalogs every sensation. Moves his fingers in a way that makes his hips twitch forward, and imagines Sam's mouth in an 'o' of surprise as Dean seeks out all of his most sensitive spots.
And Dean can see Sam's eyes fluttering closed, hear the break in his voice as he begs Dean to let him come, and Dean swipes his thumb over the head of his cock and unexpectedly comes, shaking and bracing his hand against the wall of the shower stall.
Two and a half seconds later, the full horror of what he's just done hits him. "Oh, god."
Dean shuts off the water and grabs the towel. Wraps it around his waist without bothering to dry off. "Oh god," he says again.
The mirror is foggy, so Dean swipes his hand across it. His blurry reflection reveals Sam in a way that Dean hasn't seen him. His hair curls in wet strands around his face. His lips are parted and pink, and his pupils are dark.
Dean's grateful when the mirror fogs back up. I am so fucked.
***
Sam stretches out on the bed as he waits for Dean to finish up in the bathroom and tries to think about how he's feeling. Right now sleepy and content are winning out, and it takes Sam way too long to realize that, hey, that might be important.
His anxiety is gone. His desire to get the hell away, to put some distance between him and Dean. And, wow. Sam never fully realized that was even there. Had never consciously though, "I need to get away from Dean." Because he'd never wanted that. Not really. Except for the part where he apparently did.
When Dean comes out of the bathroom, he doesn't meet Sam's gaze, which gives Sam the opportunity to watch him as he digs around for something to wear. And it really is different in Dean's body. This response, because a sense of completeness blooms in his chest at the thought that they're in this together. Here together, finally, his body says.
Sam wonders if Dean really feels like that. If Sam's presence makes him feel this, or if this is something Sam's bringing to the table that he's just now able to recognize without the fear. Which brings up the question. Why do you scare me so much, Dean?
Dean looks up and for a moment Sam worries that he actually said it out loud. But then Dean's forehead wrinkles as he gives Sam an annoyed look. "What?"
"We need to talk about our feelings," Sam says.
"Not gonna happen, Dr. Phil." Dean doesn't even miss a beat.
"I talked to Celeste."
"And what'd mojo girl have to say?" Dean asks as he pulls on his jeans. Then, "Seriously, Sam. Do they not make jeans in your size, or do you just get them big so that there's at least the illusion you have balls?"
"She said we need to work things out, which is going to be real easy with you being such a complete bitch. What the hell?"
Dean gives him a mean smirk and says, "Just playing the part, Sam."
Sam feels his spine stiffen as he frowns. "Glad you're enjoying yourself."
"Not as much as you have been."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
It looks like Dean's spoiling for a fight, and Sam can feel himself responding with a sudden surge of adrenaline, because if that's how Dean wants to play it, it is so on.
Then Dean's shoulders slump and he shakes his head. "Nothing. I'm sorry. I think I'm just freaking out a little."
"Fight or flight," Sam mutters.
"Well we know which one you pick."
And Sam feels that like a sucker punch, because it's true.
Dean's head snaps up, like he's just realized what he said. "I mean. I know, now. I feel like I just. Like I need to get out of here." The expression on his face is completely unreadable. "What the hell are you so afraid of?"
Sam rubs his hand over his face, surprised to find stubble, and says, "I wish I knew."
***
Dean tries to ignore the sound of the shower and concentrate on the task at hand. Which is, as Sam so annoyingly put it, sorting out his feelings. And he's pretty sure that feeling like he'd like to kill something right now doesn't count.
He tries not to think about what happened earlier during his shower. Tries not to think about what Sam's thinking about now as he showers. Sometimes repressing is the best policy for everyone involved.
So, Dean tries to sort out his other feelings. But the thing is, if he's understanding this correctly, his feelings are all mixed in with Sam's. Some of it's obvious. The anxiety is foreign to him. This constant low buzz of whatever that itches under Dean's skin. He tries to remember if it felt like this in Seattle, but he was too preoccupied with everything else to notice.
Under that, though, there's the feeling of home. That feeling that Dean's always associated with Sam. So he guesses that's his. He tries to think of what is home to Sam. Different things flash in his mind. That house in Texas that they were in for almost a year, California, Jessica, Seattle. But none of those things register in his gut as, Yes, here. This is where I belong. And Dean thinks, hopes, maybe, that it's because Sam's gut realizes that where he belongs is with Dean, even if his mind doesn't.
"Oh, screw this," Dean mutters to himself. There's no way they're going to solve anything by getting all touchy feely. This Celeste chick is probably some obnoxious emo demon who gets her rocks off by having them go all Very Special Oprah before she peels their skin from their bodies and fashions herself a new pair of boots.
Not going to happen.
Sam's still in the shower, so Dean leaves him a note. Going for food.
Maybe he'll have a shot with the waitress in Sam's body. Wouldn't that be interesting?
***
Sam showers as quickly as possible. He doesn't bother to shave, partially because he doesn't feel like bothering, partially because he's always secretly liked Dean's scruffy look.
The point of the switch, if Celeste is to be believed, is to understand what it's like to be Dean, but Sam is still having trouble understanding his own feelings. He keeps going over the things he told Celeste. How he didn't want to be tied to the family business. How he wanted to be his own person.
He thinks about what he never said. That he doesn't know who he is without Dean. And that might be the crux of Sam's problem. The reason he keeps running away. Because the thing is, he doesn't want to be away. He doesn't want to leave Dean alone, and he doesn't really want to go to school anymore.
But sometimes it feels like Sam is so wrapped up in Dean that he doesn't know if he can survive without him. So Sam needs to prove to himself that he can.
The thing is, there's a difference between surviving and living.
Sam thinks that maybe a good place for them to start is by telling Dean that he doesn't really want to go back to school. That the past six months have pretty much sucked, but when he opens the bathroom door, Dean is gone.
There's a note that says he's gone for food, and Sam hopes that he brings it back to the room, because Sam's starting to feel a bit hungry himself. He digs through Dean's bag and finds a clean pair of underwear. Boxer-briefs, because Dean's jeans are too tight for regular boxers.
As he's pulling them on, he catches his reflection in the mirror on the dresser, and it's weird all over again. Like he could almost forget that he was in Dean's body, or, at least he could relegate it to some abstract awareness in the back of his mind. But now he's standing in front of the mirror, and he's in Dean's body. In his underwear. Which isn't anything he hasn't seen before. It's just funny.
Sam makes a face. Crosses his eyes and sticks out his tongue. He laughs and then does a serious face. Bends over and flexes. "Rawr. I will kick your ass, bad demony things. For I am Dean!" He thumps his chest with his fist.
The truth is, part of Sam has always envied and admired Dean. He's always wondered what it would be like to be him. To be able to pull off the confident swagger and cocky grin. To be the guy that waitresses cornered in the bathroom for a quick fuck because he's just that hot.
"You wanna fuck me, don't you?" Sam straightens and flexes his shoulders back. Rolls his head to the side and smiles. "You totally want to fuck me."
"Are you propositioning me or yourself?"
Sam literally jumps, and turns to find Dean standing at the door, holding a bag of food. "Jesus, Dean! Make some noise."
Dean closes the door behind him and smiles. "I did. Maybe you were just a little too preoccupied to hear it." He sets the food down on the dresser and crosses his arms over his chest. "You didn’t answer my question."
"What? Am I propositioning you?" Sam narrows his eyes at him. "You're totally narcissistic enough to want to fuck yourself, aren't you?"
Dean's still smiling, but there's a calculating look in his eyes. "You've got to admit, it's an interesting concept."
Sam licks his lips, and of course Dean's stupid, treacherous, horny body responds to the suggestion. "God, Dean." He's getting hard, wishing he had more than just underwear on.
Dean's just standing there, and it's Sam's face he's looking at, but the eyes give it away. It is all Dean behind those eyes.
"Is it always like this for you?" Sam sways towards Dean a little. "Is it always this urgent?"
Dean licks his lips and shakes his head. "No."
And it's like Sam isn't even in control any more. He grabs Dean's neck and presses against his body, brings Dean down for a kiss, and it seems appropriate that Dean should be bigger than Sam for this. Dean's always been larger than life.
"Sam," Dean whispers against Sam's lips. "What are we doing?" Even as he says it, he shoves Sam back until the edge of the dresser is pressed against Sam's thighs.
"Figuring things out."
***
Dean presses Sam up against the dresser as they kiss, and everything in him synchs and clicks and screams YES, and Dean gasps as he feels the dresser bite into his thighs. When he opens his eyes, it's Sam with Sam's face smiling back at him, and they both laugh.
"It can't be that easy," Sam whispers. He still has Dean pinned against the dresser, and Dean is still aching and hard, his fingers are tangled in Sam's hair.
Dean closes his eyes again, brushes his lips against Sam's. "You think this is going to be easy?" He slips his hand up under Sam's shirt and scratches his thumbnail across his nipple, and Sam's breath hitches just like Dean imagined it would.
"Right now I think it's kind of hard," Sam says, and Dean laughs.
"That was bad, Sammy."
Sam brings his hand up to cup the side of Dean's face and kisses him again. Dean just tilts his head back and lets him, because all Dean ever wanted was for them to be together. Not this necessarily. The 'how' never really mattered to him. Just that Sam was there.
"Dean," Sam says his name in a trembling voice, his breath hot against Dean's lips.
When he doesn't say anything else, Dean opens his eyes, and Sam has this serious look on his face.
"I don't want to go back. To school."
"You don't?" Dean's a little thrown. Why are they even talking about this now?
Sam shakes his head. "It's not what I want anymore. It's not where I belong."
Dean licks his lips and nods, reaches down and starts undoing Sam's pants. "Where do you belong?"
Sam gives him a, I can't believe you're that fucking slow look, and Dean feels like he's just been knocked on his ass, completely stupid, but really kind of happy about it.
"So we gonna do this or what?" Dean asks.
It takes a moment for him to catch up as Sam manhandles him away from the dresser and onto the bed. Then Sam is yanking down Dean's underwear and wrapping his hand around Dean's cock, so Dean takes that as a yes.
"I would give you shit for this," Sam says in this rough, scratchy voice. "But you really do have the most overactive cock known to man."
"Mmmm." Dean bites his lip and digs his fingers into Sam's shoulders as Sam slowly strokes him off. "I'm... Oh god." He arches into Sam's touch. "I'm very high maintenance."
Sam grins. "I think I can handle it."
***
Sam leans down and licks at Dean's throat to taste the saltiness of his skin, and Dean gasps and writhes on the bed as Sam gently squeezes the head of Dean's cock. It's like Dean was made for sex, Sam thinks as he sits back to watch him. Every gasp and twist and moan is just-- How did Sam miss this before?
He ignores the pesky part of his mind that whispers brothers and crawls down Dean's body for a taste what he only got a hint of the day before.
"OH JESUS FUCK!" Dean yells when Sam wraps his lips around the head of his cock.
Sam moans a little and slides his mouth down as far as he can go without gagging. He starts bobbing his head slowly, and Dean's hands come up , his fingers threading through Sam's hair, not holding or pushing him. Just sort of there.
And, okay, Sam doesn't really have all that much experience in this area, but he has a general idea of what feels good, so he moves down as far as he can go, pressing his tongue up against Dean's cock.
Dean's hips buck up, catching Sam off guard, making him gag a little, which must do something right because Dean says, "Oh, shit" and is coming before Sam has pulled his mouth away.
Sam sits up, coughing and wiping come off his face. Dean looks kind of out of it for a second, but when he opens his eyes, he starts fucking laughing.
"Oh god. Sam. You should see your face." His arms are wrapped around his stomach, and he's still laughing like it's the greatest thing ever.
"I hate you so much," Sam says. He's still fully clothed and hard, and Dean just came with no warning and is laughing at him. But when he moves to get up from the bed, he suddenly finds himself pinned under Dean's body.
Dean's smile is still there, but the look in his eyes is overwhelming in its intensity as he wedges his knee between Sam's thighs. "You're so, so good, Sammy." He leans down to lick the corner of Sam's mouth. "What do you want?"
"You," Sam whispers before he can stop himself.
"Oh, Sam." Dean's hand is unbelievably hot as it slips under the elastic of Sam's boxers and wraps around his cock. "That you always had."
Sam smiles and pulls Dean down until they're kissing again, slow and wet and perfect, and it's like coming home.
Title: give or take the subject or the verb
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: ADULT (WINCEST)
Summary: Dean and Sam have to explore their feelings in order to solve the case.
Notes: For my favoritest princess on the occasion of her birthday! JJ, I had plans! Big grand plans to write you tons of stories and drabbles, but I am far too dependent, and writing without you is hard, so this will have to do. *g*
Many many thanks on this one. Thanks and love to estrella30 for cheerleading and encouraging and providing the squee. Thanks and *squishes* to azewewish for audiencing when I freaked the hell out, even though she doesn't like Wincest. That's a friend, yo. And ♥♥♥ and undying gratitude to fryadvocate for putting up with all my obnoxious needy spazzing and handwringing and angst, for the fantastic beta, and for being totally awesome all around.
Title borrowed with apologies from the brilliant Cory Brenan's Miss Ferguson
give or take the subject or the verb
They keep a P.O. box in Omaha, and when they drive through Nebraska on their way to Tennessee, Dean decides to stop and check, though now he can't remember if it's because he thought of it, or because Sam mentioned it.
There's a big envelope from the University of Washington addressed to a Mr. Sam Winchester, and Dean feels his stomach drop.
"I didn't think it would come this soon," Sam says.
And it's just like before, with Sam not showing his fucking hand until he's halfway out the door.
"Grad school?" Dean manages to keep his voice steady. He knew this day would come. It's been over a year since Dad, and Dean knew that Sam would leave eventually. He just didn't think it'd be this soon.
"I didn't want to go back to California."
Dean nods but doesn't answer.
"Dean..." Sam is using that tone of voice, part pleading, part apologetic, part exasperated.
"C'mon, Sam." Dean clears his throat and hands the mail over. "We've still got a job to do, right?"
***
Dean drops Sam off at the airport in Nashville. Pulls up to the passenger unloading zone. He doesn't park like Sam was hoping he would. He doesn't even get out of the car. The ride there had been dead silent, and Sam didn't know how to break it. Didn't know how to apologize, or tell Dean that it wasn't him that Sam was leaving.
So Dean just pulls up to the curb and stares straight ahead as Sam unloads his stuff.
"Is this it, then?" Sam asks, bent over to peer inside the car. "If I leave, don't come back?"
Dean's closes his eyes for a moment and shakes his head. "You're not going to want to come back, Sam."
Before Sam can think of a way to respond to that, Dean smiles and says, "I'll keep in touch. Let you know about the big jobs, in case..."
Sam nods, but can't speak, because Dean's smile hurts almost as much as what he left unsaid. In case I don't come back.
***
It's amazing to Dean how quickly he falls into a solo routine. Six months pass without too much notice. There are some differences, of course. He finds his own jobs, has to rely on himself to catch the right patterns and do the right research. But it's not that big of a deal. It's always been something he could do. It just isn't a part of the job he likes all that much.
It doesn't matter. Dean is doing what he has to do. Doing the same thing he's always done, only now he's alone.
Well, not always.
There's a guy who's been following Dean's pool game all night long. Tall and lanky, with shaggy brown hair, and Dean can tell himself that he doesn't know why the guy strikes him as familiar, or why he keeps expecting green eyes where there are brown.
Dean orders another beer and waits. It isn't long before the guy walks up to Dean's table and lays his quarters. Then he gives Dean a puppy dog smile and Dean's not quite sure who's playing whom.
Another beer and Dean's pretty sure he won't care.
***
"You look like you could use a friend." Sam looks up from his beer to see a pretty girl with short blonde hair sit down across from him. She's not wearing a bra, her black tank top showing off the tattoos around her biceps, and her cocky smile is so familiar it hurts. "That or another drink. Why so glum?"
Sam grins and shakes his head. "I'm pretty sure you don't want to hear about my problems." It isn't often that Sam tries to drown his sorrows, but when it does happen, he likes to give it his all.
She cocks her head. "You never know. I was a psych major."
Which makes Sam laugh. It's been a while since that's happened.
"Or maybe I'm just trying to get into your pants, and I figure a sympathetic ear is the best way to accomplish that." She gives him a lopsided grin.
"Is that true?" Sam knows he sounds dumb, but he can't help but ask. He never gets hit on so blatantly. That's more Dean's area of expertise.
The girl gives him a slow wink and says, "I guess you'll just have to find out."
Sam takes a sip of his beer and says, "I think my family issues actually fall under abnormal psychology." He tries not to be that guy, the one who gets all issue-y in front of other people. Especially ones he just met, but tonight he can't stop thinking about Dean, about where he might be, what he might be doing, and the girl did sit down at his table.
If she's really looking to get into Sam's pants, she's going to have to work for it.
***
Dean slams the guy into the wall as soon as the motel room door shuts behind them. The guy (Josh? John? Jake?) grunts and attacks Dean's mouth as Dean works on getting him naked. Dean finally succeeds in getting the guy's shirt off, and the guy pushes away from the wall and guides them towards the bed.
The thing is, Dean's drunker than he realized, because the guy's face keeps blurring, and Dean lands on the bed with a grunt. The guy is undoing Dean's pants, and Dean sort of laughs and says, "Fuck." The room is spinning around him now. God, he's drunk.
He tries to figure out how drunk he is, and thinks that maybe it would be easier if the room would stop moving.
"You aren't going to pass out on me, are you?" the guy asks as his fingers wrap around Dean's cock, and Dean's eyes roll back at how fucking good that feels. Drunk or not, sex is always good, he decides.
"Not yet." Dean reaches and grabs the back of the guy's neck and pulls him down for another kiss. "You're not gonna mug me and run off when I do, are you?" Even as he says it, Dean groans internally as his sense of self-preservation finally kicks in. He knows better than to get this shit-faced around strangers, especially when there are still people-shaped things around that would love nothing more than to kill the Winchester boys in messy and violent ways.
Boy, Dean's mind corrects. There is only one Winchester here, and if this guy wants to slit Dean open from top to bottom, there's nobody around that's gonna stop him.
But the guy just smiles. He smiles that harmless puppy smile and Dean remembers how he got here in the first place. And then he does this thing-- a weird flick of his wrist-- and Dean stops thinking for awhile.
***
Sam's on the road again, with Dean, only Dean looks like Hank Williams III and he's chain smoking Lucky Strikes even though Sam keeps asking him to stop. And the Impala is the Impala, but in the shape of a big red truck. There's a piano in the truck bed that they're delivering for someone. It's a haunted piano, but Dean doesn't seem to care all that much that it's trying to eat Sam.
"Just play your scales!" Dean tells him as he lights another cigarette. "Practice makes perfect!"
Then they are in their motel room, and Hank-Dean is still smoking. He's using Sam's computer as an ashtray, and he keeps calling Sam 'Sammy', talking about a leprechaun that he's been hunting in a really bad, twangy Irish accent. The wallpaper has tiny pink hippos all over it, and Sam is pretty sure they're moving, but he can only see it out of the corner of his eye.
Then there is wet heat around his cock, and when Sam looks down, there's a guy between his legs, which is different, but it feels too good for Sam much to care. Especially since it's not Hank anymore, and the smell of cigarette smoke is gone.
"Oh, god." Sam threads his fingers through the guy's hair and moves his hips until the guy pins him down, which ratchets Sam's arousal up a few more notches. When Sam closes his eyes, there is nothing but the sensation, hot, wet and it's quite possibly the best blowjob that he's ever had.
The guy pulls back and swirls his tongue over the head of Sam's cock and it's just enough to set Sam off. He clenches his fingers in the guy's hair and comes. The world tilts and pauses, and when Sam sits up and opens his eyes, he expects his own room.
But the motel room is still there, as is the guy, who's rubbing his head where Sam pulled his hair. The pink hippos, however, are gone.
"Oh god." Sam runs his hand through his hair, and it's short. Too short. He pulls his hand away and looks down at the two black leather bracelets encircling his wrist where there should only be one. Then his head starts to throb, and his stomach lurches.
"Hey, man. Are you okay?"
"I, um." Sam recognizes the voice, even with the difference of hearing it from the inside, and no. This can't be happening. It's got to be some sort of illusion. "I don't think so."
"Oh, man." The guy sighs and sits back on his heels. "This isn't going to be one of those, 'I'm gay when I'm drunk but straight when I'm sober' things, is it?"
"I'm not gay!" Sam says, because, yeah, that's what he should be focusing on. At the look on the guy's face, though, he adds. "I'm bi." Because he doesn't really want to be that asshole. "Sorry. I just. Um. Really weird dream."
"You were pretty messed up last night," Guy says.
Sam's head throbs painfully as if to testify to that. "Sorry," he says again. "Can we maybe start over?"
Guy gives Sam a bashful smile that's disturbingly familiar, though for the life of him Sam can't think of why. He leans over and kisses Sam, and really, Sam was hoping for something more along the lines of a name.
Sam freezes for a moment, unsure of how to respond. Then the guy's tongue sweeps into Sam's mouth, and Sam can taste himself. But it's not Sam's come. It's Dean's, which is fucked up on so many levels because while Sam isn't hard again yet, he's pretty sure it's only a very short matter of time.
Sam groans into the kiss and leans back, lets the guy's body settle over him. Lets the guy guide the kiss. Just opens up and lets it happen as he licks the taste of Dean out of some strange guy's mouth and hopes to God that this is still a dream.
***
The first thing that Dean sees when he opens his eyes is a framed picture on a night table, taken when Dean was about eight. It's of Sam, Dad and Dean. Dad is smiling, with Sam tucked under one of his arms like he's a sack of potatoes, and Sammy's laughing and Dean...
Dean looks happy.
There's only one copy of that picture, and Sam has it. Clearly they've switched bodies somehow.
The second thing Dean sees is a girl pulling her pants on. He watches her for a moment, the smooth line of her back as she bends over to pull on her shoes. She's still topless, which Dean appreciates.
"Leaving already?" Dean stretches, and he can feel the difference in the body. For one thing, he's not completely hung over.
The girl turns and smiles. "Last night was a one-shot deal." She, regretfully, pulls on a black tank top and leans over. "Not that I wouldn't love to stay and give you another go."
Dean grins. Go, Sammy! The girl is smokin' hot, and totally not Sam's normal deal.
"But I have to get to the library," she says.
And that's one Dean hasn't heard before. "The library?"
"To work."
"Sure." Dean takes in the tattoos on her arms, her short, spiked hair, the funky amulet necklace, the jeans and combat boots she's wearing and nods. She's a librarian. "Because we're in Seattle."
The girl gives him an amused look. "I hope you and your brother work things out."
"Thanks." Dean props himself up on his elbows and watches as she leaves the room. Leave it to Sam to get a hot girl and then bore her to death with his angst. Of course, she had come home with him. Which was just one of the many weird things about this morning, because Sam doesn't generally do one-night stands.
Dean picks up the cell phone on the nightstand and searches through the names until he finds his own number and dials.
Sammy has some explaining to do.
***
"Oh god." Sam is panting, still recovering from his third orgasm in way too short a time period, (and does Dean have this kind of stamina all the time? Because he's still feeling kind of hungover...) when the phone rings.
Sam gives the guy, whose name he has yet to learn, an apologetic look as he reaches over him to grab it. "I've gotta get this."
"I'll give you a minute." The guy pushes off the bed and goes into the bathroom.
"Dean," Sam hisses as soon as the bathroom door closes.
"Hey, so your psychic abilities transferred, huh?"
And, wow, Sam didn't know his voice could sound that color of obnoxious. "What the hell happened, Dean?"
There's a snort on the other end, and then Dean says, "Apparently you've stepped up your game, Sammy. Because the girl that just left here... Damn."
"What?" Maybe Sam really is still dreaming, because he can't believe that this is the conversation right now.
"I'm just sayin', I'm surprised. She didn't really seem like your type."
Sam glances at the bathroom door, and thinks he can hear the shower running. He gets up and finds the guy's jeans on the floor, hoping for a wallet. "I woke up with a guy sucking my cock. You really want to talk about types right now?"
Dean coughs. "Uh, what if I told you he was a girl last night?"
"Not unless he was in drag. So, uh. No." Sam tucks the phone against his shoulder as he searches through pockets. He finds the wallet in the last one he checks. The guy's name is Jason.
"Why are you whispering?" Dean asks suddenly. "Is Jake still there?"
"That's not his name. God, you're such a pig." Sam finally finds his pants and pulls them on. "And, uh. Yeah."
"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. I'm learning all sorts of things about you today." Dean sounds entirely too smug and this conversation is way off course.
"Hey, Dean. How about we talk about the part where we switched bodies? What the hell were you hunting?"
"Wait a second. What makes you think it was something I did?" He actually has the gall to sound offended.
Sam sighs and rolls his eyes. "Why don't I fly out there and we can figure this out?"
"No. There's no way you're leaving my car in the middle of bumfuck nowhere."
They are really going to have a talk about priorities one of these days, Sam thinks. "Well then you'll have to fly out here."
"Fly? Really?" Dean sounds a little freaked. "Why can't I drive?"
"It'll take too long. And I live in Seattle. I don't have a car."
"Well I can steal one," Dean says like that's a reasonable solution.
"That'll take too long." Sam glances over his shoulder when he hears the shower shut off. "Look, just get a ticket and get out here. Give me a call when you arrive."
"Sammy--"
"If you crash and die, you can always come reclaim your body."
"Not funny," Dean says after a moment. "And don't think I won't. And don't do anything stupid while you're in my body."
Sam boggles. "You're the one telling me that? I can't believe this."
"I'm serious, Sammy. I want it as pretty as it was when I left it."
"You're so obnoxious. Just get here." Sam snaps the phone shut.
"Ex?"
Sam turns to see Jason leaning against the doorway, a towel wrapped around his waist, and feels himself getting hard again. Oh my god, Dean, are you for real? "Brother, actually."
"Older or younger?"
"Depends." Sam laughs a little. "Mentally or physically?"
Jason smiles and sits down on the edge of the bed. "You guys get along?"
"I guess. I mean, we fight and stuff. I let him down a lot, I think." Sam rubs the back of his neck and looks away. "I'd do anything for him."
"He's on his way here?" There's an odd tone in Jason's voice. Sam would say 'coy' if he were talking to a girl.
"On his way from Seattle," Sam says.
"So it'll be awhile, then?"
Sam knows he should be doing research, finding out what did this to them and what will switch them back. He should be ready with ideas when Dean shows up, but then Jason smiles, and Sam knows that none of that is going to happen.
***
Dean picks a pair of flannel pants up off the floor and pulls them on, and walks out into the living room.
"Hey, there, hot stuff."
"Jesus!" Dean clutches his chest and stumbles back a few steps.
There's a cute brunette sitting cross-legged on the couch, eating a bowl of what appears to be Lucky Charms. She snorts and says, "Jumpy much?"
"Uh, sorry. You startled me," Dean says slowly.
She gives him a no shit look as she picks up the remote and mutes the T.V. "I talked to the landlord about our water heater. He says he can come on Wednesday. I have class, but I was totally going to skip anyway, so I can be here."
"Right. Cool." Dean tries to remember if Sam ever mentioned having a roommate, but they don't really ever talk about that stuff. The stuff revolving around Sam's "normal life".
"So..." The girl tilts her head and gives him a coy smile.
Dean's really not sure where this is going, so he claps his hands together and rocks back on his heels. "So."
She throws a couch pillow at him. "You so got laid last night!" She seems excited.
"Maybe."
"Ahhh. She was hot, Sam!"
Dean laughs. "You sound surprised."
"That you could get a hot girl? No. That you would actually bring her home? Yes." She rolls her eyes. "You're such a goddamn monk."
"Yes! Thank you!" Dean feels somewhat vindicated hearing that from someone else. "God, tell me about it!"
The girl smirks and wrinkles her brow. "You feeling alright?"
"All that sex must have gone to my head." Dean winks and sits down next to her. "Actually, I'm leaving town for a few days."
She loses her smile. "Is something wrong?"
"Ah, family thing. My brother seems to have gotten himself into a situation. I need to meet up with him in Iowa as soon as possible."
"Iowa?" She waits for him to say more, and when he doesn't, does this little Okay, whatever move with her shoulders and unfolds into a standing position. "Want me to order your airline tickets while you shower?" She asks as she walks to the kitchen to deposit her bowl in the sink.
Dean turns and sniffs his armpit and smiles. "That was subtle."
She turns back to him and winks. "Actually this works out great. Amy and I are going out again tonight, and I think she might actually put out this time."
"Really?" Sam's roommate is a hot lesbian? Go Sammy!
"Seriously, Sam," she said as she sat back down with her laptop. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, why?"
She bites her lip and gives him an odd look. "I don't think I've ever seen you leer before."
Dean clears his throat and stands up. "I’m gonna go get a shower now."
***
Jason leaves mid-morning, but it's somewhere around the middle of the day when Sam finally rallies enough to get up, showered and dressed. He's actually tempted to stay in bed all day. He feels warm and sated and strangely content. But he's also hungry, so he ventures out of the motel room and into the nearest diner.
The cute waitress behind the counter eyes him as soon as he walks in the door, which just makes Sam feel a little self-conscious. He's not used to people responding to him like that, and he's not quite sure how to handle it.
He slides into the nearest empty booth and tries to look as inconspicuous as possible. Which, as it turns out, is not all that inconspicuous, because the waitress is at the table almost as soon as he's settled.
"So you're back." She gives him a wicked smile.
Sam nods, raises his eyebrows, and says, "I guess I am."
"What can I get you?"
"Uh. Burger and fries," Sam says. It's what Dean always gets. "Oh. And some coffee."
Her smile fades a little. "Sure thing, sweetheart."
Sam feels like he's missing something as she walks off. He mentally shrugs as he gets up to go to the bathroom.
As he's washing his hands, he hears the door open and close, then the click of the lock sliding into place.
Sam looks over his shoulder to see the waitress standing there. "I, uh. I think this is the men's room."
She smiles and nods. "I wasn't sure you'd be back in."
"Well, here I am," Sam says stupidly.
The waitress nods again. "I want to make sure we're on the same page."
"Okay."
"I want to fuck you. Right now."
Sam's not actually sure how this switch between him and Dean works, but some part of Dean's overdeveloped lizard brain must have been left behind, because instead of making his excuses or apologies and ducking out of there as quickly as possible, Sam just cocks his head, smiles and drawls, "Sure thing, darlin'. All you had to do was ask."
***
"You look nervous."
Dean looks up at the girl who sits down next to him and tries to smile, but the plane is going to be taking off soon and he really does hate flying.
"I hate flying."
He'd tried distracting himself with music, since Hot Lesbian Roommate had thrown Sam's ipod into his bag, but, really. After flipping through the playlists, Dean realized he had failed Sam somewhere along the way. His brother had the most depressing taste in music ever.
"Really? A big guy like you?"
When Dean looks over, he sees that the girl is smiling, and she's pretty cute. He blows his bangs out of his face and tries to smile again. "Ah, well. We all have our Achilles heel, right?"
And where the fuck had that come from?
But amazingly enough, the girl smiles and holds out her hand. "I'm April."
"Dean. Ah. Sam." Dean winces a little at his slip. He probably could have stayed with Dean.
April laughs. "Which is it?"
"Sam. My name's Sam, but some of my buddies call me Dean. Uh, it's a whole thing." He waves his hand. "Did I mention I hate flying?"
"You did." She places her hand on his knee and smiles again, and Dean realizes she's completely eating this up. "I'll hold your hand when we take off if you want."
Dean's laugh sounds nervous even in his own ears. "Be careful, I might take you up on that." And then, "You wouldn't think I’m completely lame?"
"Not at all." She moves her hand from his knee to lace her fingers through his. "Wow. You have huge hands." Her tongue darts out to wet her lips and damn.
Dean is so in.
"You know what would really take my mind off my nervousness?" He asks as the stewardess starts her safety lecture.
A look of annoyance crosses April's face. "Let me guess. Joining the Mile High club?"
"Uh." Dean blinks and hopes he has Sam's startled right. "I was actually going to say 'driving'." He tries for adorably clueless next. "Mile High club?"
April blushes. "You know..." She waves her free hand and waggles her eyebrows.
Dean shakes his head.
So she leans over and whispers her explanation, and, really. Dean's going to hell for enjoying this so much. When she leans back, he tries to look embarrassed.
He slouches down in his seat a little, like he's seen Sam do, and says, "I don't think there'd be enough room for me to do that in those bathrooms."
April laughs, and it's such a happy sound that Dean joins her. Until they start to move.
"Oh, god." Dean closes his eyes and leans his head back, flirting momentarily forgotten.
"Hey."
April untangles their fingers, and when Dean looks over, and she's spreading a blanket over their laps. "You're right," she says. "You wouldn't fit in the bathroom."
"Oh." Dean licks his lips. "Oh," he says again when she starts to undo his pants under the blanket.
"Do you want me to stop?"
She's got his fly open, and she's rubbing his cock through his boxers, and Dean thinks he might really like this girl.
"I really kinda don't."
"See." April's got her back turned to the aisle, and Dean hopes that nobody else can see what's going on. "I think that you just need something positive to associate with flying."
Dean leans back and closes his eyes again. "Amen to that."
***
Sam is out of bed and on his feet before he realizes that the knocking on the door is what woke him up.
"Dude, you better be in there!" And it's weird to hear his voice with Dean's particular inflection.
A glance down at his cell phone reveals that he's missed some calls. "Crap."
"I mean it, Sammy! If you're not there, I'm going to hunt you down and-- Aw, hell. I can't even do anything to you. Dammit, Sam!"
Sam pulls on his jeans and opens the door. And, wow. There's weird and surreal and this is not happening, and then there's looking at your brother's annoyed expression on your own face which reaches a whole new level of fucked up.
"Hey, Dean."
Dean shakes his head a little and widens his eyes. "Oh, hey there, Sammy!" he says brightly. "How are you? Nice weather we're having. You little shit." He punches Sam's arm as he passes him.
"Sorry." Sam scratches his neck as he closes the door behind Dean. He grabs a T-shirt as he passes Dean's bag. "I was sleeping."
"Oh, well sorry to disturb your nap." Dean sounds pissy. "Uh, Sam?"
"What?"
Sam hisses as Dean skims his fingers over Sam's lower back. When Sam twists to look at what he's touching, he sees a set of scratch marks he hadn't noticed before. "Huh."
"I'm guessing Jake didn't leave these," Dean says.
"His name wasn't Jake."
"Didn't mean to insult your boyfriend."
Sam gapes. "You're the one who brought him home! You're mad at me for sleeping with him?"
"And who's responsible for these?" Dean grabs Sam's sides over the scratch marks.
"Some waitress at that diner down the street." Sam knocks Dean's hands away and tugs the shirt on.
Dean looks annoyed for a moment, then stricken. "Aw, man. Not Cheri? The blonde with the--" He cups his hands in front of his chest.
Sam nods.
"Man." Dean looks pained. "Was she good at least? Because she looked. Well." He gestured at Sam's back. "Damn. I knew I should have seized that opportunity yesterday." He sits down on the edge of the bed and cradles his head in his hands for a moment ,then looks up. "Hey, Sammy?"
"Yeah?" Sam asks cautiously.
"Should we be weirded out that we're having sex in each other's bodies?"
Sam thinks about it for a moment then snorts. "Well, it’s not like we're masturbating." Because that would be weird. "Besides, you're the one with no sense of boundaries and a libido that won't quit." Then the full impact of Dean's question hits him. "Wait. Who'd you have sex with?"
"Some girl on the plane." Dean waves his hand. "She practically straddled me before we left the runway. I've gotta tell you, Sam. You are definitely not living up to your full potential." He suddenly looks excited. "You wouldn’t even believe it! I was just sitting there, and she had this blanket, and she just sort of--"
"Dean!" The ridiculousness of the conversation triggers a panic attack so suddenly that Sam has to pause to catch his breath. "What are we going to do?"
"Hey, whoa. Sam. We'll figure it out." Dean catches Sam's eyes and then nods. "We'll figure out what did this and find out how to switch back. Okay?"
"Okay." Sam nods. "Yeah. Okay."
"We'll figure it out," Dean says again. "We always do, right?"
"Right."
***
Dean's seen some fucked up shit in his time. It kind of comes with the territory. But this. This is some fucked up shit right here.
He watches Sam pace back and forth in the tiny confines of the motel room, and it's just. Weird. Sam moves like Sam, but not, too. And he keeps yawning, his eyelids drooping, and Dean's beginning to wonder if Sam's been drugged. It's weird to see his body in such a sleepy, Sam-like state.
Well, it's weird to be watching his body from the outside, period.
Sam takes another turn around the room and Dean goes back to flipping through Dad's journal, trying to find out what would make them spontaneously switch like that, but so far he's come up with nothing.
"Are you sure it wasn't something you've been hunting?" Sam asks for the fourth time.
"I already told you, I haven't been hunting anything that could do this. Or would do this," Dean says. "It doesn't make sense. It wouldn't make sense to involve you. And it's not." He tries to put his finger on what's bothering him, but he can't quite figure it out. "It's not exactly malevolent, is it? I mean, annoying yes, but in terms of evil?" He flips the journal closed. "It's a goddamn Disney movie."
Sam's mouth twitches into a smile. "Hey, Dean?"
"Yeah?"
"It's good to see you."
Dean raises an eyebrow and smirks, and Sam laughs in response.
"You know what I mean. It's good-- I've missed you."
There's a weird lump in Dean's throat, and he thinks that maybe Sam's body's getting sick. "It's good to see you too, Sam. And may I just say, you've never looked better?"
Sam punches Dean's arm and yawns again.
"Maybe we should get some sleep and start again tomorrow."
But Sam is already shedding his pants and crawling into bed. "I don't know why I'm so tired," he says. He falls asleep between one breath and the next.
Dean is tired, but wide awake. There's a weird current of energy thrumming through his body and Dean realizes that it's been there all day. An anxious energy, something desperate and crushing and guilty. The weird thing is, he only notices it's there because it starts to fade as he watches Sam sleep.
Suddenly Dean's too tired to think about it anymore, so he slips into bed next to Sam, ready for some rest. Dean is on the edge of sleep when the screaming starts, and he slips fully into a nightmare already in progress before he can pull himself out.
***
Consciousness comes slowly to Sam. He can feel the sunlight filtering in through the blinds, and when he opens his eyes, the room is a cheerful early-morning yellow. Sam feels an overwhelming sense of contentment as he stretches. Until he sees Dean sitting in the chair, an all-too-familiar look on his face.
It's the haunted expression that greets Sam in the mirror most mornings.
"I'm sorry," Sam says.
Dean doesn't say anything for a moment. When he does speak, his voice is rough. "Is it always like that? Sam." He leans forward and scrubs his hands over his face. "Is that what it's always like for you?"
Sam sits up and rubs his neck. "Not always. It's not always so bad." Sometimes there was just the bliss of absolute nothingness. "D'you find anything?"
"Um." Dean looks like he wants to say more, but he glances back at Dad's journal and clears his throat. "Yeah. I thinks so." He turns the book around so that Sam can see the picture and walks over to the bed. "Look familiar?"
It's a sketch of a necklace, an amulet or something. The description is brief and not big on details, but from what Sam can see, it's kind of like a monkey's paw. A "careful what you wish for" sort of thing.
Sam shakes his head. "Should it?"
Dean frowns and taps the picture. "It's the necklace your girlfriend was wearing."
"Celeste?" Sam asks, confused.
"If that was her name. So, I gotta ask you, Sam. You say anything the other night that would make her or the necklace think, 'Hey, how 'bout a body swap?'"
"I don't--" Sam stops, and he can hear the echo of his voice in his head. Sometimes I wish that Dean could see things from my perspective. "Oh god."
Dean snorts. "Okay, you know what? No more tiny blondes for you. You stick to brunettes and redheads. You hear me?"
"I'm sorry."
"Whatever. Don't start getting all guilt-stricken on me, now." Dean slaps the journal on the table and stands up. "I'm going to get a shower, and then we'll figure out where to go from here."
As soon as the bathroom door closes, Sam pulls out his cell phone and dials information. He remembers that Celeste said she was a librarian at the University, and he figures trying to call her is worth a shot. She probably doesn't even realize what her necklace does.
Luck seems to be on his side for once, because when he asks for her, he gets put on hold, and a few moments later, she comes on the line.
"Celeste? It's Sam," he says, hoping that maybe she won't notice the difference in his voice.
"Hey, Sam!" She sounds cheerful. "What can I do for you?"
"Um, actually. This will probably sound weird, but I wanted to ask you about your necklace."
There's a long pause, and then she says, "Wow. I don't think anyone's ever figure it out before."
Sam feels like he just swallowed a stone. "So you know, then."
"Well, yeah."
"So you cursed me on purpose!" Sam's hysteria momentarily threatens to overwhelm him. "Why would you do that?"
"It's not a curse, Sam," Celeste says, almost gently. "It's an opportunity. Here's your chance to settle things between you and Dean."
"How do I reverse it?"
"You figure things out." She sighs. "Look. I can't give you the answer to this. I don't even know it. The spell works differently each time. What I can tell you is, the desire for this-- Understanding, or whatever it is you're seeking. It had to come from both sides."
Sam makes a frustrated noise into the phone. "So what? We're supposed to explore our feelings? Have a nice heart to heart? Because I gotta tell you, that's not exactly our family's m.o."
"Then you'll have to find some other way."
"And if we killed you? Destroyed the necklace?"
"This isn't the kind of deal that some salt and holy water's gonna solve. Look. I've got spazzing undergrads with term papers that need my attention. Just explore your feelings and go with it. Good luck, Sam." She hangs up without another word, and Sam is left staring at the phone.
He flops back down on the bed and tries to think of a way to break the news to Dean. Luckily, he has time, as it seems Dean is intent on using up all of the hot water.
***
It's weird, Dean thinks. The differences that he notices between his body and Sam's. He would have thought that he would notice the height difference, or that the hair would bother him. But it's kind of like a Quantum Leap thing. He's acclimated to Sam's body in those ways.
What he notices is that Sam's skin is way more sensitive than his. When he turns in the shower to wet his hair, the water hitting the small of his back makes him suck in a breath at the sensation. When he runs his soapy hands over his chest, his nipples harden under his finger tips, and this body really is wasted on Sam.
Dean's mind starts to wander as he thinks of how great sex would be with a body this responsive. Not a quickie on a plane, but sex sex. Like sweaty, dirty marathon sex.
He trails his fingers down his stomach and imagines it's someone's tongue. And without consciously thinking about it, it switches to his tongue, and Dean's thinking about what he could do to a body this responsive. How it would arch into his touch.
He can imagine the helpless whine caught in the back of the throat, the hitch of his breath. The way Sam's neck would arch back as Dean licked at his throat. Dean's hand drops to his cock, and he catalogs every sensation. Moves his fingers in a way that makes his hips twitch forward, and imagines Sam's mouth in an 'o' of surprise as Dean seeks out all of his most sensitive spots.
And Dean can see Sam's eyes fluttering closed, hear the break in his voice as he begs Dean to let him come, and Dean swipes his thumb over the head of his cock and unexpectedly comes, shaking and bracing his hand against the wall of the shower stall.
Two and a half seconds later, the full horror of what he's just done hits him. "Oh, god."
Dean shuts off the water and grabs the towel. Wraps it around his waist without bothering to dry off. "Oh god," he says again.
The mirror is foggy, so Dean swipes his hand across it. His blurry reflection reveals Sam in a way that Dean hasn't seen him. His hair curls in wet strands around his face. His lips are parted and pink, and his pupils are dark.
Dean's grateful when the mirror fogs back up. I am so fucked.
***
Sam stretches out on the bed as he waits for Dean to finish up in the bathroom and tries to think about how he's feeling. Right now sleepy and content are winning out, and it takes Sam way too long to realize that, hey, that might be important.
His anxiety is gone. His desire to get the hell away, to put some distance between him and Dean. And, wow. Sam never fully realized that was even there. Had never consciously though, "I need to get away from Dean." Because he'd never wanted that. Not really. Except for the part where he apparently did.
When Dean comes out of the bathroom, he doesn't meet Sam's gaze, which gives Sam the opportunity to watch him as he digs around for something to wear. And it really is different in Dean's body. This response, because a sense of completeness blooms in his chest at the thought that they're in this together. Here together, finally, his body says.
Sam wonders if Dean really feels like that. If Sam's presence makes him feel this, or if this is something Sam's bringing to the table that he's just now able to recognize without the fear. Which brings up the question. Why do you scare me so much, Dean?
Dean looks up and for a moment Sam worries that he actually said it out loud. But then Dean's forehead wrinkles as he gives Sam an annoyed look. "What?"
"We need to talk about our feelings," Sam says.
"Not gonna happen, Dr. Phil." Dean doesn't even miss a beat.
"I talked to Celeste."
"And what'd mojo girl have to say?" Dean asks as he pulls on his jeans. Then, "Seriously, Sam. Do they not make jeans in your size, or do you just get them big so that there's at least the illusion you have balls?"
"She said we need to work things out, which is going to be real easy with you being such a complete bitch. What the hell?"
Dean gives him a mean smirk and says, "Just playing the part, Sam."
Sam feels his spine stiffen as he frowns. "Glad you're enjoying yourself."
"Not as much as you have been."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
It looks like Dean's spoiling for a fight, and Sam can feel himself responding with a sudden surge of adrenaline, because if that's how Dean wants to play it, it is so on.
Then Dean's shoulders slump and he shakes his head. "Nothing. I'm sorry. I think I'm just freaking out a little."
"Fight or flight," Sam mutters.
"Well we know which one you pick."
And Sam feels that like a sucker punch, because it's true.
Dean's head snaps up, like he's just realized what he said. "I mean. I know, now. I feel like I just. Like I need to get out of here." The expression on his face is completely unreadable. "What the hell are you so afraid of?"
Sam rubs his hand over his face, surprised to find stubble, and says, "I wish I knew."
***
Dean tries to ignore the sound of the shower and concentrate on the task at hand. Which is, as Sam so annoyingly put it, sorting out his feelings. And he's pretty sure that feeling like he'd like to kill something right now doesn't count.
He tries not to think about what happened earlier during his shower. Tries not to think about what Sam's thinking about now as he showers. Sometimes repressing is the best policy for everyone involved.
So, Dean tries to sort out his other feelings. But the thing is, if he's understanding this correctly, his feelings are all mixed in with Sam's. Some of it's obvious. The anxiety is foreign to him. This constant low buzz of whatever that itches under Dean's skin. He tries to remember if it felt like this in Seattle, but he was too preoccupied with everything else to notice.
Under that, though, there's the feeling of home. That feeling that Dean's always associated with Sam. So he guesses that's his. He tries to think of what is home to Sam. Different things flash in his mind. That house in Texas that they were in for almost a year, California, Jessica, Seattle. But none of those things register in his gut as, Yes, here. This is where I belong. And Dean thinks, hopes, maybe, that it's because Sam's gut realizes that where he belongs is with Dean, even if his mind doesn't.
"Oh, screw this," Dean mutters to himself. There's no way they're going to solve anything by getting all touchy feely. This Celeste chick is probably some obnoxious emo demon who gets her rocks off by having them go all Very Special Oprah before she peels their skin from their bodies and fashions herself a new pair of boots.
Not going to happen.
Sam's still in the shower, so Dean leaves him a note. Going for food.
Maybe he'll have a shot with the waitress in Sam's body. Wouldn't that be interesting?
***
Sam showers as quickly as possible. He doesn't bother to shave, partially because he doesn't feel like bothering, partially because he's always secretly liked Dean's scruffy look.
The point of the switch, if Celeste is to be believed, is to understand what it's like to be Dean, but Sam is still having trouble understanding his own feelings. He keeps going over the things he told Celeste. How he didn't want to be tied to the family business. How he wanted to be his own person.
He thinks about what he never said. That he doesn't know who he is without Dean. And that might be the crux of Sam's problem. The reason he keeps running away. Because the thing is, he doesn't want to be away. He doesn't want to leave Dean alone, and he doesn't really want to go to school anymore.
But sometimes it feels like Sam is so wrapped up in Dean that he doesn't know if he can survive without him. So Sam needs to prove to himself that he can.
The thing is, there's a difference between surviving and living.
Sam thinks that maybe a good place for them to start is by telling Dean that he doesn't really want to go back to school. That the past six months have pretty much sucked, but when he opens the bathroom door, Dean is gone.
There's a note that says he's gone for food, and Sam hopes that he brings it back to the room, because Sam's starting to feel a bit hungry himself. He digs through Dean's bag and finds a clean pair of underwear. Boxer-briefs, because Dean's jeans are too tight for regular boxers.
As he's pulling them on, he catches his reflection in the mirror on the dresser, and it's weird all over again. Like he could almost forget that he was in Dean's body, or, at least he could relegate it to some abstract awareness in the back of his mind. But now he's standing in front of the mirror, and he's in Dean's body. In his underwear. Which isn't anything he hasn't seen before. It's just funny.
Sam makes a face. Crosses his eyes and sticks out his tongue. He laughs and then does a serious face. Bends over and flexes. "Rawr. I will kick your ass, bad demony things. For I am Dean!" He thumps his chest with his fist.
The truth is, part of Sam has always envied and admired Dean. He's always wondered what it would be like to be him. To be able to pull off the confident swagger and cocky grin. To be the guy that waitresses cornered in the bathroom for a quick fuck because he's just that hot.
"You wanna fuck me, don't you?" Sam straightens and flexes his shoulders back. Rolls his head to the side and smiles. "You totally want to fuck me."
"Are you propositioning me or yourself?"
Sam literally jumps, and turns to find Dean standing at the door, holding a bag of food. "Jesus, Dean! Make some noise."
Dean closes the door behind him and smiles. "I did. Maybe you were just a little too preoccupied to hear it." He sets the food down on the dresser and crosses his arms over his chest. "You didn’t answer my question."
"What? Am I propositioning you?" Sam narrows his eyes at him. "You're totally narcissistic enough to want to fuck yourself, aren't you?"
Dean's still smiling, but there's a calculating look in his eyes. "You've got to admit, it's an interesting concept."
Sam licks his lips, and of course Dean's stupid, treacherous, horny body responds to the suggestion. "God, Dean." He's getting hard, wishing he had more than just underwear on.
Dean's just standing there, and it's Sam's face he's looking at, but the eyes give it away. It is all Dean behind those eyes.
"Is it always like this for you?" Sam sways towards Dean a little. "Is it always this urgent?"
Dean licks his lips and shakes his head. "No."
And it's like Sam isn't even in control any more. He grabs Dean's neck and presses against his body, brings Dean down for a kiss, and it seems appropriate that Dean should be bigger than Sam for this. Dean's always been larger than life.
"Sam," Dean whispers against Sam's lips. "What are we doing?" Even as he says it, he shoves Sam back until the edge of the dresser is pressed against Sam's thighs.
"Figuring things out."
***
Dean presses Sam up against the dresser as they kiss, and everything in him synchs and clicks and screams YES, and Dean gasps as he feels the dresser bite into his thighs. When he opens his eyes, it's Sam with Sam's face smiling back at him, and they both laugh.
"It can't be that easy," Sam whispers. He still has Dean pinned against the dresser, and Dean is still aching and hard, his fingers are tangled in Sam's hair.
Dean closes his eyes again, brushes his lips against Sam's. "You think this is going to be easy?" He slips his hand up under Sam's shirt and scratches his thumbnail across his nipple, and Sam's breath hitches just like Dean imagined it would.
"Right now I think it's kind of hard," Sam says, and Dean laughs.
"That was bad, Sammy."
Sam brings his hand up to cup the side of Dean's face and kisses him again. Dean just tilts his head back and lets him, because all Dean ever wanted was for them to be together. Not this necessarily. The 'how' never really mattered to him. Just that Sam was there.
"Dean," Sam says his name in a trembling voice, his breath hot against Dean's lips.
When he doesn't say anything else, Dean opens his eyes, and Sam has this serious look on his face.
"I don't want to go back. To school."
"You don't?" Dean's a little thrown. Why are they even talking about this now?
Sam shakes his head. "It's not what I want anymore. It's not where I belong."
Dean licks his lips and nods, reaches down and starts undoing Sam's pants. "Where do you belong?"
Sam gives him a, I can't believe you're that fucking slow look, and Dean feels like he's just been knocked on his ass, completely stupid, but really kind of happy about it.
"So we gonna do this or what?" Dean asks.
It takes a moment for him to catch up as Sam manhandles him away from the dresser and onto the bed. Then Sam is yanking down Dean's underwear and wrapping his hand around Dean's cock, so Dean takes that as a yes.
"I would give you shit for this," Sam says in this rough, scratchy voice. "But you really do have the most overactive cock known to man."
"Mmmm." Dean bites his lip and digs his fingers into Sam's shoulders as Sam slowly strokes him off. "I'm... Oh god." He arches into Sam's touch. "I'm very high maintenance."
Sam grins. "I think I can handle it."
***
Sam leans down and licks at Dean's throat to taste the saltiness of his skin, and Dean gasps and writhes on the bed as Sam gently squeezes the head of Dean's cock. It's like Dean was made for sex, Sam thinks as he sits back to watch him. Every gasp and twist and moan is just-- How did Sam miss this before?
He ignores the pesky part of his mind that whispers brothers and crawls down Dean's body for a taste what he only got a hint of the day before.
"OH JESUS FUCK!" Dean yells when Sam wraps his lips around the head of his cock.
Sam moans a little and slides his mouth down as far as he can go without gagging. He starts bobbing his head slowly, and Dean's hands come up , his fingers threading through Sam's hair, not holding or pushing him. Just sort of there.
And, okay, Sam doesn't really have all that much experience in this area, but he has a general idea of what feels good, so he moves down as far as he can go, pressing his tongue up against Dean's cock.
Dean's hips buck up, catching Sam off guard, making him gag a little, which must do something right because Dean says, "Oh, shit" and is coming before Sam has pulled his mouth away.
Sam sits up, coughing and wiping come off his face. Dean looks kind of out of it for a second, but when he opens his eyes, he starts fucking laughing.
"Oh god. Sam. You should see your face." His arms are wrapped around his stomach, and he's still laughing like it's the greatest thing ever.
"I hate you so much," Sam says. He's still fully clothed and hard, and Dean just came with no warning and is laughing at him. But when he moves to get up from the bed, he suddenly finds himself pinned under Dean's body.
Dean's smile is still there, but the look in his eyes is overwhelming in its intensity as he wedges his knee between Sam's thighs. "You're so, so good, Sammy." He leans down to lick the corner of Sam's mouth. "What do you want?"
"You," Sam whispers before he can stop himself.
"Oh, Sam." Dean's hand is unbelievably hot as it slips under the elastic of Sam's boxers and wraps around his cock. "That you always had."
Sam smiles and pulls Dean down until they're kissing again, slow and wet and perfect, and it's like coming home.