Crack: Inner Child (1/1)
Title: Inner Child
Author: Bella Temple
Category: SPN, Gen, crack
Rating: Teen
Warnings: Uh. Let's just say I apologize to teenaged girls everywhere?
Spoilers: None
Characters: Sam, Dean, OFCs
Disclaimer: The characters and basic premise within are property of Warner Bros, Eric Kripke, etc. No money is being made off this work of fiction.
Author's note: I can't even begin to explain this one.
Summary: Dean gets possessed by a thirteen year old girl. Sort of.
Sam swept into the motel room at six am, bearing two steaming cups of coffee and a box of fresh donuts, to find Dean just starting to stir. He stood at the foot of Dean's bed, a slight smirk on his face, and watched as his brother pushed the covers back just far enough to get his nose in the air, his nostrils flaring.
"Donuts," he mumbled.
"Nothing gets past you," Sam moved to set breakfast on the table. "Krispy Kremes. Fresh from the oven. So get your ass out of bed."
Dean wasn't paying a whole lot of attention, though. He stuck one hand out of his bundle of bedding, groping in the general direction of the nightstand. "You said 'ass'." His hand finally landed, splayed out flat against the nightstand, and Dean cracked open one eye to peer at it. Sam looked on with a smirk. Hungover Dean was always good for a bit of morning amusement. "Did I oversleep?" He pushed at the covers half-heartedly, smacking his lips and scowling like he tasted something funny. Since Sam hadn't heard him brush his teeth the night before after he stumbled in, he figured his brother's mouth had to be pretty foul, right now. Dean gave the nightstand another flat-palmed thump, this one decidedly peevish. "Where's my sigg?"
Sam frowned, blinking and looking off into the corner of the room. "Uh. Probably in the trunk?"
Dean had his face burrowed in the pillows again, but Sam could make out a muffled "The trunk?"
"Yeah. With the other guns you barely use."
He watched as Dean picked his head up, frowned at the pillow, then widened his eyes. He spun suddenly, staring around the motel room like he'd never seen it before. Staring at Sam like he'd never seen him before.
And then Dean started screaming.
Apparently, it was going to be one of those mornings.
* * *
Dean made it to the bathroom before Sam could get over his surprise enough to do more than blink at him. He slammed the door behind him, and Sam suspected that if his brother hadn't still been screaming, he'd've heard a distinct click of the lock. Once there was a barrier between them more solid then a motel sheet, Dean's screams went from unintelligible, frantic vowel sounds to actual words.
"Stay away from me, you -- you freak! Help! Heeeeeelp!"
"Dean!" Sam flattened his hands against the door, leaning his weight on it. "Dean, calm down!"
"Pervert! Someone help!" Loud thumping began to echo through the bathroom and Sam cursed softly, hoping there was no one in the next room.
"Dean, come on!"
"I've been kidnapped! Heeeeeelp!"
"You have not! Jesus, Dean, just calm down, it's me!"
"Stop calling me that! Help! He's got guns! He's got -- omigod."
Sam bit his lip and tried the doorknob. It didn't budge.
"What did you do to the mirror?!"
The mirror? "I didn't do anything!"
"What did -- how -- OH MY GOD." Dean's breathing sped up, panicked. "You -- how -- I --"
There was a thump, more panicked breathing, then the sound of small, motel-issue toiletries hitting the floor. Then silence. Sam held his breath. After a long moment, he heard the lock turn, and the door cracked open. Dean peered through at him, his one visible eye wide and shocky, and Sam did his best to look harmless.
"I'm a guy," Dean whispered.
"Uh." Sam said intelligently. "Yes."
"I'm a guy," Dean hissed, like Sam clearly hadn't heard him properly. "With stubble and -- and -- and a thing!" The last word came out as a squeak, and Sam had to remind himself in no uncertain terms that there was something wrong with his brother, and it wouldn't be nice or helpful for him to start laughing.
"A thing?"
The door widened slightly and one of Dean's hands appeared, pointing in the direction of his crotch. "A thing! And other things!"
"You mean your balls?"
Dean yelped and slammed the door shut.
Yep. Definitely one of those mornings.
* * *
"So," Dean was saying through the closed door. Sam was sitting now, his back against the wall, and Dean's voice was level with his own. He pictured him there, sitting crosslegged, trying not to put his hands anywhere near his crotch. Or possibly fondling himself. "You're telling me I'm a guy."
"Actually, you told me that."
"And I'm your brother."
"Yes."
"I don't have a brother. I have a big sister. She's mean."
Sam sighed. "I think you're possessed."
"Like on TV?"
"Uh. Yeah. You're in the body of my brother."
"How?"
Well, you're probably dead, for starters, "I'm not sure. What's your name?"
There was a pause. "Dina."
Sam blinked. "You're kidding."
"Most people call me Dee."
Well, okay, so that just upped the probability of this being some kind of alternate reality Dean. Or Dean just went insane. "You got a last name?"
Dean -- Dee, rather -- snorted. "Like I'm gonna tell you,"
"Why not?"
"Duh. I don't know who you are."
"I'm Sam Winchester."
"Yeah, that helps,"
Sam bit back an angry grunt. "What do you want me to say?"
"I don't want you to say anything! I want my alarm clock to go off. I want my mom to yell at me for being late. I even wanna take my English test! I wanna go home!"
Sam sighed. "Okay. And we're working on that. But I'm going to need some more information, first."
"Like what?"
"Like about you. What's the last thing you remember."
Sam could practically hear his brother's eyes roll. "Saying 'like what?'"
Sam grit his teeth. "The last thing before you woke up and started screaming."
"I went to bed."
He sighed again. "Okay, before that. Did you do anything weird yesterday? Anything at all?"
". . . No,"
It was funny, hearing the obvious hedge in Dean's voice. He was usually so good at lying. "You sure about that?"
". . . Yes."
"Because it might help."
Silence.
"Look, whatever it is, I'm not going to think you're crazy, okay? My brother and I, we handle stuff like this all the time."
"He gets possessed a lot?"
"Okay, so not exactly like this. Still."
There was a long pause, then Sam heard a soft sniff. "You'll laugh at me."
"I won't. I promise."
He heard Dean shifting around, and the door cracked open, again. Dean was on his knees, leaning his head against the door jamb. "Swear."
"I swear."
The door shut. "I don't believe you."
Sam thunked his head against the wall.
* * *
He finally got Dean -- Dee -- whoever out of the bathroom, mostly by promising on everything the person in his brother's body thought he might find holy -- including his "thing" -- that he'd stay back. She -- he -- whoever was sitting crosslegged on the bed, one of Sam's flannel shirts -- the closest article of clothing to the bathroom -- wrapped tightly around Dean's otherwise bare chest. It was large on his brother's body, and Dee had pulled it down over Dean's hands and was turtling into the collar and hugging a pillow.
It made Dean look, well. Like a twelve year old girl.
"Okay. Where do you live?"
"Not telling you that."
"If you tell me, I might be able to find your body."
"Pervert."
"I'm not a --" He was arguing with a teenaged girl possessing his older brother. God, his life was weird. "Look. I swear . . . on my dick . . ."
Dee snorted a giggle.
". . . That I'm not a pervert, and I'm not out to get you or kidnap you or rob your family or anything. I just want my brother back."
Dee nodded slowly, looking down at the sleeves of the flannel, then back up at Sam.
"Angie lost my sigg."
Sam blinked. "What?"
"That's what's weird. About yesterday. Angie borrowed my sigg and she went on a date and she lost it and tried to pretend she didn't by getting me a new one. But it wasn't mine. Mine has my name on it, on the bottom and says 'T&D, TLF' on the lid. And the new one didn't."
Sam frowned, trying to follow all that. "Angie is. . . ?"
"My sister. She's a bitch. Don't tell my mom I said that."
"I, uh. I won't. And a sigg. I'm assuming you don't mean Sauer?"
"Huh?"
"SIG Sauer is a company that makes handguns."
"Oh." Dee chewed Dean's lip. "How do you know so much about guns?"
Sam went with the most non-threatening answer he could think of. "My dad was a marine."
"Oh," Dee said again. "I'm talking about a sigg, though. It's a bottle."
". . . Like a baby bottle?"
"I'm not a baby!" She huffed, and Sam twitched, holding back a laugh and wishing he could snap pictures of that expression on Dean's face without freaking Dee out further. "It's a water bottle. They're aluminum and they don't off-gas into your drink and they're reusable and they come in all these neat designs like Hello Kitty."
"Hello Kitty."
"Don't tell me you don't know what Sanrio is,"
"Was your, uh, sigg a Hello Kitty one?"
Another huff. "No. Mandy has a Hello Kitty one. If I got one of those, everyone would think I was copying her."
Sam decided he was glad that he never had to deal with water-bottle politics when he was in high school. "Okay."
"Mine was white with brown and blue cartoons on it. Like a flying iPod and a cute little skull and crossbones and stuff."
"Uh . . . huh."
"And Angie stole it and she lost it so she got me a new one but it wasn't my sigg and she tried to say it was and that I was just pretending I wrote my name on it, or that the name washed off but it couldn't because I used permanent marker."
Sam had a feeling they'd gotten off on a tangent. "Right. So. Not yours. And that's the only weird thing that happened? Your sister was mean?"
"And the water in it tasted funny."
Aha. "Funny how?"
"Like a penny."
Copper. Blood, maybe. "Where'd Angie get it?"
"How should I know?"
"Well . . . where'd she go on her date?"
"I dunno, some skeezy bar or something."
"How old is your sister?"
"Nineteen. But she has a fake ID. I'm not supposed to know she has a fake ID, but I do. Don't tell her I know,"
"I won't." Sam looked around for Dean's jeans and found them tossed into the corner by the trash can. He grabbed them, shook them out, then tossed them onto the foot of Dean's bed. "Get dressed."
"Why?"
"We're gonna go find this bar. See if we can get you back where you belong."
* * *
Dee wrinkled Dean's nose at the sight of the Impala. "This car's really old."
Sam snorted, then coughed hard into one hand. His kingdom for a tape recorder. "It's a classic."
"That's just a fancy word for old." She climbed in, pulling one leg up onto the seat and kicking the cassette box. "What the hell is that?"
Sam slid in behind the wheel, thankful Dean had left the keys out the night before. "Tapes."
"You don't have a CD player?"
Sam started the engine. "Uh, no. Old car, remember?"
"God. Stone aged, more like it."
"Yeah, well, it's my brother's."
"I can't believe a guy this hot has a car this old."
Sam froze in the act of backing out of the parking space, then doubled over.
"Are you okay?"
He grinned into the steering wheel, squeezing his eyes shut. "Fine."
"You sure?"
"Uh huh." Oh god. Oh god, why couldn't he get any of this on tape? Oh god.
"Is it 'cause I said your brother's hot?"
Sam snorted hard, choking down a laugh.
"Don't feel bad. You're pretty cute, too,"
Sam lost it completely.
* * *
He made Dee wait in the car while he went into the bar. While she looked like she was a man pushing thirty, she was still only . . . well, fourteen, tops, and he didn't trust her not to show her age. The place had just barely opened and was deserted, but the bartender on staff had worked the night shift the night before, something about covering for a sick colleague. Sam didn't pay much attention, just started grilling the man about Dean.
Dean had been there, which Sam already knew. Played a little pool, bought a couple drinks, flirted around a bit. The bartender had no idea if he'd left with anyone or not, even after Sam waved around a handful of bills. A complete waste of the half an hour Sam had spent waiting for the guy to finishing wiping down tables and speak to him.
He found Dee sitting on the trunk of the Impala and groaned.
"You were supposed to wait in the car."
"I got bored."
"Well, be bored in the car, next time."
That got a sigh, but she pushed off the trunk and circled around to the passenger side, slouching into the seat petulantly and tugging at the hem of Dean's gray t-shirt.
"You guys got a sewing kit in here."
Sam glanced towards the backseat as he turned the engine on. "Yep."
"Can I make a sock monkey?"
"Nope."
It turned out that Dean's bottom lip was actually really well suited to girlish pouting.
* * *
They were back in the motel and Dee was watching a rerun of Saved By the Bell when Sam's cellphone rang with a local number. He answered it hesitantly. "Yeah?"
"Sam!" A girlish voice, maybe, but there was no mistaking that tone.
"Dean, thank god."
"Sam, I'm a chick!"
"Yeah, I kinda noticed."
"This isn't funny, Sam,"
"It really is." Sam grinned, put his hand over the phone. "Hey, Dee, I'm gonna take this outside."
"Whatever," Dee shrugged, glaring. Sam stepped out into the parking lot and put the phone back to his ear.
"--swer me, you little bitch. Who the hell was that? Was that me?"
"She says her name is Dina."
"It's not funny, Sam."
"She thinks I'm cute."
"It's not funny!"
"Dude, I've spent the last eight hours with a teenaged girl in your body. It's hilarious. What the hell took you so long to call?"
The voice on the line -- Dean's, currently, though he supposed it was really Dee's -- lowered. "I had to go to school."
Sam snorted. "What?"
"Do you have any idea what kind of security those places have, now? I spent half the day in the principal's office for trying to ditch!"
"Dude, when you yell, your voice gets all shrieky."
"I fucking hate you."
"Language,"
"Seriously. Hate. Just tell me you can fix this."
"Maybe. I think it's the sigg."
"The one in the trunk? Dude, I almost never use that thing."
"No, not SIG, sigg."
". . . You lost me."
"It's a water bottle. Very eco-friendly apparently. All the rage, right now."
There was a clinking on the other end of the line. "You mean this creepy lookin' thing?"
"Dean, put it down!" Another clink. "And it's a water bottle. How is that creepy."
"Dude, it's got a paper towel roll with teeth on it. And it smells like blood."
"Yeah, I'm thinking that's probably it. Is Angie home?"
"Angie?"
"Dee's older sister."
"Ohhhh. She said her name was Angelica. I thought she was tryin' for some kind of porn name."
"Dean, tell me you didn't sleep with her."
"I didn't sleep with her --"
"Dean,"
"-- in this body."
Sam pressed his fingers to his nose. "Whatever. Just . . . where are you? Gimme the address. I'll get Dee over there and we can see if we can figure this out."
* * *
As luck would have it, Angie answered the door when Sam and Dee arrived. She was a classic Dean type, dark hair hanging just past her shoulders, pale skin, and long legs. She looked Dee up and down with obvious approval. "Well heeeeey. Guess last night wasn't enough for ya, huh, stud? And who's your friend?" She turned her gaze to Sam, grinning brightly.
A clatter of ungraceful footsteps echoed behind her, and an Angie in mini, with the addition of a hooded sweatshirt and some braces, appeared at Angie's side. "Dude! Don't hit on him!"
"Dee, go to your room."
Dee looked like she'd been sucking on a lemon. "Ew! Ew! I can't believe you're hitting on me! Ew!"
The mini-Angie's eyebrows, thicker than the full grown Angie's, shot up. "Well, that was subtle."
Angie was staring between Dee-in-Dean and Dean-in-Dee, frowning hard. Sam kind of thought he knew how she felt. "What's going on?"
Sam let out a sigh. "Can we come in? This might take some explaining."
* * *
"So. You're telling me the guy I hooked up with," Angie hooked a thumb at Dee-in-Dean, "is now my little sister," at Dean-in-Dee, "and it's all because of a water bottle?"
"Sounds stupid when you say it," Dee grumbled.
"Dude. Stop sulking with my face. You're gonna give me wrinkles."
Angie started shaking her head. "This is -- this is crazy. I'm dreaming. Right?"
"Nope." Sam shrugged. "We need to know where you got the sigg."
"It's Dee's."
"It is not! Mine has my name on it and says 'T&D, TLF'!"
"Well, they look the same to me!"
"Yeah, 'cause you're a moron," Dee slumped forward on the couch, glaring hard at Angie. Dean snickered, sprawled on the floor near Dee's -- Dean's -- Dee-in-Dean's feet. Sam rolled his eyes.
"I'm really going to need the truth here, Angie. Unless you want them to stay this way."
Angie looked from Dean, to Dee, and back again, and slowly raised one shoulder. "Well. . . ."
Dean and Dee let out simultaneous indignant squawks. Sam sighed.
"Let me put it this way. You tell me the truth, or I'm going to leave both of them with you."
Angie deflated. "Fine, okay? I lost her stinking 'sigg'. She left it in my car, and it must've fallen out when I gave my friends a ride home or something. So I went to get a new one."
"Where?"
"The pawn shop, downtown."
Dean looked up at Sam. Sam looked back down at Dean. And tried not to stare at the braces.
"Cursed sigg?" Dean asked.
"Cursed sigg," Sam agreed.
"I don't get it," Dee said. "I mean, my sigg, sure, but how did he get involved?"
Sam looked at the floor. Angie looked at the ceiling. Dean rubbed the back of his -- Dee's -- neck.
"He was kind of . . ." Angie said slowly. ". . . lying on it, a little. Last night."
"He was lying on my water bottle?"
"So that's what that was," Dean muttered.
"Just for a second! Then we put it on the floor!"
"Why was he lying on -- oh." Dee's eyes widened. Sam had never seen his brother's face turn quite that color.
Dean cleared his throat and shifted. "So. Salt and burn?"
"Salt and burn."
* * *
"That's aluminum," Angie pointed out while Dean crumpled up newspaper into the fireplace.
"It's recyclable," Dee said helpfully.
"It'll burn." Dean didn't look away from the fire he was building.
"But it's metal."
"It'll burn."
* * *
"Dude, I am so glad to be back." Dean bounced onto his bed, flopping his limbs out in every direction.
"Yeah, I got that the first time."
"I had braces, dude."
"You were, what, twelve?"
"Thirteen. Still, if Angie's anything to go by, I was gonna be a looker,"
"And now you're a pedophile."
"Dude, shut up. She said she was twenty-four. And nineteen is still legal." Dean reached up to pat his chest, let out a happy sigh, then let his hands roam lower. Sam averted his gaze. "Man, am I glad to have my boys back -- what the hell?"
Sam risked a glance. Dean had his head tilted up, his hands bunching his t-shirt below his ribs. He was staring at his navel. Sam's eyes widened, and he choked once before he realized he didn't have to keep the laughter in, any more.
"Dude, it's not funny!"
Sam tried to answer, but ended up bending over, clutching his stomach, instead.
"Dude, when the hell did she get my bellybutton pierced?!"
"Chicks dig piercings, Dean," Sam managed between gasps.
"It's sparkly!"
Sam fell off the bed.
The End
Author's note the second: In case you're curious, here is Dee's sigg.
Author: Bella Temple
Category: SPN, Gen, crack
Rating: Teen
Warnings: Uh. Let's just say I apologize to teenaged girls everywhere?
Spoilers: None
Characters: Sam, Dean, OFCs
Disclaimer: The characters and basic premise within are property of Warner Bros, Eric Kripke, etc. No money is being made off this work of fiction.
Author's note: I can't even begin to explain this one.
Summary: Dean gets possessed by a thirteen year old girl. Sort of.
Sam swept into the motel room at six am, bearing two steaming cups of coffee and a box of fresh donuts, to find Dean just starting to stir. He stood at the foot of Dean's bed, a slight smirk on his face, and watched as his brother pushed the covers back just far enough to get his nose in the air, his nostrils flaring.
"Donuts," he mumbled.
"Nothing gets past you," Sam moved to set breakfast on the table. "Krispy Kremes. Fresh from the oven. So get your ass out of bed."
Dean wasn't paying a whole lot of attention, though. He stuck one hand out of his bundle of bedding, groping in the general direction of the nightstand. "You said 'ass'." His hand finally landed, splayed out flat against the nightstand, and Dean cracked open one eye to peer at it. Sam looked on with a smirk. Hungover Dean was always good for a bit of morning amusement. "Did I oversleep?" He pushed at the covers half-heartedly, smacking his lips and scowling like he tasted something funny. Since Sam hadn't heard him brush his teeth the night before after he stumbled in, he figured his brother's mouth had to be pretty foul, right now. Dean gave the nightstand another flat-palmed thump, this one decidedly peevish. "Where's my sigg?"
Sam frowned, blinking and looking off into the corner of the room. "Uh. Probably in the trunk?"
Dean had his face burrowed in the pillows again, but Sam could make out a muffled "The trunk?"
"Yeah. With the other guns you barely use."
He watched as Dean picked his head up, frowned at the pillow, then widened his eyes. He spun suddenly, staring around the motel room like he'd never seen it before. Staring at Sam like he'd never seen him before.
And then Dean started screaming.
Apparently, it was going to be one of those mornings.
* * *
Dean made it to the bathroom before Sam could get over his surprise enough to do more than blink at him. He slammed the door behind him, and Sam suspected that if his brother hadn't still been screaming, he'd've heard a distinct click of the lock. Once there was a barrier between them more solid then a motel sheet, Dean's screams went from unintelligible, frantic vowel sounds to actual words.
"Stay away from me, you -- you freak! Help! Heeeeeelp!"
"Dean!" Sam flattened his hands against the door, leaning his weight on it. "Dean, calm down!"
"Pervert! Someone help!" Loud thumping began to echo through the bathroom and Sam cursed softly, hoping there was no one in the next room.
"Dean, come on!"
"I've been kidnapped! Heeeeeelp!"
"You have not! Jesus, Dean, just calm down, it's me!"
"Stop calling me that! Help! He's got guns! He's got -- omigod."
Sam bit his lip and tried the doorknob. It didn't budge.
"What did you do to the mirror?!"
The mirror? "I didn't do anything!"
"What did -- how -- OH MY GOD." Dean's breathing sped up, panicked. "You -- how -- I --"
There was a thump, more panicked breathing, then the sound of small, motel-issue toiletries hitting the floor. Then silence. Sam held his breath. After a long moment, he heard the lock turn, and the door cracked open. Dean peered through at him, his one visible eye wide and shocky, and Sam did his best to look harmless.
"I'm a guy," Dean whispered.
"Uh." Sam said intelligently. "Yes."
"I'm a guy," Dean hissed, like Sam clearly hadn't heard him properly. "With stubble and -- and -- and a thing!" The last word came out as a squeak, and Sam had to remind himself in no uncertain terms that there was something wrong with his brother, and it wouldn't be nice or helpful for him to start laughing.
"A thing?"
The door widened slightly and one of Dean's hands appeared, pointing in the direction of his crotch. "A thing! And other things!"
"You mean your balls?"
Dean yelped and slammed the door shut.
Yep. Definitely one of those mornings.
* * *
"So," Dean was saying through the closed door. Sam was sitting now, his back against the wall, and Dean's voice was level with his own. He pictured him there, sitting crosslegged, trying not to put his hands anywhere near his crotch. Or possibly fondling himself. "You're telling me I'm a guy."
"Actually, you told me that."
"And I'm your brother."
"Yes."
"I don't have a brother. I have a big sister. She's mean."
Sam sighed. "I think you're possessed."
"Like on TV?"
"Uh. Yeah. You're in the body of my brother."
"How?"
Well, you're probably dead, for starters, "I'm not sure. What's your name?"
There was a pause. "Dina."
Sam blinked. "You're kidding."
"Most people call me Dee."
Well, okay, so that just upped the probability of this being some kind of alternate reality Dean. Or Dean just went insane. "You got a last name?"
Dean -- Dee, rather -- snorted. "Like I'm gonna tell you,"
"Why not?"
"Duh. I don't know who you are."
"I'm Sam Winchester."
"Yeah, that helps,"
Sam bit back an angry grunt. "What do you want me to say?"
"I don't want you to say anything! I want my alarm clock to go off. I want my mom to yell at me for being late. I even wanna take my English test! I wanna go home!"
Sam sighed. "Okay. And we're working on that. But I'm going to need some more information, first."
"Like what?"
"Like about you. What's the last thing you remember."
Sam could practically hear his brother's eyes roll. "Saying 'like what?'"
Sam grit his teeth. "The last thing before you woke up and started screaming."
"I went to bed."
He sighed again. "Okay, before that. Did you do anything weird yesterday? Anything at all?"
". . . No,"
It was funny, hearing the obvious hedge in Dean's voice. He was usually so good at lying. "You sure about that?"
". . . Yes."
"Because it might help."
Silence.
"Look, whatever it is, I'm not going to think you're crazy, okay? My brother and I, we handle stuff like this all the time."
"He gets possessed a lot?"
"Okay, so not exactly like this. Still."
There was a long pause, then Sam heard a soft sniff. "You'll laugh at me."
"I won't. I promise."
He heard Dean shifting around, and the door cracked open, again. Dean was on his knees, leaning his head against the door jamb. "Swear."
"I swear."
The door shut. "I don't believe you."
Sam thunked his head against the wall.
* * *
He finally got Dean -- Dee -- whoever out of the bathroom, mostly by promising on everything the person in his brother's body thought he might find holy -- including his "thing" -- that he'd stay back. She -- he -- whoever was sitting crosslegged on the bed, one of Sam's flannel shirts -- the closest article of clothing to the bathroom -- wrapped tightly around Dean's otherwise bare chest. It was large on his brother's body, and Dee had pulled it down over Dean's hands and was turtling into the collar and hugging a pillow.
It made Dean look, well. Like a twelve year old girl.
"Okay. Where do you live?"
"Not telling you that."
"If you tell me, I might be able to find your body."
"Pervert."
"I'm not a --" He was arguing with a teenaged girl possessing his older brother. God, his life was weird. "Look. I swear . . . on my dick . . ."
Dee snorted a giggle.
". . . That I'm not a pervert, and I'm not out to get you or kidnap you or rob your family or anything. I just want my brother back."
Dee nodded slowly, looking down at the sleeves of the flannel, then back up at Sam.
"Angie lost my sigg."
Sam blinked. "What?"
"That's what's weird. About yesterday. Angie borrowed my sigg and she went on a date and she lost it and tried to pretend she didn't by getting me a new one. But it wasn't mine. Mine has my name on it, on the bottom and says 'T&D, TLF' on the lid. And the new one didn't."
Sam frowned, trying to follow all that. "Angie is. . . ?"
"My sister. She's a bitch. Don't tell my mom I said that."
"I, uh. I won't. And a sigg. I'm assuming you don't mean Sauer?"
"Huh?"
"SIG Sauer is a company that makes handguns."
"Oh." Dee chewed Dean's lip. "How do you know so much about guns?"
Sam went with the most non-threatening answer he could think of. "My dad was a marine."
"Oh," Dee said again. "I'm talking about a sigg, though. It's a bottle."
". . . Like a baby bottle?"
"I'm not a baby!" She huffed, and Sam twitched, holding back a laugh and wishing he could snap pictures of that expression on Dean's face without freaking Dee out further. "It's a water bottle. They're aluminum and they don't off-gas into your drink and they're reusable and they come in all these neat designs like Hello Kitty."
"Hello Kitty."
"Don't tell me you don't know what Sanrio is,"
"Was your, uh, sigg a Hello Kitty one?"
Another huff. "No. Mandy has a Hello Kitty one. If I got one of those, everyone would think I was copying her."
Sam decided he was glad that he never had to deal with water-bottle politics when he was in high school. "Okay."
"Mine was white with brown and blue cartoons on it. Like a flying iPod and a cute little skull and crossbones and stuff."
"Uh . . . huh."
"And Angie stole it and she lost it so she got me a new one but it wasn't my sigg and she tried to say it was and that I was just pretending I wrote my name on it, or that the name washed off but it couldn't because I used permanent marker."
Sam had a feeling they'd gotten off on a tangent. "Right. So. Not yours. And that's the only weird thing that happened? Your sister was mean?"
"And the water in it tasted funny."
Aha. "Funny how?"
"Like a penny."
Copper. Blood, maybe. "Where'd Angie get it?"
"How should I know?"
"Well . . . where'd she go on her date?"
"I dunno, some skeezy bar or something."
"How old is your sister?"
"Nineteen. But she has a fake ID. I'm not supposed to know she has a fake ID, but I do. Don't tell her I know,"
"I won't." Sam looked around for Dean's jeans and found them tossed into the corner by the trash can. He grabbed them, shook them out, then tossed them onto the foot of Dean's bed. "Get dressed."
"Why?"
"We're gonna go find this bar. See if we can get you back where you belong."
* * *
Dee wrinkled Dean's nose at the sight of the Impala. "This car's really old."
Sam snorted, then coughed hard into one hand. His kingdom for a tape recorder. "It's a classic."
"That's just a fancy word for old." She climbed in, pulling one leg up onto the seat and kicking the cassette box. "What the hell is that?"
Sam slid in behind the wheel, thankful Dean had left the keys out the night before. "Tapes."
"You don't have a CD player?"
Sam started the engine. "Uh, no. Old car, remember?"
"God. Stone aged, more like it."
"Yeah, well, it's my brother's."
"I can't believe a guy this hot has a car this old."
Sam froze in the act of backing out of the parking space, then doubled over.
"Are you okay?"
He grinned into the steering wheel, squeezing his eyes shut. "Fine."
"You sure?"
"Uh huh." Oh god. Oh god, why couldn't he get any of this on tape? Oh god.
"Is it 'cause I said your brother's hot?"
Sam snorted hard, choking down a laugh.
"Don't feel bad. You're pretty cute, too,"
Sam lost it completely.
* * *
He made Dee wait in the car while he went into the bar. While she looked like she was a man pushing thirty, she was still only . . . well, fourteen, tops, and he didn't trust her not to show her age. The place had just barely opened and was deserted, but the bartender on staff had worked the night shift the night before, something about covering for a sick colleague. Sam didn't pay much attention, just started grilling the man about Dean.
Dean had been there, which Sam already knew. Played a little pool, bought a couple drinks, flirted around a bit. The bartender had no idea if he'd left with anyone or not, even after Sam waved around a handful of bills. A complete waste of the half an hour Sam had spent waiting for the guy to finishing wiping down tables and speak to him.
He found Dee sitting on the trunk of the Impala and groaned.
"You were supposed to wait in the car."
"I got bored."
"Well, be bored in the car, next time."
That got a sigh, but she pushed off the trunk and circled around to the passenger side, slouching into the seat petulantly and tugging at the hem of Dean's gray t-shirt.
"You guys got a sewing kit in here."
Sam glanced towards the backseat as he turned the engine on. "Yep."
"Can I make a sock monkey?"
"Nope."
It turned out that Dean's bottom lip was actually really well suited to girlish pouting.
* * *
They were back in the motel and Dee was watching a rerun of Saved By the Bell when Sam's cellphone rang with a local number. He answered it hesitantly. "Yeah?"
"Sam!" A girlish voice, maybe, but there was no mistaking that tone.
"Dean, thank god."
"Sam, I'm a chick!"
"Yeah, I kinda noticed."
"This isn't funny, Sam,"
"It really is." Sam grinned, put his hand over the phone. "Hey, Dee, I'm gonna take this outside."
"Whatever," Dee shrugged, glaring. Sam stepped out into the parking lot and put the phone back to his ear.
"--swer me, you little bitch. Who the hell was that? Was that me?"
"She says her name is Dina."
"It's not funny, Sam."
"She thinks I'm cute."
"It's not funny!"
"Dude, I've spent the last eight hours with a teenaged girl in your body. It's hilarious. What the hell took you so long to call?"
The voice on the line -- Dean's, currently, though he supposed it was really Dee's -- lowered. "I had to go to school."
Sam snorted. "What?"
"Do you have any idea what kind of security those places have, now? I spent half the day in the principal's office for trying to ditch!"
"Dude, when you yell, your voice gets all shrieky."
"I fucking hate you."
"Language,"
"Seriously. Hate. Just tell me you can fix this."
"Maybe. I think it's the sigg."
"The one in the trunk? Dude, I almost never use that thing."
"No, not SIG, sigg."
". . . You lost me."
"It's a water bottle. Very eco-friendly apparently. All the rage, right now."
There was a clinking on the other end of the line. "You mean this creepy lookin' thing?"
"Dean, put it down!" Another clink. "And it's a water bottle. How is that creepy."
"Dude, it's got a paper towel roll with teeth on it. And it smells like blood."
"Yeah, I'm thinking that's probably it. Is Angie home?"
"Angie?"
"Dee's older sister."
"Ohhhh. She said her name was Angelica. I thought she was tryin' for some kind of porn name."
"Dean, tell me you didn't sleep with her."
"I didn't sleep with her --"
"Dean,"
"-- in this body."
Sam pressed his fingers to his nose. "Whatever. Just . . . where are you? Gimme the address. I'll get Dee over there and we can see if we can figure this out."
* * *
As luck would have it, Angie answered the door when Sam and Dee arrived. She was a classic Dean type, dark hair hanging just past her shoulders, pale skin, and long legs. She looked Dee up and down with obvious approval. "Well heeeeey. Guess last night wasn't enough for ya, huh, stud? And who's your friend?" She turned her gaze to Sam, grinning brightly.
A clatter of ungraceful footsteps echoed behind her, and an Angie in mini, with the addition of a hooded sweatshirt and some braces, appeared at Angie's side. "Dude! Don't hit on him!"
"Dee, go to your room."
Dee looked like she'd been sucking on a lemon. "Ew! Ew! I can't believe you're hitting on me! Ew!"
The mini-Angie's eyebrows, thicker than the full grown Angie's, shot up. "Well, that was subtle."
Angie was staring between Dee-in-Dean and Dean-in-Dee, frowning hard. Sam kind of thought he knew how she felt. "What's going on?"
Sam let out a sigh. "Can we come in? This might take some explaining."
* * *
"So. You're telling me the guy I hooked up with," Angie hooked a thumb at Dee-in-Dean, "is now my little sister," at Dean-in-Dee, "and it's all because of a water bottle?"
"Sounds stupid when you say it," Dee grumbled.
"Dude. Stop sulking with my face. You're gonna give me wrinkles."
Angie started shaking her head. "This is -- this is crazy. I'm dreaming. Right?"
"Nope." Sam shrugged. "We need to know where you got the sigg."
"It's Dee's."
"It is not! Mine has my name on it and says 'T&D, TLF'!"
"Well, they look the same to me!"
"Yeah, 'cause you're a moron," Dee slumped forward on the couch, glaring hard at Angie. Dean snickered, sprawled on the floor near Dee's -- Dean's -- Dee-in-Dean's feet. Sam rolled his eyes.
"I'm really going to need the truth here, Angie. Unless you want them to stay this way."
Angie looked from Dean, to Dee, and back again, and slowly raised one shoulder. "Well. . . ."
Dean and Dee let out simultaneous indignant squawks. Sam sighed.
"Let me put it this way. You tell me the truth, or I'm going to leave both of them with you."
Angie deflated. "Fine, okay? I lost her stinking 'sigg'. She left it in my car, and it must've fallen out when I gave my friends a ride home or something. So I went to get a new one."
"Where?"
"The pawn shop, downtown."
Dean looked up at Sam. Sam looked back down at Dean. And tried not to stare at the braces.
"Cursed sigg?" Dean asked.
"Cursed sigg," Sam agreed.
"I don't get it," Dee said. "I mean, my sigg, sure, but how did he get involved?"
Sam looked at the floor. Angie looked at the ceiling. Dean rubbed the back of his -- Dee's -- neck.
"He was kind of . . ." Angie said slowly. ". . . lying on it, a little. Last night."
"He was lying on my water bottle?"
"So that's what that was," Dean muttered.
"Just for a second! Then we put it on the floor!"
"Why was he lying on -- oh." Dee's eyes widened. Sam had never seen his brother's face turn quite that color.
Dean cleared his throat and shifted. "So. Salt and burn?"
"Salt and burn."
* * *
"That's aluminum," Angie pointed out while Dean crumpled up newspaper into the fireplace.
"It's recyclable," Dee said helpfully.
"It'll burn." Dean didn't look away from the fire he was building.
"But it's metal."
"It'll burn."
* * *
"Dude, I am so glad to be back." Dean bounced onto his bed, flopping his limbs out in every direction.
"Yeah, I got that the first time."
"I had braces, dude."
"You were, what, twelve?"
"Thirteen. Still, if Angie's anything to go by, I was gonna be a looker,"
"And now you're a pedophile."
"Dude, shut up. She said she was twenty-four. And nineteen is still legal." Dean reached up to pat his chest, let out a happy sigh, then let his hands roam lower. Sam averted his gaze. "Man, am I glad to have my boys back -- what the hell?"
Sam risked a glance. Dean had his head tilted up, his hands bunching his t-shirt below his ribs. He was staring at his navel. Sam's eyes widened, and he choked once before he realized he didn't have to keep the laughter in, any more.
"Dude, it's not funny!"
Sam tried to answer, but ended up bending over, clutching his stomach, instead.
"Dude, when the hell did she get my bellybutton pierced?!"
"Chicks dig piercings, Dean," Sam managed between gasps.
"It's sparkly!"
Sam fell off the bed.
The End
Author's note the second: In case you're curious, here is Dee's sigg.