The Rain is the Punch Line (Things Can’t Possibly Get Worse), 5/?
Fandom: Supernatural/Good Omens (crossover)
Rating: PG-13 (this chapter)
Summary: Dean had thought his life couldn’t possibly get any worse than it already was. He supposed this was his punishment for being so optimistic.
Warnings: Violence, language, crack, angst.
Chapter Four
America was not what Aziraphale expected it to be. Everything he knew about it, really, came from books and films. And the films, especially, seemed to be under the impression that it was a massive continent, empty in the middle, and bustling with cities on the coasts. It turned out that wasn’t the case at all.
Aziraphale was in Chicago because it had seemed like a good idea at the time, but it was slightly overwhelming. He seemed to have manifested somewhere in the heart of downtown. Cars whizzed by and buildings climbed high out of sight, the sun glinting off their windows. And there were people everywhere: people with cameras, and brown paper bags full of food, people leading children by the hand, (or by the leash, which was disconcerting), people arguing, people singing, people checking their phones. There were even a group of young men rapping out some beat on upside down buckets down at the street corner.
Even in the midst of all the humanity, he was having less luck finding a vessel than he had hoped. Of the few people that shone brightly enough, most reacted to his voice with fear or downright aggression. One woman had stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk and dug through her purse for a handful of multicolored pills, shaking as she dry-swallowed them and marched away.
Overall, the angel was quite discouraged. How on Earth was he supposed to find a vessel--and Crowley-in such a wide country?
“You could always try Springfield, Missouri,” someone said. Aziraphale spun around (as much as an intangible being can spin around, anyway) and saw a little old lady clutching her handbag and staring him down.
“I beg your pardon?” he said, a little flummoxed, “What’s in this Springfield place?”
The little woman drew herself up to her full height and Aziraphale got the impression of massive dark wings behind her.
“You again!” he accused, “Who are you and what is this all about?”
The old woman smiled a little. “That much is irrelevant right now,” she told him, “The important thing is that you get to Springfield. Find the Winchesters and you’ll have everything you need.”
“Winchesters?” Aziraphale repeated. The name sounded so familiar. “The demon hunters from the Gospel? I don’t understand.”
“There’s not really time right now, okay?” The woman said, “Just trust me on this. Springfield, Missouri. You’ll find the Winchesters there.”
“How can I possibly trust you? I don’t even know who you are!” Aziraphale protested, but it was too late. The little old woman was blinking back confusion. The angel had gone.
Aziraphale bit back his irritation. He very badly wanted to swear, or to throw something, or something equally drastic. But this sibling-whoever they were-had helped him before, and it was really his best lead. Springfield, Missouri it was.
*
When Sam opened up the door to his and Dean’s room at the American Inn, the first thing he noticed was Dean’s pile of research books, untouched on the table in the corner. The second thing he noticed was that the pile of blankets on the bed nearest the door appeared to be breathing.
“Dean, what are you doing?” He asked, his voice falling somewhere between berating and cajoling. “I’ve been gone for the last half hour, have you seriously not looked at any of those books?”
Dean’s head popped out from under the blankets. “Did you bring food?” he demanded, “My stomach is killing me.”
“That is why I left, Dean,” Sam answered, starting to get annoyed, “Why haven’t you looked at any of this research? Do you want to be a girl forever?”
“Hell no!” Dean protested, “I just want food.”
Sam gave his best long-suffering sigh and tossed a greasy paper bag at Dean. He caught it and sniffed at it suspiciously. “Dude, everything smells weird.”
“Different hormones make different senses react…differently.” Sam said, snagging one of the books off the pile and flopping down on his bed, “Girls have stronger senses of smell, generally speaking.”
“Weird,” Dean said through a mouthful of burger, “I don’t like it.”
“I seriously doubt there’s much of anything about this that you like,” Sam pointed out. “Don’t say ‘boobs,’ either,” he added when Dean started to open his mouth.
“Spoilsport.”
“There isn’t a lot of lore on body swapping, or gender swapping or whatever this is,” Sam commented from behind his book, “It’s going to take some serious research to figure this one out.” Dean made a displeased noise, but Sam didn’t even look up, “I know man, but I don’t know how this happened. It could be a spell, or a cursed object, or any number of things.”
“Man, I’m gonna be stuck as a girl forever!” Dean groaned, balling up the paper bag and chucking it at Sam’s head.
“Don’t be stupid,” Sam said, reaching for another book, “I’m gonna figure it out.”
“Aww, Sammy, your obsession with damsels in distress just warms my heart.”
“Maybe you can look at this as an experience,” Sam suggested with a sly grin, “You’re finally learning what women deal with all the time. Might make you a better person.”
“Doubtful.” Dean said, “I don’t think there’s any womanly experience that could…” he trailed off, a maniacal gleam coming into his eyes. “Oh.”
Sam finally looked up from his books. “What are you going on about…oh.”
Dean grinned at him.
“Jesus, Dean, no.” Sam said, “Why are you even thinking about that?”
“It’s not like I swapped bodies with someone else…this is all mine.” Dean argued, his grin growing, “It would be criminal not to take it out for a test run.”
Sam’s felt all the blood rush to his face and he felt a little bit lightheaded. “God, Dean.”
“Well.” Dean clambered to his feet, “I’m gonna go take a shower.” He flounced past Sam, shutting the door with a snap.
For a moment that stretched on to forever, Sam stayed frozen, trying to decide whether or not to stay. As soon as he realized he was actually considering staying, and that the heat in his face had relocated to somewhere far more personal, he was on his feet and sweeping out the door, keys already in hand, resolved not to return until it was dark and Dean was (hopefully) asleep.
Chapter Six
Rating: PG-13 (this chapter)
Summary: Dean had thought his life couldn’t possibly get any worse than it already was. He supposed this was his punishment for being so optimistic.
Warnings: Violence, language, crack, angst.
Chapter Four
America was not what Aziraphale expected it to be. Everything he knew about it, really, came from books and films. And the films, especially, seemed to be under the impression that it was a massive continent, empty in the middle, and bustling with cities on the coasts. It turned out that wasn’t the case at all.
Aziraphale was in Chicago because it had seemed like a good idea at the time, but it was slightly overwhelming. He seemed to have manifested somewhere in the heart of downtown. Cars whizzed by and buildings climbed high out of sight, the sun glinting off their windows. And there were people everywhere: people with cameras, and brown paper bags full of food, people leading children by the hand, (or by the leash, which was disconcerting), people arguing, people singing, people checking their phones. There were even a group of young men rapping out some beat on upside down buckets down at the street corner.
Even in the midst of all the humanity, he was having less luck finding a vessel than he had hoped. Of the few people that shone brightly enough, most reacted to his voice with fear or downright aggression. One woman had stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk and dug through her purse for a handful of multicolored pills, shaking as she dry-swallowed them and marched away.
Overall, the angel was quite discouraged. How on Earth was he supposed to find a vessel--and Crowley-in such a wide country?
“You could always try Springfield, Missouri,” someone said. Aziraphale spun around (as much as an intangible being can spin around, anyway) and saw a little old lady clutching her handbag and staring him down.
“I beg your pardon?” he said, a little flummoxed, “What’s in this Springfield place?”
The little woman drew herself up to her full height and Aziraphale got the impression of massive dark wings behind her.
“You again!” he accused, “Who are you and what is this all about?”
The old woman smiled a little. “That much is irrelevant right now,” she told him, “The important thing is that you get to Springfield. Find the Winchesters and you’ll have everything you need.”
“Winchesters?” Aziraphale repeated. The name sounded so familiar. “The demon hunters from the Gospel? I don’t understand.”
“There’s not really time right now, okay?” The woman said, “Just trust me on this. Springfield, Missouri. You’ll find the Winchesters there.”
“How can I possibly trust you? I don’t even know who you are!” Aziraphale protested, but it was too late. The little old woman was blinking back confusion. The angel had gone.
Aziraphale bit back his irritation. He very badly wanted to swear, or to throw something, or something equally drastic. But this sibling-whoever they were-had helped him before, and it was really his best lead. Springfield, Missouri it was.
*
When Sam opened up the door to his and Dean’s room at the American Inn, the first thing he noticed was Dean’s pile of research books, untouched on the table in the corner. The second thing he noticed was that the pile of blankets on the bed nearest the door appeared to be breathing.
“Dean, what are you doing?” He asked, his voice falling somewhere between berating and cajoling. “I’ve been gone for the last half hour, have you seriously not looked at any of those books?”
Dean’s head popped out from under the blankets. “Did you bring food?” he demanded, “My stomach is killing me.”
“That is why I left, Dean,” Sam answered, starting to get annoyed, “Why haven’t you looked at any of this research? Do you want to be a girl forever?”
“Hell no!” Dean protested, “I just want food.”
Sam gave his best long-suffering sigh and tossed a greasy paper bag at Dean. He caught it and sniffed at it suspiciously. “Dude, everything smells weird.”
“Different hormones make different senses react…differently.” Sam said, snagging one of the books off the pile and flopping down on his bed, “Girls have stronger senses of smell, generally speaking.”
“Weird,” Dean said through a mouthful of burger, “I don’t like it.”
“I seriously doubt there’s much of anything about this that you like,” Sam pointed out. “Don’t say ‘boobs,’ either,” he added when Dean started to open his mouth.
“Spoilsport.”
“There isn’t a lot of lore on body swapping, or gender swapping or whatever this is,” Sam commented from behind his book, “It’s going to take some serious research to figure this one out.” Dean made a displeased noise, but Sam didn’t even look up, “I know man, but I don’t know how this happened. It could be a spell, or a cursed object, or any number of things.”
“Man, I’m gonna be stuck as a girl forever!” Dean groaned, balling up the paper bag and chucking it at Sam’s head.
“Don’t be stupid,” Sam said, reaching for another book, “I’m gonna figure it out.”
“Aww, Sammy, your obsession with damsels in distress just warms my heart.”
“Maybe you can look at this as an experience,” Sam suggested with a sly grin, “You’re finally learning what women deal with all the time. Might make you a better person.”
“Doubtful.” Dean said, “I don’t think there’s any womanly experience that could…” he trailed off, a maniacal gleam coming into his eyes. “Oh.”
Sam finally looked up from his books. “What are you going on about…oh.”
Dean grinned at him.
“Jesus, Dean, no.” Sam said, “Why are you even thinking about that?”
“It’s not like I swapped bodies with someone else…this is all mine.” Dean argued, his grin growing, “It would be criminal not to take it out for a test run.”
Sam’s felt all the blood rush to his face and he felt a little bit lightheaded. “God, Dean.”
“Well.” Dean clambered to his feet, “I’m gonna go take a shower.” He flounced past Sam, shutting the door with a snap.
For a moment that stretched on to forever, Sam stayed frozen, trying to decide whether or not to stay. As soon as he realized he was actually considering staying, and that the heat in his face had relocated to somewhere far more personal, he was on his feet and sweeping out the door, keys already in hand, resolved not to return until it was dark and Dean was (hopefully) asleep.
Chapter Six