The Rain is the Punch Line (Things Can’t Possibly Get Worse), 8/?
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 Seven
When Sam woke up the next morning, he was alone in the motel room. For a moment, he sat, frozen on the bed, his knuckles turning white from how tightly he was gripping the edge of the mattress, panic crashing over him in waves.
"And you actually believed him when he said he wouldn't leave you." Lucifer scoffed.
"Shut up." Sam snarled, "He didn't leave me."
Lucifer shrugged. "Maybe not." He pushed off the wall and stalked towards Sam. "But he was all set to say yes to that angel last night. For all you know, Dean could be halfway around the world and not even in control of his own meat suit." He leaned down into Sam's face. "Or worse yet. Maybe he finally got wise to your little secret and left."
Sam shoved past him and went to look out the window. The spot where the Impala had been parked the night before was damnably empty and he felt his stomach twist with nausea
"Personally," Lucifer said, popping up right at Sam's shoulder, "I'd guess it was that last one.”
"You're just trying to mess with my head," Sam said with more confidence than he actually felt, "He doesn't know. He can't."
"Anyone can figure out anything if you give them enough time," Lucifer whispered, icy breath fanning across Sam's face, "And you've given Dean years."
"Stop it."
"Not to mention that non-consensual snuggling last night. And the cold shower that followed."
"Please," Sam ground out, backing away from him, "Stop."
But Lucifer kept after him until he was pinned to the wall, the angel's hands caging him in on either side.
"Tell me, Sammy," he hissed, "Did you really believe that hunting would bring you absolution? Incest is a cardinal sin, kiddo, and you started young. You would’ve been mine even without taking the swan dive yourself."
Sam pressed himself against the wall as if he could melt into it by sheer force of will. He dug his fingernails into the scar in his palm until he felt blood running hot down his wrist.
Lucifer fuzzed out like a television and vanished, revealing Dean standing frozen in the open doorway, a greasy paper bag hanging limply in his grasp. Concern and horror were warring for control over his expression and Sam knew there was no playing it off this time.
He smiled weakly anyway. "Hey.”
"Is he here right now?" Dean asked straightaway, his voice pitched low. Sam shook his head.
"No. He vanished when you came in."
Dean's gaze focused in on Sam's hand and he had a split second to realize that blood was dripping down his fingers and onto the carpet before Dean was at his side. He took Sam's hand in both of his, hissing through his teeth as he examined it.
"Jesus, Sammy, are you okay?"
Sam thought about lying, but what came out when he opened his mouth was: "No. Not really."
Dean's fingers tightened around his. "Let's get this cleaned up," he said quietly.
"I'm sorry, Dean." said Sam, feeling miserable.
"Dammit, Sammy, it's not your fault!" Dean snapped, then, in a rare moment of compassion, he grabbed Sam and squeezed him tight.
The hug was awkward, having taken Sam completely by surprise, and Dean as a girl was a lot shorter, so his arms were around Sam's waist instead of his shoulders, but Sam relaxed into it for the few seconds Dean allowed before shoving him away.
"Fuckin' girly hormones," he muttered, scrubbing at the back of his neck. "Get your ass in the bathroom and let me fix your hand before it gets infected or something."
Sam grinned in spite of himself and followed Dean into the bathroom. He sat down on the lip of the bathtub and watched his older brother dig around for the sewing kit.
"Gimme your hand and eat your breakfast." Dean instructed, shoving an Egg McMuffin into his brother's uninjured hand. He sat down opposite his brother, on the lid of the toilet.
"Someone's over-caffeinated this morning." Sam commented, taking a bite out of his sandwich.
Dean dabbed at his hand with a peroxide-soaked cotton ball. "Didn't go back to sleep last night." He tossed the bloody cotton ball into the trash and started threading the needle without looking at his brother. "Dude, I can't believe you dug in deep enough to need stitches again."
"Dean." Sam said, at a loss. "You--" You would let the whole world end because I didn't want you to do something that might save it? Does my opinion really mean so much? "--you should say yes to Aziraphale."
Dean's fingers stilled over Sam's hand and he finally raised his eyes to his brother's. "You didn't want me to last night." he pointed out, but there was no accusation in his voice.
"I was wrong." Sam admitted, "If there's something we can do that might save some more people, we've gotta do it. Hell knows I've done worse for less noble reasons."
"Only if you're sure, Sammy." Dean mumbled, ducking his head to work on his brother's hand again. He finished the stitches and starting wrapping it in gauze.
"I'm sure," Sam said quietly, "But it's not my decision, Dean." Even though he didn't look up, Dean nodded slowly.
"All done here." he said, releasing Sam's hand. "Try not to injure yourself again, hmm? I'm going to go take a nap."
*
While Dean dozed on the bed nearest the door, Sam took to the laptop for some research. They'd been to all five branches of the Springfield library to no avail. They had to look somewhere else.
Sam had a vague memory of being in Cuba, Missouri during his fourteenth summer: a little rental house that had come pre-furnished, which meant no sleeping on the floor; Dean bringing home free rentals from his job at the video store and unknowingly making Sam's skin itch in frightening new ways every time he emerged from the pond behind the house, water sparkling like diamonds as the sun caressed his freckled shoulders. More importantly, he remembered his father spending hours on end at the home of another hunger by the name of Trotter. Other than Bobby, Sam recalled his father saying, Trotter's got the best goddamn collection of supernatural research I've ever seen.
Well, Bobby was gone, along with his collection, so Sam figured this was the next best thing. A quick trip to Google confirmed it was only a couple hours away.
*
Feeling a little bit better, Sam closed out the browser and pulled up a game of solitaire while he waited for Dean to wake up. He noticed his knee was bouncing anxiously and made an effort to stop, only succeeding for a few moments before he started up again. Sam knew he wouldn't be able to calm down until Dean woke up and confirmed that Aziraphale didn't mean any harm.
Luckily, it didn't take long before Dean started to stir. Sam went to sit on the edge of the bed, ignoring, for once, the careful rules he'd made for himself. Dean blinked up at him groggily and Sam pasted on something that resembled a smile.
"You possessed or what?" he asked in a lame attempt at joking. His brother scowled at him, an expression that was pure Dean.
But then he opened his mouth and said, in a posh voice that sounded nothing like his own: "Possession is involuntary. Dean gave me permission."
"Don't get worked up about it, Az," Dean said in his own voice, "He's trying to be funny. Don't quit your day job, Sammy."
"Because I make so much money at my day job." Sam answered, rolling his eyes so Dean wouldn't see how relieved he was. Judging by the twitch of Dean's lips, he needn't have bothered; his brother knew him too well.
"So you're Sam Winchester," Aziraphale said with Dean's mouth, "The boy who stopped the Apocalypse." There was respect and a sad sort of understanding in his expression. Sam looked away.
"It's nice to have an ally again," he said, picking at the comforter, "Thanks for not being evil."
The laughter he got for that was all Dean. "I told you so," he said in that tone of voice reserved specially for older siblings. "So...what now?"
"I want to find my friend," Aziraphale said, "But I don't have the first clue where to begin. The Leviathan takes precedence."
"But getting Dean back to normal is our first priority,” said Sam.
"It's been a weird week for me," admitted Dean, "Turned into a chick and a vessel for an angel all within three days."
"I had an idea," Sam said, "Do you remember the summer we stayed in Cuba, Missouri?"
A strange look flashed across Dean's face, so quickly that Sam couldn't identify it. It almost looked like panic. But then Dean shrugged and said: "Sure, I worked at the video store" and Sam wondered if he'd imagined the whole thing.
"Well, remember we lived by that lake and there was that guy that lived down at the end of the road that Dad spent all that time with?"
Dean caught on immediately, "Son of a bitch! I'd forgotten all about Trotter! You're a genius, Sammy!"
"Sorry." said Aziraphale, "Who is this Trotter?"
"Can't you read his mind?" Sam wondered aloud.
"Dude," Dean said, indignant, "Boundaries." Sam shrugged. "Trotter's another hunter. Dad always said that he had some of the most in-depth supernatural research available."
"So you think he might be able to reverse your condition?"
"Or has a book that can tell us how to do it," Sam said, "It's worth a try, anyway. Cuba's only a couple hours from here."
"What're we waiting for, then?" Dean demanded, "I'm seriously tired of being a girl."
"Okay," Sam nodded, "Let's get packed and then we can grab some lunch on the way out of town."
"As long as lunch includes pie," Dean put in immediately.
Sam grinned. Some things never changed.
Chapter Nine
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 Seven
When Sam woke up the next morning, he was alone in the motel room. For a moment, he sat, frozen on the bed, his knuckles turning white from how tightly he was gripping the edge of the mattress, panic crashing over him in waves.
"And you actually believed him when he said he wouldn't leave you." Lucifer scoffed.
"Shut up." Sam snarled, "He didn't leave me."
Lucifer shrugged. "Maybe not." He pushed off the wall and stalked towards Sam. "But he was all set to say yes to that angel last night. For all you know, Dean could be halfway around the world and not even in control of his own meat suit." He leaned down into Sam's face. "Or worse yet. Maybe he finally got wise to your little secret and left."
Sam shoved past him and went to look out the window. The spot where the Impala had been parked the night before was damnably empty and he felt his stomach twist with nausea
"Personally," Lucifer said, popping up right at Sam's shoulder, "I'd guess it was that last one.”
"You're just trying to mess with my head," Sam said with more confidence than he actually felt, "He doesn't know. He can't."
"Anyone can figure out anything if you give them enough time," Lucifer whispered, icy breath fanning across Sam's face, "And you've given Dean years."
"Stop it."
"Not to mention that non-consensual snuggling last night. And the cold shower that followed."
"Please," Sam ground out, backing away from him, "Stop."
But Lucifer kept after him until he was pinned to the wall, the angel's hands caging him in on either side.
"Tell me, Sammy," he hissed, "Did you really believe that hunting would bring you absolution? Incest is a cardinal sin, kiddo, and you started young. You would’ve been mine even without taking the swan dive yourself."
Sam pressed himself against the wall as if he could melt into it by sheer force of will. He dug his fingernails into the scar in his palm until he felt blood running hot down his wrist.
Lucifer fuzzed out like a television and vanished, revealing Dean standing frozen in the open doorway, a greasy paper bag hanging limply in his grasp. Concern and horror were warring for control over his expression and Sam knew there was no playing it off this time.
He smiled weakly anyway. "Hey.”
"Is he here right now?" Dean asked straightaway, his voice pitched low. Sam shook his head.
"No. He vanished when you came in."
Dean's gaze focused in on Sam's hand and he had a split second to realize that blood was dripping down his fingers and onto the carpet before Dean was at his side. He took Sam's hand in both of his, hissing through his teeth as he examined it.
"Jesus, Sammy, are you okay?"
Sam thought about lying, but what came out when he opened his mouth was: "No. Not really."
Dean's fingers tightened around his. "Let's get this cleaned up," he said quietly.
"I'm sorry, Dean." said Sam, feeling miserable.
"Dammit, Sammy, it's not your fault!" Dean snapped, then, in a rare moment of compassion, he grabbed Sam and squeezed him tight.
The hug was awkward, having taken Sam completely by surprise, and Dean as a girl was a lot shorter, so his arms were around Sam's waist instead of his shoulders, but Sam relaxed into it for the few seconds Dean allowed before shoving him away.
"Fuckin' girly hormones," he muttered, scrubbing at the back of his neck. "Get your ass in the bathroom and let me fix your hand before it gets infected or something."
Sam grinned in spite of himself and followed Dean into the bathroom. He sat down on the lip of the bathtub and watched his older brother dig around for the sewing kit.
"Gimme your hand and eat your breakfast." Dean instructed, shoving an Egg McMuffin into his brother's uninjured hand. He sat down opposite his brother, on the lid of the toilet.
"Someone's over-caffeinated this morning." Sam commented, taking a bite out of his sandwich.
Dean dabbed at his hand with a peroxide-soaked cotton ball. "Didn't go back to sleep last night." He tossed the bloody cotton ball into the trash and started threading the needle without looking at his brother. "Dude, I can't believe you dug in deep enough to need stitches again."
"Dean." Sam said, at a loss. "You--" You would let the whole world end because I didn't want you to do something that might save it? Does my opinion really mean so much? "--you should say yes to Aziraphale."
Dean's fingers stilled over Sam's hand and he finally raised his eyes to his brother's. "You didn't want me to last night." he pointed out, but there was no accusation in his voice.
"I was wrong." Sam admitted, "If there's something we can do that might save some more people, we've gotta do it. Hell knows I've done worse for less noble reasons."
"Only if you're sure, Sammy." Dean mumbled, ducking his head to work on his brother's hand again. He finished the stitches and starting wrapping it in gauze.
"I'm sure," Sam said quietly, "But it's not my decision, Dean." Even though he didn't look up, Dean nodded slowly.
"All done here." he said, releasing Sam's hand. "Try not to injure yourself again, hmm? I'm going to go take a nap."
*
While Dean dozed on the bed nearest the door, Sam took to the laptop for some research. They'd been to all five branches of the Springfield library to no avail. They had to look somewhere else.
Sam had a vague memory of being in Cuba, Missouri during his fourteenth summer: a little rental house that had come pre-furnished, which meant no sleeping on the floor; Dean bringing home free rentals from his job at the video store and unknowingly making Sam's skin itch in frightening new ways every time he emerged from the pond behind the house, water sparkling like diamonds as the sun caressed his freckled shoulders. More importantly, he remembered his father spending hours on end at the home of another hunger by the name of Trotter. Other than Bobby, Sam recalled his father saying, Trotter's got the best goddamn collection of supernatural research I've ever seen.
Well, Bobby was gone, along with his collection, so Sam figured this was the next best thing. A quick trip to Google confirmed it was only a couple hours away.
*
Feeling a little bit better, Sam closed out the browser and pulled up a game of solitaire while he waited for Dean to wake up. He noticed his knee was bouncing anxiously and made an effort to stop, only succeeding for a few moments before he started up again. Sam knew he wouldn't be able to calm down until Dean woke up and confirmed that Aziraphale didn't mean any harm.
Luckily, it didn't take long before Dean started to stir. Sam went to sit on the edge of the bed, ignoring, for once, the careful rules he'd made for himself. Dean blinked up at him groggily and Sam pasted on something that resembled a smile.
"You possessed or what?" he asked in a lame attempt at joking. His brother scowled at him, an expression that was pure Dean.
But then he opened his mouth and said, in a posh voice that sounded nothing like his own: "Possession is involuntary. Dean gave me permission."
"Don't get worked up about it, Az," Dean said in his own voice, "He's trying to be funny. Don't quit your day job, Sammy."
"Because I make so much money at my day job." Sam answered, rolling his eyes so Dean wouldn't see how relieved he was. Judging by the twitch of Dean's lips, he needn't have bothered; his brother knew him too well.
"So you're Sam Winchester," Aziraphale said with Dean's mouth, "The boy who stopped the Apocalypse." There was respect and a sad sort of understanding in his expression. Sam looked away.
"It's nice to have an ally again," he said, picking at the comforter, "Thanks for not being evil."
The laughter he got for that was all Dean. "I told you so," he said in that tone of voice reserved specially for older siblings. "So...what now?"
"I want to find my friend," Aziraphale said, "But I don't have the first clue where to begin. The Leviathan takes precedence."
"But getting Dean back to normal is our first priority,” said Sam.
"It's been a weird week for me," admitted Dean, "Turned into a chick and a vessel for an angel all within three days."
"I had an idea," Sam said, "Do you remember the summer we stayed in Cuba, Missouri?"
A strange look flashed across Dean's face, so quickly that Sam couldn't identify it. It almost looked like panic. But then Dean shrugged and said: "Sure, I worked at the video store" and Sam wondered if he'd imagined the whole thing.
"Well, remember we lived by that lake and there was that guy that lived down at the end of the road that Dad spent all that time with?"
Dean caught on immediately, "Son of a bitch! I'd forgotten all about Trotter! You're a genius, Sammy!"
"Sorry." said Aziraphale, "Who is this Trotter?"
"Can't you read his mind?" Sam wondered aloud.
"Dude," Dean said, indignant, "Boundaries." Sam shrugged. "Trotter's another hunter. Dad always said that he had some of the most in-depth supernatural research available."
"So you think he might be able to reverse your condition?"
"Or has a book that can tell us how to do it," Sam said, "It's worth a try, anyway. Cuba's only a couple hours from here."
"What're we waiting for, then?" Dean demanded, "I'm seriously tired of being a girl."
"Okay," Sam nodded, "Let's get packed and then we can grab some lunch on the way out of town."
"As long as lunch includes pie," Dean put in immediately.
Sam grinned. Some things never changed.
Chapter Nine