The Body Swap that Wasn't... Or Was It!?!

[plainapple]

The Body Swap that Wasn't... Or Was It!?!
Author: plainapple
Rating: PG-13 for language
Genre: Gen wirh subtext, Humor. Could be considered pre-slash Sam/Dean.
Wordcount: 3,115
Warning: crack!fic
Disclaimer: This is fan fiction, I make no claims to the copyright ownership of Supernatural or to its characters.
Summary: Sam's not happy to have switched bodies with Dean, Dean's not convinced they have switched bodies.


It had been three hours and forty two minutes since Sam and Dean hadn’t swapped bodies. Well, three hours and forty two minutes since Dean had started keeping track, at least. He guessed it had taken about fifteen minutes of dealing with Sam’s hysteria before Dean had thought to look at his watch, to time exactly how long the hallucination or curse or whatever the hell it was lasted so he could rub it in Sam’s face later.

They’d been back in the motel for exactly seventeen minutes and Sam hadn’t taken his eyes off his own reflection in the dirty mirror over the desk in the corner.

“I can’t believe this.” said Sam. “I can’t…” he poked himself in the cheek, “It’s so disturbing.”

“I know.” said Dean. “I’ve been looking at your face since you were born and it still gives me the creeps sometimes.”

“This isn’t my face.” said Sam.

“Denial isn’t going to help.” answered Dean. “The best thing for you to do is accept that I got the looks in this family and move on.”

Sam looked Dean over head to foot. “I guess at the moment you do have the looks.” he said.

“This moment and every moment.” Dean pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it on the bed. “But don’t take it so hard Sammy, you got the… the… well I’m sure there’s something…”

Sam snorted contemptuously. “That’s great Dean. Hilarious. You don’t think you could maybe try to take this seriously? I mean, look at me! Look at us! I can’t believe this isn’t bothering you.”

“Would you relax?” asked Dean. “I told you, Dad’s journal says bogle magic only lasts for five hours, at the most. All we have to do is wait it out.”

“Yeah? Well Dad’s journal also said bogle magic was weak, just a few basic curses and glamours.” said Sam.

“So?”

“We’ve swapped bodied Dean, I’d call that a little bit beyond basic, wouldn’t you?”

“I would if we had.” said Dean. “We haven’t.”

“So you keep saying.”

“Keeps being true.” said Dean.

“So how come I see your face when I look in the mirror?”

“Wishful thinking?”

“Please.”

“Come on Sammy, use your head.” said Dean. “You got hit with a glamour. You don’t remember?”

“What I remember being knocked down by its spell, coming to to see myself salting the bogle before we could get it to lift the curse, and you laughing your ass off when I asked you if you were a doppelganger.”

Dean chuckled. "I've heard of curses that mess with your reasoning but I never thought I'd see you hit with one."

“I don’t think it’s an unreasonable assumption.” said Sam.

Dean pulled his phone out of his pocket. He held it up to Sam and snapped a picture. “Here.” he said, “Look at this.” He turned the screen to face Sam. “Who is this a picture of?”

“You.” said Sam. “Well, me, I guess - but it looks like you. I look like you.  It's your body, Dean. What are you trying to say?”

“Well to me it looks to me like a picture of your bitch-face.” said Dean.

“That’s because the bogle's curse is making you think you're still in your own body.”

“You know how stupid that sounds, right?” asked Dean.

“I’m not glamoured.” said Sam. “You don’t think I can tell the difference between looking like someone and actually being them? I don’t feel like me, Dean. I feel shorter and skinnier…”

“I am not skinnier.” interrupted Dean.

Sam rubbed a hand over his head. “My hair is shorter, everything’s just wrong.” said Sam. “I’m in your body Dean, and you’re in mine.”

“Well enjoy it while it lasts because it’ll be over soon.” said Dean.

“I’m not enjoying this.” said Sam. “I can’t believe you are.”

“Whatever.” said Dean, “I’m gonna hop in the shower. Order some food, will you?”

“Wait, you’re what?” asked Sam.

“Shower.” Dean repeated, undoing his jeans.

“You’re not showering in my body.” said Sam.

“Aw, don’t worry Sammy. I’ll take good care of it, use your special conditioner and your European loofah and everything.”

“I don’t have a loofah.”

“And I promise not to scrub your sensitive areas too hard.”

“Don’t even think about touching me Dean.”

“You mean touching me.” said Dean.

“That’s what I said.” snapped Sam.

“Relax, it’ll just be a quickie. I won’t even shampoo.”

“If you try anything I’ll…”

“What?” asked Dean, “You can’t do anything to me without doing it to yourself.”

“Just don’t do anything, okay?”

Dean winked the most obnoxious wink he could muster. “You got it.”

“I hate you.”

“Get Thai!” Dean instructed as he headed for the bathroom door.

***

Moments after Dean shut off the water he caught the wafting scent of hot chicken and ginger. He inhaled, wrapped a towel around his waist, and braced himself for the hit of cold air as he opened the bathroom door. He shivered, but was too hungry to bother with looking for a shirt. He made a beeline for the plastic bag with the big yellow smiley face sitting on the desk, but stopped short when he caught sight of Sam. "No." he said, "Just, no."

"What?" asked Sam.

"Please tell me you didn't answer the door like that."

Dean's t-shirt, which was admittedly a little snug on Dean himself, hugged Sam like a second skin. It stopped just short of the waistband of Sam's (Dean's, technically) jeans exposing Sam's midriff, belly button and all. If his shirt was tight on Sam then his jeans were... unfathomable. Dean squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, trying to rid himself of the image.

"You need to change Sam." said Dean, "Like, now."

Sam snorted. "Right," he said. "Of course I do. You don't have a problem with me being in your body but God forbid I should touch your clothes."

"You're not in my body." said Dean.

Sam sighed. "You still can't see it?" he asked.

"There's nothing to see."

"I thought maybe you'd hit your head on the curtain rod in the shower or something and realize how much taller you are." muttered Sam.

"Take off my clothes Sam." said Dean.

Sam wrinkled his nose at him.

Dean rolled his eyes in response, "You know what I mean."

"What do you expect me to wear then?" asked Sam.

"The takeout bag." said Dean.

"Cute."

"Just wear your own clothes."

"They're too big!" Sam protested.

"I don't care! Just, roll up the sleeves or something. Honestly Sam..." Dean turned away and dug a carton of Pad Thai out of the plastic bag. "This is starting not to be funny." he grumbled.

"This was never funny." answered Sam.

Dean flopped himself on his bed and turned on the TV, idly flipping through the channels before settling on some kind of BMX racing. He absentmindedly shoveled chopsticks full of greasy thai into his mouth, eyes locked on the screen.

"You’re getting noodles on my chest." said Sam.

"I'm what?" asked Dean. He glanced over at Sam, who was, Dean was happy to see, back in his own emo-lumberjack black plaid shirt. Sam pointed at Dean's chest. Dean looked down and noticed the bits of food that had escaped his chopsticks and fallen on his skin.

"Oh." said Dean, "Thanks." He grabbed an ear of baby corn from just below his collar bone and popped it in his mouth.

"Dean!" Sam exclaimed.

"What?"

"That's disgusting."

"Umm..." Dean blinked at Sam.

"You're eating food off my bare skin."

"That's disgusting Sam."

"Exactly!" said Sam.

"Sammy, I know the curse has muddled your head but try to remember, we did not, did not, switch bodies. You are glamoured. Glaaa-moured."

"Shut up." said Sam.

"Can you say Glaaa-moured?" asked Dean.

"Jerk." said Sam.

"Very good!" Dean praised.

Sam glared at him and flopped down on his bed opposite Dean's. "You're such a jerk." he mumbled. "And you’re the one who's glamoured."

"Yeah?" asked Dean. "Well, the curse should run out in about an hour, and then I guess we'll see."

"I guess we will." said Sam.

"You're gonna be so piss-faced when you find out I'm right."

"Whatever." said Sam.

"You'll be all," Dean pitched his voice high to emphasize that Sam was a whiny little girl, "Oh Dean, you were right and I was wrong."

"Fuck you."

"Big Brother,” Dean continued. “I’ll never doubt you again."

Sam slumped against his pillow and fell into a glowering silence, broken only by the occasional plaintive sigh.   Dean tried to ignore him, he really did, but as the night wore on Sam’s sighs grew increasingly louder and each one was more and more drawn out and there was only so much a man should be expected to take.

“Would you stop!?!” Dean snapped.

“Oh, sorry.” said Sam, “I’m so sorry if my being the only one of us who realizes we’re cursed is irritating you.”

“You.” said Dean, “Not we, you. You’re cursed. I’m fine.”

“I’m so happy for you.”

“Look, Sam, just trust me. It’s a glamour, it’ll wear off. Stop thinking about it.”

“Great idea!” Sam exclaimed, “I’ll just stop thinking about it. I’ll stop thinking about how I’m trapped in your stupid, stumpy body while your soul is filling my stomach with too much cheap take out. Yeah, stop thinking about it; why didn’t I think of that?”

“It’s a gla…”

“If you say it’s a glamour one more time Dean - look, you’re right, it is a glamour, but it’s on you. It’s almost clever, really. A curse that keeps its victim from knowing they’ve been cursed. It could be a dangerous combination.”

“But you were the one who got hit with it.” said Dean.

“Yeah, well, you were obviously affected too. Maybe,” Sam conjectured, “Maybe it’s a way to snatch someone’s body without them knowing it?”

“Or maybe you’re grasping at straws trying to prove yourself right.” said Dean.

“Well can you prove I’m not?” asked Sam.

Dean pursed his lips. “Sure.” he said.

He rolled over on his stomach and retrieved his jeans from where he’d dropped them on the floor and fished his cell phone out of the pocket.

“You already tried taking my picture.” said Sam.

“Quiet.” said Dean. He punched through his contacts until he found the number he wanted then hit the call button. While it rang he put it on speakerphone. “Just shut up and listen to this.” he said.

Sam rolled his eyes, but played along.

The phone was answered on the third ring. "This is Bobby."

"Who is this?" asked Dean.

"This is Bobby." Bobby repeated.

"No," said Dean, "I mean who am I?"

"Oh, hell. You boys didn't get yourselves hit with amnesia, did you?"

"No, Bobby. I know who I am; I just need you to tell me who you're talking to right now. Whose voice is this?"

"Dean?"

“That’s right!” said Dean. The beginnings of a gloating smile played at his lips, but he hesitated, "Wait. Why did you say it like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like, 'Dean?’ like you weren't sure. Who else would I be, Bobby?"

"Sam?" asked Bobby.

"I am not Sam!" Dean exclaimed.

"Okay." said Bobby.

"No, no. Not okay. Why would you think I was Sam?"

"I don't think you're Sam."

"But you did." said Dean.

"Well I thought you might be.” Bobby admitted, “You two do sound a little alike on the phone. I mean, you’re brothers and all…"

"No. No. No.” said Dean. “We don't. I don't. I sound nothing like... Dean sounds nothing like Sam."

"Okay."

"Okay. So,” Dean took a deep breath. “Whose voice is this, talking to you, right now?”

"You already told me you're Dean."

"But if I hadn't..."

"If you hadn't?" Bobby echoed.

"Would you think this was Dean, or Sam?"

“I’d think you were Dean.”

“Thank you.” said Dean.

“Or maybe Sam.”

“You go to hell Bobby.” Dean ended the call with a sharp punch of his thumb.  He folded forward, pressing his head into his knees, and let out a long groan. He stayed that way until he felt the mattress dip. When he sat up again Sam was on the bed next to him.

“Don’t take it so hard.” said Sam. “It was a good idea.”

“I can’t believe he thought I sound like you. I don’t sound like you.”

“Yeah, you made your position on that pretty clear.” said Sam.

“Think Bobby will mind?” asked Dean.

“He’ll get over it.”

"We didn't switch bodies Sam. I know we didn't. We couldn't have..."

Sam tilted his head and squinted a little, examining Dean’s face. After a moment he reached out and brushed his tips over Dean’s forehead.  “I can see what you mean about my hair.” he said, “It does get in my eyes.”

Dean suppressed the urge to wrap his hands around Sam’s neck.  He batted Sam’s hand away. “Stop.” He said, “Please, just stop.”

“Dean.”

“No Sam, don’t. I’m tired of arguing with you. I’m not in your body. You’re not in mine.”

“Okay Dean.” said Sam.

“Okay?” asked Dean, “You believe me?”

“I believe that you believe we haven’t switched bodies.” said Sam, “And yeah, I can accept that maybe you’re right, maybe I’m just crazy…”

“You’re not crazy, you’re cursed.”

“That we can definitely agree on.” said Sam, “Maybe we didn’t switch bodies, maybe the way this curse works is it just makes me think that we did.” He smiled and he swept his fingers again over Dean’s face.  Dean let him this time. It was stupid, pointless, but it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. It felt good to have Sam close; it was reminder that he was safe - delusional - but safe. He closed his eyes and leaned forward into his brother’s hand. It was warm, big, big enough to cover half his face, too big to be his own.

“But Dean,” Sam continued. “If I can accept there’s a possibility that you’re right, that this curse is making me hallucinate all of this, can’t you accept the possibility that I’m right? That we did switch bodies, and the curse is what’s making you believe that we didn’t?”

Dean sighed, “I accept that it’s a possibility.”

“Good.” said Sam.

“But that’s not the case here.” Dean finished.

“Dean!” Sam exclaimed, dropping his hand.

“I know I’m right Sam.”

“You’re such a dick.”

“Maybe. But I’m a dick who’s right. I’m a right dick.”

“Yeah?” asked Sam. “So why haven’t you been able to prove it?”

Dean scowled. He bit his lip, considering. Suddenly his eyes lit up, “Fine. Got it. I’ll give you proof. Stand up.”

Sam quirked his lips skeptically, but stood. He held his arms out. “Okay,” he asked, “What now?”

Dean stood in front of Sam. “Look at me.” he instructed, “Look me right in the eye.”

“Okay…” said Sam.

Dean waited until Sam’s eyes were locked on his. “Okay. So, we’re making eye contact, right? You’re looking into my eyes and I’m looking into yours. Agreed?”

“Agreed.” said Sam.

“Now,” said Dean. “I want you to stay perfectly still. Do not move. Keep your eyes looking exactly where they are, okay?”

“Okay.” said Sam.

Dean stepped slowly out of the way. He watched Sam carefully, making sure he followed instructions. When he was fully out of Sam’s line of sight he asked, “Okay Sam, what are you looking at?”

“Nothing.” said Sam, “You moved.”

Dean grit his teeth. “I know I moved,” he hissed. “Now come on Sam, make an effort. You’re not looking at nothing. What do you see?”

“Uh, the carpet.” said Sam.

“Hah!” Dean exclaimed, “That’s right, that’s right! You’re looking at the carpet.” Dean was practically bouncing with excitement. He jabbed a finger at Sam’s arm, punctuating each word with a sharp poke, “You’re. Looking. At. The. Carpet!”

“What’s your problem?” Sam exclaimed, breaking his position to shove Dean away.

“Who’s taller,” Dean asked. “You or me?”

“Do you mean since we switched or…”

“No, no switches. Just, who’s usually taller, Sam or Dean?”

“I am.” said Sam, “I mean, Sam is. Sam’s body is taller.”

“Right.” said Dean, “So. If Dean’s body was looking at Sam’s body, if they were looking each other right in the eye, just like we just did, which way would Dean be looking?”

“What do you mean which way?”

“Would he look up or down?”

“If Dean’s body was looking at Sam’s body,” said Sam slowly, as if it were a strain to work it out in his curse-addled mind. “He’d look up.”

“That’s right Sammy.”

“Don’t condescend to me.” snapped Sam.

“No, I’m not.” said Dean, “Just stay with me. Now, before, when you’d been looking at me, and I moved away, you said you were looking at the carpet, right?”

“Right.” agreed Sam.

“And where is the carpet?”

“On the floor?”

“And what does that tell you?” asked Dean.

“Umm…”

“Sam, which way is the floor? Up or down?”

“Down.”

“So which way is the carpet?”

“Down.”

“And when you were looking at me and I stepped away, you saw the carpet.”

“Dean…”

“Therefore!” Dean exclaimed, “Therefore! Therefore you were looking…”

Sam scrunched his face, “Therefore, I… was… looking…down.”

“And think Sammy, what does that mean?”

“I’m… taller.” answered Sam.

“Because…” Dean prompted.

“Because…” said Sam, “Because…”

“Come on Sam. Come on…”

“Because…” Sam’s eyes lit up in understanding, “Because we switched back!”

Dean’s jaw dropped.

“Thank God that’s over.” said Sam.

“I hate you.” said Dean.

Sam ignored him and crossed the room to the mirror over the desk. He stared at his reflection and touched his face. “It feels so good to be in my own skin again, doesn’t it feel good to you Dean?”

“Why can’t you just admit I was right?”

Sam glanced at Dean. “Fine, you were right, it did wear off after all.”

“I’m disowning you.”

“It’s weird that I’m still wearing my clothes, come to think of it - I was in my clothes before, after we first swapped, wasn't I? And you were in yours?  It must switch your soul and your wardrobe to the new body. ”

“We’re no longer brothers.”

“I think my chest is still a little sticky from where you got food on….”

Dean was out the door before Sam could finish his sentence.  He figured it would only take a couple of hours of listening to Queens of the Stone Age at full volume in the Impala before he’d blown of enough steam to deal with Sam’s pigheadedness.  He unlocked the door but froze when he dropped into the driver’s seat - it was pushed too far back for him… this was Sam’s seat position, but… Dean had been sure he’d been the one who drove them back to the motel… hadn’t he? Dean swallowed and readjusted the seat. This might take more than a couple of hours after all.