(Untitled)

[unchosen_son]

Sam was having a definite misunderstanding with the bookcase

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[witches_hammer]

Stepping up silently behind him, she peeked around him -- stretching to look over his shoulder was out of the question -- and then, with a comforting squeeze to his arm, she said, "Aw, don't worry, Sam. You'll find that perfect dress eventually."

[unchosen_son]

Sam twitched and then tensed when he saw who it was that had a hold on his arm and he set his jaw, letting the magazine fall to the ground with the others. "Gee, you think?" he replied, sarcasm thick in his voice. "Does that mean you want to be there at the non-occasion to stalk me?"

[witches_hammer]

"No need to get testy," she pointed out casually, giving him an unamused look over the top of her hand as she stopped to examine her fingernails, "And I'm not stalking, I'm observing."

[unchosen_son]

He offered her a flash of an insincere smile in return. "So, what do you think? Is white my color?" Maybe he didn't trust her fully, but he had to attempt civility, at least once in a while. Maybe that was what Bela's disappearance was supposed to teach him. Or something.

[milfweed]

"Maybe it just thinks that you're getting in touch with your feminine side," Nancy offered in defense of the bookshelf as she stood to the side of him and slid a paperback romance novel back into place, having finished reading it. She peered over his shoulder. "They're not all wedding dresses, are they? That could be an entirely different sort of message."

[unchosen_son]

"Wedding dresses, cake catalogues, wedding accessories, and one really disturbing magazine about how brides can still feel sexy," Sam detailed, ticking off the variations on his fingers. "I really never needed to know that a publication like that existed."

[milfweed]

"Oh, it's an enormous industry," Nancy informed him. "I'm afraid that unless you've been a bride you can't even begin to understand. The whole thing is so highly ritualized that by the time it's over you're more some standard of Bride rather than an actual human being."

[unchosen_son]

"I swear to god, if I can help it," Sam began, with the utmost and total seriousness of a man who meant his words, "I will never be a bride if I can help it. Call me heternormative or whatever, but yeah, I have no desire to wear a frilly dress or have a party with hot male strippers."

[tr_ghost_three]

As Sam stands there in front of the bookcase exactly every other book on the lower shelf, one after another after another, slides off to fall in a cascade at his feet.

[unchosen_son]

Sam jumped back slightly at the sudden crash of books and he took a large step backwards, just watching what was going on, breath caught in his throat and he desperately wished that he had an EVP reader on him about then. "Dean?!" he shouted. "Dean, I swear to god, that better not be you," he warned.

[tr_ghost_three]

The books don't stay tossed randomly, though, flying up and tumbling over and over until they form a domino-like cascade in a winding pattern stretching out along the floor, a little like a long snake.

[unchosen_son]

Sam took another step back, good and out of the way as his breath caught in his throat and he glanced left and right for whoever was doing this. "What the hell," he mumbled to himself, gaping at the books. "Who's there?" he asked, not to anyone playing a joke, but whoever was manipulating the books. His hand slowly went for the gun, just in case, filled with the salted bullets.

[weary_head]

"I dunno, Sammy," said Dean, looking at the picture around his shoulder, as over it wasn't quite possible at Sam's height. "Those hips've gotta be good for something."

[unchosen_son]

"On the list of things I never needed to hear, you calling my hips fit for a dress is so one of them," Sam commented, lifting his gaze from the magazine, but not exactly addressing Dean. He turned and offered the magazine. "This is like, the thirtieth one I got. Is someone playing a trick on me or something?"

[weary_head]

"Thirtieth, huh?" Dean took the magazine, staring for a long moment at the beaded lace dress on the cover. "More like it's trying to give you a much needed kick in the ass, which," he added with a glare for the bookshelf, "is my job."

[unchosen_son]

"Dean," Sam gave a scoff. "I do not need a kick in the ass about crossdressing," he deadpanned, giving his brother a dubious look. "In fact, that's probably the opposite of what I need." He knew that much.

[off_the_ceiling]

"Not unless you shaved your legs and wore heels," agreed Jess, standing on her tiptoes to peek over his shoulder. "And I love you but you're tall enough as it is." She wanted to ask what he was looking at those for, but another part of her suggested maybe she should bite her tongue there.

[unchosen_son]

Sam gave a rueful little laugh as his attention went from the magazines to his feet and he turned to look at Jess once more. "What, I'm not allowed to become even-taller-Sasquatch? Dean might be upset to hear," he teased lightly.

[off_the_ceiling]

"Well, I hope you won't be wearing the dress for Dean," said Jess, reaching under his arm to close the topmost magazine. "I think that one was a little froofy anyway, don't you?"

[unchosen_son]

Sam really wished that his brain hadn't summoned up the perfect image of Dean in a dress for him to stew on and he winced heavily, rubbing at his eyes before glancing at the magazine in her hands. "I dunno. Are they supposed to be not-froofy?"