The Rain is the Punch Line (Things Can’t Possibly Get Worse), 3/?
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 Two
Sam was quickly discovering how unpleasant dealing with Dean as a girl could be, and it started immediately when his older brother reemerged from the bathroom.
Dean was wearing a t-shirt and a pair of jeans, but the outlook wasn’t good. The jeans were too long and bunched around his ankles, covering his feet completely. From the way he kept tugging at the waistband, Sam suspected they were too loose around the waist as well.
The t-shirt collar was loose and low around his suddenly skinny neck and collarbone and the hem fell to mid-thigh, the sleeves billowing comically around his arms.
Sam’s study continued until he realized that the only place the t-shirt did seem to cling to Dean’s frame was around his breasts and then he realized he was staring at Dean’s nipples and his brain ground to a halt.
“We need to get you some clothes that fit,” he declared.
Dean pursed his lips, “What, girl clothes? I’m not wearing any girly clothes.”
“Dean,” Sam sighed, “Your clothes don’t even fit and I can see your boobs through that shirt.”
“Dude! You’re looking at my boobs!” Dean crossed his arms protectively across his chest, and then seemed to realize what he was doing and leered, “They’re nice aren’t they?”
“Oh my God Dean.”
“What?” Dean protested, “I’m allowed to look at my own boobs.”
“I really wish that was a sentence I never had to hear from you,” Sam groaned, “Come on, we’re going to go find you clothes that fit properly.”
Dean scowled at him, though the effect was rather ruined by his oversized clothing. “I hate my life,” he said, matter-of-factly.
The worst part was, Sam wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t serious. “C’mon,” he said, “Let’s just go find you something appropriate to wear.”
Dean grumbled a few choice words under his breath, but stomped off to put on his coat and boots.
*
The trip to Wal-Mart was an unmitigated disaster, from the first step out the motel room door. Dean insisted on driving, even though he had to scoot to the very edge of the bench to even reach the pedals properly. The seven minutes it took to get to Wal-Mart may as well have been an hour to Sam, who winced every time Dean hit the breaks too suddenly.
When they got into the store, Dean kept tripping over his own too-big boots, cursing loudly every time. It earned the ire of every little old lady, and the attention of every burly asshole. More than once, Sam had to resist the urge to deck one of the creeps.
“Dean, just come on, we’ll get you shoes in a minute, let’s just get you a bra first, okay?”
“Oh my God, this is the worst day ever.” Dean deadpanned, stumbling in his boots again.
Sam wisely decided not to mention all of their other “worst days ever.”
After some wandering, they finally found the lingerie section. They stood, side by side, surveying the seemingly endless racks of frilly, weirdly patterned underwear for a long moment before Dean finally spoke up.
“Do you even know how bra sizes work?”
Sam arched an eyebrow at him, “What, you don’t, Mister Anything-With-Boobs?”
Dean shrugged helplessly, “I mostly know how to remove the damn things. You’re the one who was all domestic and shit.” He was staring straight ahead, but Sam could see a muscle in his jaw jumping.
“Uh…” Sam hesitated, face burning. “I mean, I know what size bra Jess wore…but, er, your boobs are…bigger than hers were.” In his peripheral vision, he could see that Dean’s face was turning pink under his freckles, so at least he wasn’t alone in his mortification.
“We need help,” Dean decided, “Is there a chart around here or something?”
Before they could even begin to look, a middle-aged woman in a blue vest appeared out of nowhere, eyeing them critically. “Is there anything I can help you with?” she asked in a voice that suggested that she’d rather have her fingernails forcibly removed.
“She probably thinks you’re going to steal something,” Lucifer pointed out, and Sam grit his teeth, “I mean, you look like a couple of bums. Dean makes a sexy bum, though.”
“Our house burned down,” Sam blurted out, desperate to drown out Lucifer and ignoring the shock on Dean’s face. It vaguely occurred to him that he could have chosen a better excuse, “Um…”
“I’m sorry?” the employee said, eyebrows knitting together in confusion.
“There was a fire. We lost all of our things, and my sister needs replacement…uh…under…clothes.” Beside him, Dean snorted, having recovered from his brother’s impulse lie. Sam gave the lady his best puppy-dog look, “Could you help us out?”
The sales lady’s expression immediately transformed into one of sympathy. “Oh no! I’m so sorry to hear that, let me help you, dear!” Before Dean could react, she had caught his arm in hers and was sweeping him away into the racks of lingerie. His older brother had just enough time to shoot Sam a panicked look, eyes widened comically before he was dragged out of view.
Ten minutes later, Dean reemerged with an armful of bras and panties. He dumped them into the cart Sam had found. “Being a girl sucks,” he said, “It took me like five minutes to get one of the damn things on.” He tugged at it experimentally, ignoring the disapproving stare of an elderly shopper nearby.
“We’re not done yet, Dean,” Sam reminded him, “We still need to get you clothes and shoes.”
“Why can’t I just wear my normal clothes?” Dean demanded, “I’m not wearing a fuckin’ Justin Beiber shirt, Sam!”
“I didn’t say you had to,” Sam said placatingly, “But you can hardly walk in those boots and if you have to run, you’ll trip over your own pant legs. We don’t know how long it might take us to reverse this.”
Dean groaned, “Why does this shit always happen to us? Why can’t it ever happen to anyone else?”
Sam wanted to give a good answer, but he didn’t think there was one. He smiled instead. “Hey, I think there were some Zeppelin t-shirts in the juniors’ section.”
*
They had lunch at the diner across the street after they finished shopping, Sam surfing the ‘net for leads while mollifying Dean with a cheeseburger and a slice of pie. He was still grumpy, but Sam couldn’t fault him for that.
“So,” he said, after he was sure that Dean wasn’t going to blow up on him, “What all do you remember from last night? It might be important to figuring out how to reverse this.”
Dean shrugged his thin shoulders, “Man, I dunno, she just kind of mocked me for having suck a miserable life, scratched the hell out of my arm and went all dark eyes and I ganked the bitch. Conversation couldn’t have lasted three minutes.” He dropped his fork and studied his hands, “Dude, I don’t even know if I can hold a shotgun like this!”
Sam didn’t even glance up from the laptop. “Yeah, if you’re like that very long, we’re probably going to have to retrain you. No way you could take anyone in hand-to-hand.”
Dean pouted. “Yeah, well we can’t all be Gigantor, can we?”
“I’m thinking we should head to Springfield,” Sam said, ignoring the jab, “It’s about an hour from here, but they have a pretty expansive system of libraries. We might be able to find out how to reverse the blood magic.”
“Man, first I get turned into a chick and now I have to spend my whole day researching? How are we ever gonna get that bastard Dick Roman if we’re chasing leads on this?”
“Maybe that’s what it’s about,” suggested Sam, “Maybe the demon was in league with the Leviathan.”
“It’d have to be a loner,” Dean pointed out, “Crowley freakin’ hated the dude.”
“Anyway, there’s no way we’re going after Roman right now,” Sam continued, when it became evident that Dean was going to suggest just that, “You said it yourself, you can’t even shoot a shotgun in this body, let alone take down a bunch of things we don’t even know how to kill yet.”
“What about those numbers?” Dean persisted, “We have to figure out what they are! Bobby--” he cut himself off with a faint choking sound, “Sam, it’s important.”
“I know it is, Dean, but dammit, we aren’t going to go running off after God-knows-what with you in this state!”
“Are you talking about the curves or the death wish?” Lucifer asked blithely from the inside of the booth. Sam’s eyes flicked to him, but he refrained a returning comment. Looking back at Dean, though, he saw it had been no good, his brother was too well-versed in the language that was Sam to have missed it.
“Yeah, you’re going all Tyler Durden on me over here, but mine is the state we’re worrying about.”
“I’m handling it,” Sam said firmly, “And that doesn’t change my mind. We’re going to Springfield and Dick Roman can wait.” Before Dean could argue, he stood up and tossed some bills on the table.
“Come on. We’re burning daylight.”
Chapter Four