SEVEN

Sam opened his eyes, looking around slowly. His throat felt dry and for some reason parts of his face were stinging. There was a dull ache in his left leg. He lifted his head and looked around, hearing voices.

He saw a room in a wooden cabin, small but warm, with a roaring yet modest log fire providing a nice steady supply of heat. The tiny windows far to his left appeared misted up with condensation, and he remembered woods and wet leaves in a sudden flash.

His attention was drawn again to the sound of voices, and he looked to his right slightly to see Bobby sitting in a cosy-looking armchair, holding a steaming mug of something. He was looking at someone, enthralled by their conversation.

“Naw, you need something heavier to put a kink in a zombie’s stride; it’s all about stopping-power,” the voice said, and Sam blinked.

I recognise that voice! he grinned.

He leaned forward and to his left, trying to see round the side of the other armchair. But the owner of the voice leaned forward to pick up the mug of hot liquid from the small table by his side, and Sam gasped in relief.

“Dean!” he blurted, and his brother looked over at him quickly. “You’re you!”

“Yeah, how about that,” he grinned, putting his mug back down and getting up slowly. Sam watched him walk over the few feet toward him.

It was then that Sam realised he was currently lounging in the corner of a sofa, a rather comfortable place that included cushions and a warm blanket.

“We’re us again, Sammy,” Dean grinned. “You feeling ok?” he asked, bending over and putting a hand to the back of Sam’s neck, peering into his eyes suspiciously.

“Yeah, I guess,” he managed, and Dean let his hand drop. Sam blinked a few times and lifted a hand lazily, rubbing the back of his head that was beginning to throb. “What happened?”

Dean sucked in a breath, walking back to his chair and sitting slowly. Bobby looked at him, then gestured back to Sam with his head.

“Well… Bobby saved us, Sam. He did his little hoodoo put-us-right-doo and we’re all back as we were. There was one tiny complication though,” he added gingerly.

Sam shifted his elbows under him and sat up slowly, still feeling his head.

“What was it?” he asked, watching Bobby get up. He brought over a mug of steaming soup and Sam took it gratefully.

“George wasn’t really George – he wasn’t even Mrs Fudly. He was the original creature that was swapping people, a Ka’Sm’dall. He had to either steal a body beyond midnight, or get the swapped-out real owner to die to keep the body he stole,” Dean said slowly. “He was dispossessing people.”

“Typical,” Sam muttered. “What’s that got to do with me?”

“He tried to snatch you once Bobby had us right,” he said simply.

“And?”

“And Dean didn’t want him to get away with it,” Bobby put in. “He brought him back, we swapped you back.”

“Oh. So… how did you bring him back without him running away again?”

“It’s a bit hard to run with a bullet in your leg, ain’t it, Dean?” Bobby said accusingly.

“Hey, we were running out of time, and I didn’t have a choice,” he said simply, but it was obvious he was past caring anyway.

Sam gasped, pulling the blanket away from his leg and finding a large crisp white bandage. It covered the few inches directly above his left knee, the jeans all torn up and bloodied around it. He put his hand to the leg and squeezed slightly, trying to believe it was his again.

“Dude! You shot me!” he realised.

“I shot the Ka’Sm’dall,” he pointed out. “And anyway, it’s just a flesh wound, I can aim,” he said dismissively.

Sam looked from Dean to Bobby, his mouth hanging open. Bobby just looked apologetic, so Sam looked back at Dean.

“I can’t believe you shot me!” he grumbled.

“It was that or die anyway, Sam,” Bobby added quietly.

“But youshot me, you jerk!” he blurted at Dean. His brother turned and looked at him, and Sam saw the warning look in his eyes and decided to leave it for now. “So where is he?” he blustered, trying to change at least the tone of the subject.

“Burnt,” Dean said shortly. “He’s not going to be swapping anyone else for anyone else.”

“Oh,” Sam managed. “Ah… ok.”

Bobby looked at Dean, then stood abruptly.

“Well now we know Sam’s ok, I’m heading home,” he said firmly. “Now remember you boys, come see me sometime when it’s not all about hunting. I’ve got some kegs to open. And don’t forget that leg is gonna need a lot of resting. No running after werewolves or vampires, got it?”

“Yes sir, I’ll watch him,” Dean said with a smile, getting to his feet. They shook hands and patted backs, Dean walking with him out of the door behind Sam’s sofa. They left the tiny log room and disappeared into the night, their voices audible but their words indistinct.

Sam stretched slightly, yawning and looking at his cup of hot soup. He smiled as he picked it up, looking at his hands and just feeling glad they were his, and in the right place again. He sipped at the cup slowly, being careful not to burn himself, and was content to watch the tiny fire, pull the blanket up round him warmly, and smell the hot vegetable soup.

He felt a dull ache in his leg and sighed philosophically. He decided he wasn’t actually too upset and it was probably because he was on medication for pain and infection. He sank back into the sofa comfortably.

Presently he heard Dean come back in, closing a heavy-sounding door behind him and walking back to his chair. He sat down in it as if aiming for a few feet too low, slamming down and sighing a long, uneasy sound.

“Dean?” Sam asked in a small voice.

He waited, and eventually Dean’s twinkly green eyes appeared round the headrest slowly.

“Sam,” he said confidently.

“Look, ah… We’ve had a really strange couple of days, and… I just want to say… It’s been weird,” he said uncomfortably. Dean held his gaze, a slow smile spreading over his face.

“It certainly has,” he agreed, then stood up. He bent over and shifted the armchair round slightly, so that it still caught the warmth from the fire, but also let him see Sam unimpeded.

“So… what have you learnt from all this?” Sam asked gamely, sensing that, while his brother appeared wicked-tired, he still had his sense of humour.

“What have I learnt?” he prompted, sitting down again and getting comfortable. “I’ve learnt… Dude, you are light,” he observed. “And tall. I’ve never seen so many bald patches.” Sam laughed abruptly, surprising him nicely. “So what have you learnt?” he asked his younger brother.

“You’re heavy,” Sam admitted. “In a good way. I mean… now I know why you win most of your fights,” he shrugged. “I used to think you were good, but now I know it’s just body weight.”

“Bitch,” Dean smirked, and Sam grinned to himself. It was quiet for a long moment, save the sound of the fire and the brothers’ occasional sips of hot soup. “You know what’s really weird?” Dean asked quietly.

“What?”

“That… you did just fine, being me,” he said. “You kept it together, called Bobby back, arranged everything, kept us on track. I was a basket-case,” he admitted ruefully. “I really sucked at being you.”

“I think you’re supposed to,” Sam said easily. “And anyway, I wasn’t that good at being you when it came down to it. It was like… kinda like a fourteen year old being given a beer coupon. I had no idea how to use you. You would have ploughed through those policemen. I just stood there talking till that Ka’Sm’dall thing helped us out of it,” he said glumly.

Dean chuckled suddenly, reaching out and smacking him on his good knee.

“So we’re agreed: we’re not swapping back?” he joked.

“Absolutely not,” Sam said, relieved.

“Good. I’m going to have nightmares about toilets for the rest of my life,” he admitted, his grin dimming for a second, and Sam laughed out loud again.

“Dude, you should have seen your face!”

“I was wearing your face at the time!”

“And then the receptionist at the Travelodge clearly had a thing for me!” Sam laughed.

“Hey, it was my face she had a thing for,” he grinned.

“You know what?” Sam said suddenly.

“No, what?” he asked.

“I think I’m really lucky. That you’re my brother.”

“Sam please,” he sighed, rolling his eyes.

“And I also think you’re really lucky,” he added.

“Me? Why? Cos I have you as a brother?” he said, grimacing with distaste.

“No, man, cos when I was you, I had to go to the toilet like twice, and ‘wow’ – that’s all I’m going to s-“

“You looked!” Dean shouted accusingly.

“Like you didn’t?” Sam laughed.

“You are one sick puppy, Samuel Winchester,” he chuckled, shaking his head, and they sat back, sipping their soup.

“I do have a question, though,” Sam said thoughtfully, and Dean sat up again, looking at him. He had about a mile of amusement on his face.

“What, Sammy? What question do you have for me?” he asked indulgently.

“Well… when are you going to fix that rattling sound in the car?”

THE END