Ten Terrible Days (According to Sam)
This sucks. The hunt was supposed to be one little witch doctor doing some freaky little rituals. Not a fucking cult of seriously sadistic witch doctors.
And then to top it off. The last bastard among them had to go and curse them. God damn it. Did this kind of shit only happen to Winchesters? Well, yeah.
And the thing is. They don't even know what the freaking curse does much less how long it lasts. What the fuck does 'movial jovial tinkly winkly' mean anyway? Yeah, no clue.
"So, geek boy, did you figure out what the winkie twinkie nutter butter crap was about yet?" Dean asked looking up toward Sam from where he was cleaning the guns.
"No, Dean. And it was movial jovial tinkly winkly, moron." Sam said sighing and not even bothering to look away from his laptop.
"Oh, I know. I just love hearing you say that. You sound like such a fucking girl." Dean said grinning as he finished putting one of the guns back together.
"What? Just, whatever Dean. I need to focus. So, you need to shut up. Right now." Sam said as he clicked through the searches Google had come up with.
"Well-"Dean began. And then he turned green. Not like the 'Oh, God, I'm gonna be sick' green. But like green, green. With pink polka dots. And Sam. Yeah, he was blue- smurf blue. All he needed was one of those white little hats. And, y'know, shrink and few feet.
"Dean you're-"Sam said.
"Sammy, you're not gonna believe this but-"Dean said smiling like a little kid at Christmas.
"With pink polka dots."
"Seriously?"Dean said. Then he happened to look down at the hand that was still clutching the gun. And yeah, it was green. And those were pink polka dots."Damn it."
"I'm blue? Jesus Christ." Sam said inspecting his own hands." This must be part of the curse." And then Sam was clacking away at the laptop and muttering to himself.
"Even when he's blue, he's a fuckin' nerd." Dean said to himself before turning back to his guns.
The next day, when Sam woke up, something seemed very off. Like 'the house is on fire' wrong.
Only they weren't in a house; they were in a shitty motel. And it wasn't on fire.
No answer. Sam looked over at the other bed that his brother had occupied the night before. The bed that Dean was currently sleeping in. And snoring; only he wasn't. And what the fuck?
Sam stood up and went to poke Dean. When Dean opened his eyes, Sam realized that they weren't green. They were a dark grey. And his hair was a light grey. And the sprinkle of freckles across Dean's nose was a slightly darker grey than the tone of his skin.
"Huh?" Dean said looking confused.
"Dean, damn it, listen to me." And then Sam realized that even though he was talking, he wasn't. He lost his voice.
So Sam had no voice and Dean was grey like a black and white movie. Great.
"I'm going back to bed." Dean said.
Sam just nodded and fired up the laptop.
The third day, they have vowed never to speak of again. But we'll just say that it involves breasts, skirts, unicorns and magic, evil eyeliner that attacked Dean.
The fourth day. They woke up and…nothing was different. Like, at all.
"Is it over?" Dean asked when they had checked out of the motel they had been in for the last three days and were in an actual diner for the first time since the curse had begun.
"I dunno. Seems like it." Sam said mentally checking off that yes, he could speak, he wasn't blue, and Dean wasn't grey or green. And there was no eyeliner in sight. Sam shivered at that thought.
"Okay, then." Dean said and that was that.
Until they were walking out of the diner and Dean suddenly became three feet tall and Sam had a beer gut and silver, foot long beard.
"Fuck." Little-Dean said.
"C'mon, let's go get another motel." Grandpa-Sam said." And don't swear. No cussing until you're this tall." Grandpa-Sam said, indicating a height of about five feet. And, try as he might, Little-Dean couldn't reach it. Not even when he jumped.
That day they made it from North Carolina to Florida with Grandpa-Sam driving as he thought that the police might not appreciate Dean driving when he couldn't even see over the wheel. Dean, very reluctantly, agreed. But not without a slight (major) temper tantrum. Hey, you were only a kid once, or twice in this case, right?
The fifth day was, by far, the worst. At least in Dean's opinion. Dean sprouted three foot black wings and a beak. Sam became a country singer and any time he talked he could only sing lyrics to country music. And Dean had maintained his taste in music. And his sense of hearing, damn it.
"Play me, some country music. Like grandma and grandpa used to play." Sam sang with a slight twang to his voice.
"You're enjoying this aren't you, you little fucker?" Dean said while stubbornly clamping his hands down over his ears.
"And I'll float on down the river…"
On the sixth day. Nothing really bad happened. At least, in terms of how terrible the last few days had been. See, on the sixth day, Sam had an insatiable appetite (but that was different than usual how?) and Dean became a nerd. Glasses and braces and pocket protector and all. But it still allowed him to be seen in public (no matter how much he hated it) which meant he could go and get Sammy food. Which Sam greatly enjoyed.
The seventh day. Yeah, it was the dreaded sex pollen. Hunters heard about this kind of things happening. But no one ever took it seriously.
"So Sammy." Dean said staring at the blank television.
"You wanna suck me off?" Sam said glancing at Dean before looking at the television too.
"Sure, but only if I can fuck you later." Dean said as he straddled his brother.
Sam grinned. "I'll think about it."
But how much thinking could a guy get done when his brother had his pretty lips (that were totally made for sucking cock) rapped around his rock hard dick?
The eighth day, Sam enjoyed immensely. By this point, he had stopped trying to figure out how to get rid of it and ha decided to just let it run its course. How bad could it actually get, anyway?
Well, the eighth day, Sam simply became a comedian. And Dean.
Yeah, here's the thing. Dean didn't become a girl again. No, he could have handled that. Having tits kind of turned him on a little bit. Maybe. But this? This was just wrong.
He still had his flat chest and dick, sure. But dude, he was fucking pregnant.
"So Dean, who's the lucky man?" Sam chuckled as Dean poked at his belly.
"Shut up and go get me a burrito, whipped cream and guacamole." Dean yelled, before rushing off to the bathroom. Fucking morning sickness. Only it was five in the evening.
"Yeah, Dean my sentiments exactly. I mean, a burrito?"
On the ninth day Sam became a Greek God, Apollo.
And Sam became a goat.
And Sam will kill you for even mentioning it ever again. Dean.
On the tenth day, Sam got a halo and fluffy, white wings. Dean was a merman. Or, if you're asking Sam, he was totally a mermaid.
"Dude, at least my wings were cool and black." Dean said as he moved his tail, a fucking tail, while he leaned back into the water. The bathtub was way too small for him. But, um, it was either that or die of dehydration. And Dean, he kinda likes living.
"At least I'm not a mermaid," Sam said ignoring Dean's indignant cry of 'merman'." That's lame, man."
"Shut up, at least I didn't name the laptop Betsy." Dean smirked.
"Leave her out of this!' Sam shouted before stomping out of the bathroom. Or, trying anyway. His wings got caught in the doorway. And Dean laughed way too much for Sam's liking.
On the eleventh day, a voice spoke to them.
"Okay, guys, hey. This is the unknown Voice of Wisdom. I'm just supposed to tell you that the curse is broken and- Hey! Are you guys sleeping?"
The sound of snores was his only answer. So the Voice of Wisdom left a note.
The Voice of Wisdom's handwriting looked a lot like Jo's.
But neither Dean nor Sam looked any further into that.