20 - Idjits
The hunt was seven days behind them before they realized that something had gone wrong, that, oops, maybe the crap the witch sprayed in Dean's face when they surprised her in her home hadn't been cheap perfume.
"Dude," the eldest--as far as they knew--Winchester asked, frowning at his disturbingly smooth face in the mirror, "Do I look... different to you?"
Sam appeared over his brother's shoulder, examining Dean's reflection with a truly disturbing amount of scrutiny. "Trying a new moisturizer?" the taller man deadpanned, earning himself a punch in the arm.
"I'm not kidding," Dean said, turning back to the mirror, running his fingers around the flawless skin around his eyes where, regrettably, he'd been developing lines for quite some time, "I feel... younger."
The brothers shared worried glances. "You said you felt fine!" Sam accused, grabbing Dean's head in both his meaty paws and getting way too close for comfort, "The witch said it was perfume you got sprayed with, and you said you felt fine! You should've told me earlier if you thought something was happening!"
"I didn't really notice until now!" the blonde fired back, slapping Sam away, "Man, this is just what I need! What the hell do you think is wrong with me?"
"Well," Sam speculated, not liking the answer and knowing his brother would probably like it even less, "Most of the potions we found in the witch's house were Fountain-of-Youth type stuff. She was really freaked about aging and messed around with some pretty dark forces trying to hold it off. And she wasn't exactly subtle, either. I mean, twenty cases of spontaneous Progeria in kids with no previous symptoms? Please. She should've just sent me an email."
Dean rolled his cocky young eyes. "Ya, ya," he complained, "We're all very impressed with your ability to sniff out a freak from three states over, but let's get back to me and figuring out what's wrong with me and fixing me." He blinked. "You know. ME."
Sighing, Sam kneaded a headache that was gathering at his temples. "Ok," the brunette stated, "Let's just start from the beginning... what do you remember about the stuff you got sprayed with?"
"I dunno, man," Dean whined, petulant and bratty, "It smelled like Sunny-D and ass. Burned, too. And my face was numb for nearly an hour afterwards."
Sam gritted his teeth. "You said you felt fine!"
"I did," the blonde shrugged, "Except for the burning and numbness." He faced down his brother's fury with a look of pure innocence. "They went away! I was gonna tell you if they'd lasted another hour!"
Sam began a calming mental mantra and pressed, "How do you feel now?"
Again, Dean shrugged, "Pretty good, actually. My shoulder hurt like a bitch yesterday, but I woke up today and it's like new."
Sam stared. "Your right shoulder?"
"Ya," Dean answered brightly, then warily, "How'd you know?"
"When you were twenty-one, you got tossed around by that nasty poltergeist in Idaho," his brother explained, barely keeping his horror in check, "You dislocated your right shoulder really badly. You nearly had to get surgery to put it back in to place, and you spent the whole next year popping handfuls of pain pills just to get through the day... Dean, you're twenty. You've de-aged seven years in the past week."
"YOU TWO ARE GODDAMN IDJITS!!"
Dean could hear Bobby screaming through the cell phone from across the room. The (apparently) twenty-year-old winced in sympathy for his brother's eardrum.
"YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW HARD IT IS TO REVERSE, HELL, EVEN TO STOP SOMETHIN' LIKE THIS IS GONNA BE BY NOW?! THE LONGER YOU LET IT GO, THE MORE PHYSICAL CHANGES DEAN'S GONNA GO THROUGH, AND THE MORE EFFORT IT'LL BE ON MY PART TURNIN' THE GODDAMN IDJIT BOY RIGHT AGAIN!!"
"Bobby," Sam cut in, trying like hell to get a word in edgewise, "It's not my fault! Dean didn't-"
"OF COURSE HE DIDN'T TELL YOU!!" Bobby snarled in reply, "YOUR BROTHER'S A GODDAMN PSYCH CASE WHEN IT COMES TO TAKIN' CARE'A HIMSELF!! I WOULD'A EXPECTED YOU TO KNOW BETTER, SAM!!"
"I am not a psych case!!" Dean shouted from the other side of the room, hoping that Sam's cell was sensitive enough to pick up the objection.
His brother huffed and glared and turned his massive back, still clearly getting screamed at via cell.
Dean sighed, slumping to down into an uncomfortable desk chair and secretly enjoying being so young again because, seriously, what was so bad about being twenty?
So far, he'd only been coming up with items for the "Pro" column of his mental inventory:
(1) He was even more smokin' hot than normal and full of all kinds of ridiculous energy.
(2) He could underage drink again. It made it like ten times more fun.
(3) He could bag barely legal babes without feeling like a pervert... well, not that he usually did, but
(3a) he could bag barely legal babes without Sammy giving him a bunch of disapproving looks and making him feel like a pervert...
Lost in his daydreams of tequila and tail, Dean hardly noticed when Sam hung up the phone and flopped down into one of the paisley motel beds. "Bobby said we should go back and interrogate the witch and then get to his place A-sap so he can work on reversing whatever she did to you. I figure we can be ready to leave in an hour, back at the witch's house in two days, back to Bobby's in another two."
Dean pouted. "What about our hunt here? We're not finished."
"Dean," Sam scolded angrily, "You heard him! The longer you stay under the spell, the harder it's going to be to change you back! The hunt can wait!"
"But we know where the baddie's bones are buried!!" the young blonde whined, "We just have to wait until nightfall and smoke her ass! Come on, Sammy! What's one more day gonna hurt?"
"Haven't you been listening at all?" Sam shouted, tugging desperately at his long hair, "God, it was bad enough living with twenty-year-old you the first time around!"
Sulking bitterly, Dean bit back, "At least you got the privilege of living with twenty-year-old me."
A wave of guilt washed over Sam, even though he didn't think it was remotely fair. "Look," he said, "I just don't want... we don't know what's wrong with you. It could be a lot more dangerous than just dropping a few years. The sooner we find out, the better."
"I'm fine for the moment," Dean responded, oozing far more cockiness than was strictly normal, "And I'm not going anywhere until I know that the psycho librarian won't be tipping bookshelves over on anymore little kids." He made himself comfortable on the bed. "You're just gonna have to deal."
Groaning, Sam threw up his hands in helpless frustration.
Ugh. This is the lamest Friday night EVER. Flaky friends SUCK.
So I thought I'd post this to make me feel better. It's about half written, so reviews might make me update faster.