Rating: T, for language.

Spoilers: Takes place a few months after "Skin", but before "Hookman"

A/N: Hello! Right, so this story was spur of the moment kinda thing. We spent the last few weeks moving(again), and it quite frankly sucked(again). I had thought that it would be so much easier if our favorite boys were around to help. My true inspiration to write this came from my dear Mum, who smashed her finger on our washer and blurted out a rather crude "Son of a B*TCH" immediately afterwards. Familiar? I thought so too :) So, this is dedicated to my lovely mom, and to Little Miss Rosie and Shannz, who encouraged me to write another fic! Thanks! Hope you enjoy.

P.S First time writing the older Winchester's we all know and love. I'm still trying to get their voices right. I'm terrified I epically failed, so I apologize in advance. Let me know how I did, and how I could improve, please! I'd really appreciate it. :) Also, this is kind of a crack fic. Just thought I'd let you know.

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, or Subway. The only things I own are the characters Marissa and Anthony, and my laptop Toby, on which I wrote this story. Also, yhis is un-Beta'd, so all mistakes are mine and mine alone.

A Downside of Normal

"Remind me again how we got roped into this?"

Sam Winchester glanced over at his brother Dean. His big brother, though you couldn't tell by the way he was whining. Add that with the height difference and the statis of older sibling was debatable. Not that Dean let him forget for one second who was older.

"Come on, Dean. It's not the end of the world. It's just moving. We've been moving our whole life." Sam persuaded. "Sure, some of the things are bigger and a bit heavier than what we were used to, but that's why Marissa needs help."

They had just been finishing up a pretty routine salt and burn for a haunted theatre in Oregon when Sam had gotten an email from another old Stanford friend, Marissa. Luckily, Marissa's email was different from Becky's. She had heard that Becky had gotten in touch with him and had simply wanted to catch up. She had mentioned that she was moving soon, and was worried she'd have to hire helpers, as she didn't really have any help. It was only her and her boyfriend, and he was gone most of the day.

Sam had hesitated briefly before offering to help. They didn't have another hunt lined up, and it was only one state over, in Washington. Besides that, he had really missed Rissa; she had been a good friend of his, and had even helped Jess and him get their apartment. He hadn't seen her in awhile, as she'd been a year ahead of him and had been gone when the fire had happened. He didn't see any reason why they couldn't or shouldn't help.

It took some convincing, but a reluctant Dean finally gave in. Sam thought he understood why Dean was reluctant at first; after all, their one and only visit with his old college friends ended with their jobs being exposed and Dean being accused of murder. Let's not forget that Dean was now thought to be dead, for chrissakes. What if he was recognized?

Now, though, Sam wondered if Dean just didn't feel like moving heavy objects and exerting himself for something other than the job. He wouldn't put it past him.

"She at least better be cute," Dean grumbled, still pouting.

Sam wisely bit his cheek to keep from retorting at that. He reminded himself that Dean was doing his friend a favor, was doing Sam a favor. He didn't have to, but he was because Sam asked him to. Still, he couldn't hold back a sigh.

"Seriously, Dean. It's just a few boxes and maybe some furniture. How bad could it possibly be? "

"Son of a Bitch!"

Sam could only grunt in agreement. It turns out that moving involved a bit more than they had previously thought. It didn't help that this was a two-story house, or that most of the heavy objects went up the godforsaken stairs.

After chatting a bit with Marissa and her boyfriend Anthony, they went to work. The house itself wasn't too big for a two-story, but it apparently needed a lot of things. Sam had expected to be moving beds and maybe a few dressers, but jeesh, exactly how many things did a house need?

Dean seemed to be thinking along the same lines.

"What the hell, man!" He exclaimed after they finally set the heavy wooden desk into what was to be the "home office". "How much crap could two people possibly need?"

"Well, what did you guys expect?" came Marissa's slightly amused voice from the hall. "Most houses don't come fully furnished. You need to bring everything in yourself."

Sam and Dean shared a glance, slightly ashamed. They had never really thought about it. After all, they lived most of their lives' in motel rooms and "furnished" apartments, if you could call beds and a well-worn couch "furnished". How were they supposed to know what actual moving involved? Moving for them meant packing up their few belongings into duffel bags and moving onto another crappy place to stay.

"Yeah, well, this is still a lot of stuff", Dean muttered weakly.

"I know. Thanks again for agreeing to help out guys; I would have never been able to do this on my own."

Not that Marissa was leaving all the work to them. She helped them navigate the more cumbersome objects up the stairs and carried in the lighter pieces herself. She knew her limits, though, and left the bigger pieces for the boys. When the furniture was almost done with, she busied herself with bringing in some boxes and getting some lunch for the guys.

After the Subway sandwiches had been devoured and a short break had been taken, they went back to what was quickly becoming one of the most horrible things they have ever had to do - and that's saying something.

Finally, after six hours of working, Marissa announced that there was only two things left, then they were done.

"Oh, thank god," Dean muttered, then glared at Sam. "Not so bad? Were you still out of it from that knock on the head that ghost gave you?"

"Shut up, Dean," Sam glared back half-heartedly. "It's almost over now. Then, I promise I'll never volunteer us to do this again."

It wasn't so much the heavy objects that made this all so difficult- they were more than used to that. That they could handle. No, it was the fucking stairs that made moving hell for them. How the hell were they supposed to get stuff up the damn thing without hitting the corner or something? Something about those stairs made moving seem that much harder. They had gotten better at it, though. They could take these last couple things up, then been done with it.

"Alright," Sam announced, determined now, "what's left?"

"Who the hell," Dean asked through gritted teeth, "had the bright idea to put the friggin' laundry room up the goddamned stairs!"

"Holy crap," Sam grumbled, "The hell are we supposed to get this round the corner?"

"Try tilting it," Rissa offered, trying to smother a smile. "Maybe then you can inch it around the bend."

They both muttered darkly under their breath at that, but did what she suggested. Now the heavy white washer was tilted up and to the side while Dean stepped blindly backwards and Sam tried to tell him which way to go. There were some tense moments, a couple crashes and bangs, a lot of shouted curses, and a quite a few nasty words directed towards the washer and dryer, but they finally got both safely into the laundry room with minimal damage.

Anthony and Marissa thanked them profusely for their help and demanded they stay an extra day so they can show them around town and thank them properly.

"After all," Rissa had said, laughing, "we invited you guys here to catch up, not just so we could take advantage and get some help with moving."

So Sam and Dean agreed and went back to their familiar, comfortably ratty motel. Their fingers were red and they ached all over, but all in all, it hadn't been a bad day. Still, moving was definitely something they didn't plan on doing again anytime soon.

"You know," Sam said a few hours later, when they were getting ready to sleep. "I never thought I'd say this but I'm almost glad we never really had a house. Can you imagine going through that every time we moved to a different place?"

"God, I don't even want to think about it. I don't want to think about moving ever again, if I can help it. That is now on our 'list of things never to do again', right after that waitress from Tampa." Dean grumbled, climbing under the sheets.

Sam chuckled lightly. 'I guess there are some downsides to being normal', He thought, as he slid into sleep.

A/N: Wow, that took me forever. I'm feeling really nervous about this one, I feel like I really screwed up the characters and blah, I'm just really doubting myself. Please give me some feedback; I really want to know what you think! Thanks for reading!

Notes: It took three people, including Mom, to get our washer and dryer up the stairs. There was a lot of cursing and yalling, mostly in spanish, and me and my grandma were laughing our asses off at them. Afterwards, the were ranting about how if architects went to college and were so smart, "they should have put the damn laundry room downstairs, the assholes". It was very amusing, and yet another inspiration for this fic. :) Also, there actually is history of a haunted theatre in Oregon. I actually researched it, because I am a nerd :P Wow, I write alot in author's notes. Okay, I'm done.