Episode: 5.12 Swap Meat

Title: Whammy on Sammy

Submission Type: Fic

Word Count: 2815

Author: supernaturaldh

Rating: PG

Beta: Faye Dartmouth – Thank you to Faye for the awesome beta job. As always, I have tweaked after your excellent work, so all errors are my own!

Summary: The after affects of body swapping takes its toll on Sam. This is an alternate ending to Swap Meat Episode 5:12 and was written for the Summer of Sam Celebration 2010.

Whammy on Sammy

As much as Dean likes to push now is obviously not the time. He and Sam had piled into the Impala and left Housatonic, Massachusetts in a hurry, anxious to get away from the stupid nerd kid who'd conjured up a whole body swapping spell.

Dean glances over at Sam, who's fast asleep in the passenger seat his long limbs slumped against the door. He shakes his head in disbelief. How the hell did the teen put the whammy on Sammy anyway? He sighs loudly. I should've killed that little freak. He looks with concern at Sam. The kid's been out of it for quite awhile now – ever since they'd hit the road. He'd mumbled about feeling "kind 'a crappy" and then, he'd promptly fallen asleep. That'd been hours ago.

The older brother swipes his hand across his bloodshot eyes and stares out the front windshield at the blurry center- line. It's time to find a freaking room.


The passenger door lurches open and Sam jerks somewhat awake. He feels his long body falling abruptly sideways, toward the ground, and his wild limbs list for purchase, anything to stop his sudden fall.

"What…" he mumbles, his eyes darting open.

A strong hand grabs him by the upper arm.

"You're okay, I gotcha."

The voice is familiar and Sam stills. Dean? The fear of falling immediately leaves his exhausted body and he slumps back against the leather seat.

"Come on man," Dean whispers, "I got us a room for the night."

Sam grunts, and looks with indecision at his older brother's face. His brows furrow in confusion. Where are we?

"Don't worry bro," Dean reassures, "We're miles away from Housatonic." Damn stupid kid and that body swapping spell. "I got us a room." He says again as he tugs Sam to his feet.

Sam's sways and leans heavily into his older brother's side.

Dean sighs. Sometimes just keeping his baby brother up right is an impossible task. Sammy weighs a freaking ton.

Sam jerks backwards his unsteady body not sure what is going on. He looks sluggishly across at Dean.

"It's okay." Dean says softly, his fingers gripping tightly to his little brother's arm. It's obvious to him that Sam is out of it – the quicker the kid gets in a room - the better. He waits a moment though, gives his wobbly little brother time to get his bearings back. When Sam seems sort of steady, and Dean is satisfied that he is awake enough to make it to the room, he reluctantly releases his vice grip on his brother's arm.

"You okay?"

Sam gives a small nod of his head.

Dean takes that as a yes. He moves quickly to the trunk and grabs up both their duffle bags. As he turns toward their room he notices that Sam is still standing, or rather, leaning up against the side of the Impala. "Come on Sam." He huffs out in his best John Winchester bossy tone.

Sam pushes off the car and moves slowly forward.

Dean's lips tug into a slight grin at that. The kid still follows orders. He hoists up the duffels and moves unhurriedly toward the room. He's listening for the shuffle of feet behind him, for the sound of his brother's shoes moving on the ground. At least Sam's moving on his own- that's a plus.

Sam feels like he's trying to move through water. His long limbs feel heavy, like they're made of freaking lead. His chest feels kind of tight too. Why's it hurt breathe? He blinks his tired eyes and brings his hand up to rub unconsciously at his chest. He exhales and staggers along behind Dean toward the room.

Dean reaches the doorway and looks back over his shoulder at his little brother. Obviously this body swapping stuff takes a lot out of you. He stuffs the key into the lock as Sam leans against the wall beside the door.

"You okay?" Dean asks again as he pushes the door open with his foot.

"Humph," Sam mumbles as he pushes past Dean and makes his way inside their tiny room.

Dean watches his little brother fall; face first, onto the bed closest to the door. He snorts and rolls his eyes as he drops their bags unceremoniously down against the floor. Guess I won't be sleeping there tonight. His booted foot kicks the doorway shut.


Sam sits bolt upright in bed. It's dark.

He blinks sleep laden eyes and stares around the dimly lit motel room. The no vacancy sign is flashing brightly up against the tattered wall. He sighs, and then exhales with a squeak; he can't seem to catch his breath. I feel kind of weird? It takes a minute for him to focus and to shake the sleep haze from his head. He recognizes the form of his sleeping brother across the room, sprawled out across the other bed. Why's Dean on that bed? He strains his foggy mind to remember – when'd we get here – why'd we stop?

He pulls in an uneven breath of air. Am I wheezing? He draws a hand up to rub against his aching chest. He heaves in another stuttering breath, but he doesn't seem to be getting any oxygen, he chokes and coughs into his fist. What's wrong with me? He feels kind of anxious now. His chest feels kind of tight. He mentally tells his body to relax. Calm down calm down calm down.

He pushes up awkwardly on his shaky arms and swings his feet to lay flat against the dirty motel carpet. The blanket that's been covering him falls into a bunch against the floor. He stares down at the cover, at his bare feet, and then he wiggles his toes. I don't remember taking off my shoes? He scrubs his hand across his sweaty brow and inhales raggedly. I really need some air. He pushes slowly to his feet, tests his balance, wanting to make his way to the bathroom and splash some cold water on his face. Yeah, yeah, that would be good. He wobbles unsteadily though as the room waivers when he stands. His knees buckle and his butt falls promptly back down against the messy bed. Well shit. He shuts his eyes and digs his fingers shakily into the rumpled bedspread, an attempt to help his body stay upright. He breathes loudly as the world around him does a lazy spin. He shuts his eyes and gasps for air. Ah….Dean…I think I got a problem here.

The bedside light flips on.

"Sam?" Dean's sleep muffled voice floats across the room. He looks with tired eyes at his little brother. "You okay over there?" He pushes up on one elbow to get a better look at Sam. He blinks, then, he frowns. Is Sam wheezing? He watches as both Sam's hands move shakily up to rub at his chest, then his fingers claw roughly at his neck. Okay, something's not right here. He flings back the covers and in two large steps he is at his little brother's side.

"Sammy?" He slumps to sit on the edge of bed right next to Sam. His fingers grip at his brother's lower arm.

Sam feels the mattress give with Dean's extra weight, but he can't say anything right now, he's not getting any air. He looks with wide 'help me' eyes at his older brother's face.

And that gets Dean's attention.

"What the hell? Are you choking?" the older brother asks urgently. He doesn't give Sam time to answer the question though, because his brother's looking kind of blue. He rams one hand hard between Sam's shoulder blades almost knocking the kid off of the freaking bed.

"Breathe, Sam," he demands.

Sam grimaces. 'Cause that really freaking hurt. He pulls away from Dean and tries again to strangle in some air. Something is niggling at his brain now, a memory, a foggy thought. His eyes go suddenly wide. "A-s—th-ma-, "he huffs out between wild puffs for air.

"What?" Dean rolls his eyes. "You don't have asthma, Sam." he says firmly states. 'Cause I'd remember that.

"I –I -do- n-.n-now," Sam wheezes. He leans his head forward down between his knees until it's almost pressed against the floor. God, I need some air.

Dean's brow furrows in confusion. What? He remembers the message Sam had left him on his cell phone. He remembers it clearly now.

Dean, I've called every phone we got. Where are you man? So…So this is gon'na sound crazy, really crazy, but - - - I think I'm in the wrong body and, and - I could use a little help hear. I-I think - - I got asthma -call me back.

"Well shit, Sam."

Dean places his hand on Sam's back between his shoulder blades, not too sure of exactly what to do, or how to help. "Take it easy," he says as his fingers rub gently up and down the rigid spine. What the hell, I don't know anything about asthma.

Sam points toward his coat as he stutters between rough gasps of air. "In-haler," he pants out, "coat-pocket."

Dean doesn't get it. He looks with confusion at Sam.

Sam nods weakly at his jacket once again.

Suddenly, Dean puts it all together and he bolts up to his feet. That creepy Gary kid is so going down. He sprints to the chair where he'd dropped Sam's jacket earlier when he maneuvered it off his half- asleep little brother. His fumbles in the pockets as his eyes dart back to Sam. His brothers lips are a dusky blue now, his face so close to the floor that he's about to fall off the freaking bed. "Hang on Sammy," he says urgently. His questing fingers dig deeper inside the pockets of Sam's coat. Come on come on come on. Suddenly, he yanks the inhaler from its hiding spot and almost giddily he yells, "I got it!"

In three large strides he's back at Sam's side and drops abruptly to his knees. He shoves the unfamiliar object up against Sam's deep blue parted lips.

Sam grabs at the inhaler, his fingers pawing at his older brother's chest.

"Hold on, easy." Dean swats his brother's flailing hands away. He pumps the plastic object, pushing the trigger several times as the medication sprays out and past Sam's lips. He forces Sam's hands downward and grips them tightly in his free hand.

Sam's eyes roll in their sockets as his head falls forward toward his chest.

Dean panics. "Breathe, damn it. Sammy?" He releases his grip on Sam's limp hands and grabs his little brother face in his fingers just beneath his chin. He pumps the inhaler again and then gives Sam a little shake.

Sam's body arches slightly as he stutters in a mouthful of air, and then another, and another. He sags weakly into Dean.

"Whoa…whoa….I gotcha," Dean wraps his arms around Sam's wavering form and hoists him up against his side. "Sammy," Funny, Sammy doesn't feel heavy now at all? "Are you with me Sam?"

Sam's snorting and huffing but he seems to be getting air.

Dean gives a slight sigh of relief. He holds Sam closer to his side and tucks the wobbly head beneath his chin. "Just breathe, Sammy." That's good. That's good.

Sam's head tilts slightly and foggy hazel eyes blink sluggishly at Dean.

"Easy Sam, you're okay." Dean says shakily. "I got you kiddo. Just keep breathing, alright?"


"Yeah, yeah," Dean's voice cracks as he speaks into the cell phone. "No, he's sleeping now."

He glances back through the half open motel doorway at his brother's exhausted form. Yep, Sam's down for the count, again, since his 'little' asthma attack at the freaking crack of dawn.

He presses the cell phone tighter to his ear.

"So you think it's only temporary, 'cause sweet Jesus, Bobby." Dean sighs loudly, "It was really bad." He tugs his fingers back through his short cropped hair; and turns nervously in a full circle on the balls of his feet, then, he looks wearily back at Sam. He huffs out a shaky breath. "Okay, okay, so it's just residual, you think if he just rests up, takes care of himself, that it'll go away – right?" Jesus Christ, I sure freaking hope so. He chuckles almost manically. "Okay, okay. Thanks Bobby, yeah, I'll keep you posted."

The cell phone snaps abruptly shut.

Dean steps back into the motel room. He walks steadfastly over and takes a long look down at Sam. His hand unconsciously reaches downward to tug the blankets up beneath his brother's chin. He pauses, watches Sam's chest rise and fall. He cascades his fingers through Sam's too long messy bangs, pushing them lightly off of the kids pale face. If his brother was awake, he wouldn't be doing this. He blows out a weary sigh, it's early, way early, but he can't go back to sleep, not now, not while he's got to keep an eye on Sam.

He demands his racing heart to calm as he slumps to the chair at the table in the corner and boots up the computer. Sometimes he thinks he doesn't know a freaking thing. He types the word ASTHMA into the Google search. One thing's for damn sure - he'll know all about it now.


Sam rubs the fingers on his left hand up against his still sore sternum. He sighs and slouches back against the familiar leather seat. Dean's checking them out of the motel after three long days of rest. He'd felt better after the first day, right after the attack, but Dean, well, he was adamant, they wouldn't be going anywhere, not until he knew Sam was okay.

Sam heaves in a large gulp of fresh air, so glad he can easily do it now. Amazing…the things you take for granted.

The driver's door squeaks open as Dean gets back inside the car. "You okay?" he asks as he looks critically across at Sam. Why's he rubbing at his chest? Concern lines etch quickly across his face.

"Yeah," Sam whispers as he drops his hand back against his empty lap. "I'm okay." He can't help the smile that ghosts across his lips. Dean is such a big brother.

Dean snorts as his fingers grip the steering wheel. He stares wide eyed at his baby brother not sure he believes Sam's words or not.

"Sammy….if you're not okay." He hisses out with little anger in his words. "I'm just saying…if…if I have to watch you with that asthma crap… again…." He shakes his head and clears his throat. "Let's just say you won't have to worry about breathing anymore, 'cause, little brother, I'll kill you myself."

Sam laughs, "I'm fine, Dean." He looks reassuringly at his big brother, "Really, I'm okay."

Dean grins and relaxes; seemingly satisfied with Sam's answer, he starts up the car. He's more than ready to blow this Popsicle stand. He wants to put this all behind them, find another hunt, another day.

Sam nuzzles in against the passenger door. He's still kind of tired. Guess these 'so called' asthma attacks take a lot out of you. He yawns. His eyes droop slowly shut. He can hear Dean saying something next to him, but he's too asleep to comprehend.

"You just rest Sam."

Dean pats at his coat pocket, a brand new inhaler tucked away inside, just in case.

He sighs and pulls the car out on the roadway. He just hopes that Bobby's right, that the residual effects of the body swapping spell are all over with. I don't want Sammy to have asthma.

He glances back across the bench seat at his sleeping little brother. 'Cause manthat kid's life really sucked.