Timeline: September 2011, seventh season. Here's hoping the entire angel arc is gone for good. It's time for all angels to return to Heaven permanently, time for the Winchesters to get back to saving people, hunting things, brotherly snark, and prank wars.

Possible Spoilers: Black Swan; SPN season six finale. I have no details of what will happen; Kripke did say in a recent interview that the arc would be ending. I have hope. Don't let me down, Eric.

Summary: SPN/Black Swan Xover. Sorta. Sam gets the lowdown on a past hunt from Drugged!Dean. This oneshot has absolutely nothing to do with the SPN episode of the same name.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or Black Swan. This is for entertainment purposes only, and not for profit.

Like everyone else, Sam Winchester had his doubts about his life in particular and life in general. He didn't believe in luck, even though there'd been times when he'd had a phenomenal run of it.

Luck runs out. More often than not it goes from good to bad, sometimes in a heartbeat.

Fate and God? Well, that whole angel thing put him to the test. Even though that was over months ago, Sam still didn't know if he'd passed that test or not. He and Dean were still alive, still above ground and breathing. That had to count for something.

Over the last two years Sam had the nagging feeling that he was the problem in his family. He couldn't shake this feeling, and he sure in the hell never mentioned it to Dean, but maybe, just maybe…his family wouldn't have been so fucked up if it hadn't been for him. First that business with Azazel, and then later, Lucifer. Maybe all of that was proof positive of just how screwed up he really was, and how he messed up everyone he loved.

Sam thought of his Mom, Jess, and Dad; sometimes he wondered if they'd been better off if he'd never been born.

He needed something to distract himself, because that line of thinking was not good, not healthy. And so the prank wars began anew in September.

Sam had been so sure about the last one. He and Dean needed a distraction, something to take their mind off the final clusterfuck with the angels.

Sam struck first: Kool-Aid in Dean's bedsheets. It was a masterful first strike. The bedsheets at the Lazy Daze Inn were scratchy anyway; Sam figured that Dean wouldn't notice something extra when he climbed into bed. That night Sam turned out the lights and went to bed first. There was a moment when he thought his plan wouldn't work, when he believed Dean would suspect something was up.

Dean didn't. He was obviously tired, exhausted from the day's hunt down in the sewers. Big brother went to bed wearing black boxer briefs and clean freckled skin, and the next morning he sat up striped in cherry, grape and strawberry from his shoulders to his feet.

Dean bared his teeth in a friendly snarl as he looked down at himself. He ran his index finger over one well-muscled bicep, licked his fingertip and scowled at the tart cherry taste that prickled his tongue.

"All right, Poindexter," he growled fiercely as Sam sputtered laughter. "It's on."

That night Sam was careful when he took a shower. He remembered the Nair in his shampoo that time, and he figured since that was a classic, Dean would try it again.

Sam was right. Unfortunately, that was a diversion. The real danger was in that peppermint scented body wash Sam was so fond of using.

Damn Elmer's Glue.

It was a double whammy. Afterwards Sam tried to curse, he really did, but his mouth was numb after he used his mouthwash.

Damn Ambesol. Damn Dean.

It ended one morning, ten days later, as all things must. They were evenly matched, and if Dean hadn't pulled out the big guns (not literally) at the last moment the whole thing might have been a draw.

It wasn't.

Sam went to bed alone the night before and woke up the next morning…not alone.

He never did figure out where Dean got that life-size figure of Bozo the Clown.

Sam woke up slowly. When he was fully awake he realized that he and Bozo were lying in bed nose to red rubber nose.

Not gonna scream, Sam told himself. Not gonna scream…

Easier said than done.

Sam tried to push the thing away. He couldn't

Couldn't raise his arms, either. Felt like he was in a straightjacket.

He started to lose it then. He was trapped.

Sam realized that Dean had somehow managed to wrap Bozo's flexible arms around him while he was sound asleep.

Sam really did yell out then.

All right, all right. He screamed. Loud and long. You happy now?

Dean laughed so hard that day he fell out of bed.

Didn't break anything.

The bastard.

Two weeks later

Sam shifted his weight in his chair. The wooden frame creaked, but he didn't hear it. Sam tried not to grin, but he knew he was grinning anyway, from ear to ear. He stared down at the dog-eared photo in his hand, and he felt his fingertips tingle a little from the slick feel of the paper.

Call it fate, destiny or whatever. He'd lost the last prank war, but now the means to win the next one had literally fallen right into his lap.

Sam sat, and he waited.

By the time they'd reached Bobby's cabin snow spiraled down from the grey sky above in thick, large, wet flakes. Two feet of snow in the forecast, and a foot was already on the ground. The place was well-stocked with food, medical supplies, and a spare generator. Way out here in the boonies, Sam figured they'd be snowed in for at least a week.

It was the perfect end to an otherwise craptastic hunt. That nyxro was a vicious bastard. Before it went down for good it attacked Dean and slammed him into the wall. The scratches were shallow, on Dean's neck and chest. His jacket, overshirt and black t shirt caught the worst of it, but the claw-tips still pricked his skin. That meant poison. No known antidote. Dean was young and strong. He'd have to sleep it off.

Not yet anyway.

Sam leaned forward, and he didn't realize that the smile on his face was wide and predatory. That look screamed Gotcha!

And he suddenly realized that. He schooled his features into a more becoming look, one of fake care and concern. If Dean had been awake, he would have rolled his eyes. "Dude. Please. That the best you can do?"

Pumping a woozy, disoriented Dean for information might be a dirty trick, but hey, there were no boundaries in a prank war. Everything was fair game.




"H-Huh?" Dean mumbled. His eyes flickered open. They were too bright, feverish. Sitting up in bed, propped up by pillows like that, Dean looked younger, vulnerable somehow. It was always a shock to see him pale and weakened like that.

"How you feeling?"

"Fugly," Dean croaked instead. "Did we get 'em?" His gaze sharpened and his eyes flicked back and forth as he took in his surroundings. Both hands clenched slightly atop the flowered white and blue comforter, as though he were grasping an iron stake or a gun butt.

Sam nodded. "Double tap in the head."

"Good." Dean visibly relaxed. He closed his eyes.

"Dean? You wanna tell me about this?"

Dean opened his eyes and blearily focused on Sam. " 'bout wha'?"

"This." Sam held the photo up.


"Aw, c'mon dude. You can tell me."

Another head shake "Don't wanna," Dean chirped. He sounded like he was four.

Judging by the unfocused look in Dean's eyes, it suddenly occurred to Sam that Dean might be having a hard time focusing on anything that wasn't right in his face.

Sam leaned forward in his chair. He stretched his arm out, held the photo up to his older brother for a closer look. Dean tried to look alert, but he was losing the battle to stay awake. He blinked several times in the slow motion way of someone who is heavily medicated.

"This is a joke, right? A gag photo? You weren't really a ballet dancer, were you?"

Dean shook his head from side to side. "What?" he snorted scornfully. "No! I wasn't no damn ballerina."

"Uh huh." Sam stood up, moved to Dean's bedside, and held the photo inches away from Dean's nose.

"No! 'course not! I wasn't…" Dean squinted long and hard at the photo and then grinned dopily. "Oh yeah. Yeah I was."

"This dropped out of your wallet when I carried you in. You wanna talk about it?" Sam chuckled as he sat back down. "Dude, you're wearing dark purple tights and a smile. And nothing else."

Dean's head bobbled. "I hadda wear a girdle too. D'ya know that?"


"It chafed me, Sammy," Dean sighed. His cheeks were bright with rosy spots of fever. "Felt like somebody had their hands on my boys down there. An' not in a good way, either. Damn Kung Fu grip."

"Uh, dude, way too much information."

"Naw, it's not. You wanna know. Ya know you do, 'cause if you didn't, ya never woulda asked me in the first place." Dean scowled slightly at some distant memory. "Tried to make me wear this damn ruffled shirt. I drew the line at that one."

"I bet you did. What was the name of the production?"

"Swan Lake." Dean's grin was warm and oddly endearing. "I scored with the ladies. Those ballerinas might look like Barbie, but, dude, they are wild women in bed."

"Still way too much info, dude."

"I mean they are freaks. Wax candles, satin ropes…"


"We did threesomes. Lotta girl on girl action, too. Nina. Lily…"

"Focus, Dean."

"Damn ruffles," Dean muttered darkly. He snorted in derision. "A man shouldn't wear ruffles. Ever."

"Uh, Dean?"

"That dance director said I was pretty."


"Wanted me to audition on his couch. Tol' him I didn't swing that way."


"Woulda punched him out but Dad stopped me."


"Those tights weren't really that bad. I liked the way they felt against my skin. Real smooth, like Rhonda's pink satin panties-"


Dean's head wobbled. He looked confused. "Did…did I say that out loud?"

Sam filed that piece of intel away for future use. "I didn't hear anything."

"You better ask me now," Dean said airily, "'cause ya know I'm not gonna tell you bupkis once this fugly poison wears off."

Dean raised his right hand in front of his eyes and wiggled his fingers. His eyes widened in shock and delight. "Whoa. I can see time…"

"Speaking of which," Sam said softly. He flipped the photo over. "June 9, 2002. I was at Stanford. You and Dad never mentioned any of this."

"Well, duh. And we weren't gonna, either."

"Where was the hunt?"

"The Big Apple."

"New York City?"

"Yep!" Dean laughed, light and cheerful. "One'a Dad's buddies from Echo 2-1 was in charge of security."

"What were you and Dad hunting?"

"A tu…a…tu-lip."

"A…a what?"

"A tulip, college boy. Nina was nine buckets of crazy. She wanted ta be top swan, so she thought up this tulip to gank people."

"You mean a tulpa."

Dean snorted. "Tha's what I said."

"Anything else I need to know?" Sam said smugly. Oh hell yeah, this information was gold!

"Yeah." Dean looked suddenly solemn. "I liked dancing. I liked it 'cause it reminded me of home."

"You - it did?"

"Yeah. 'fore you were born Mom and Dad usedta dance. Dad'd come home from the garage and crank up the car radio. We'd dance in the yard."

"They would?"

"Yep. When I was little they'd hold my hands and let me stand on their feet while they danced."

It was stupid, but right then Sam felt a sharp pang in his heart. He didn't remember any of the short life he'd had in Lawrence, Kansas. Nobody danced with him. He was sure of it.

Dean's eyelids drooped. "Dude, don't look so sad."


"We were all glad when you showed up, Sammy. You might not believe that, but me and Mom and Dad were glad."

Sam froze.

"Yeah. We loved you, doofus. Besides, when you showed up that meant ever'body had a dance partner. Mom would dance with you in her arms, and Dad danced with me. Then we'd switch up."

Dean yawned, then closed his eyes all the way. "We were glad you came, dude. We all were. So you can stop thinking that we woulda been better off without ya, dummy."

Sam's eyes widened in shock. "Am I…am I that obvious?"

"Damn straight you are." Dean chuckled softly as he settled back into the pillows. "I can hear you angsting all the damn time. Geez..."

Dean's voice grew lighter, fainter as he drifted off. "Mom taught Dad…Dad taught me…an' I taught you." Dean sang off key. "It's the cir-cle of lifeee…"

And then he giggled.

A moment later Dean's breathing evened out and he was fast asleep.

Sam was stunned.

It was all he could do but sit there. He stared down at the picture, at his big macho brother, dressed only in dark purple tights and a slightly lopsided smile.


Mom, and Dad. They danced with him, even though he was too young to remember it.

They loved him.

And Dean sure in the hell did too, in his own rough way.

After another moment Sam stood up, crossed over to the coat rack and pulled out Dean's wallet. He slipped the photo back inside, and then he turned and watched Dean sleep.

Okay…maybe all wasn't fair in prank wars then. He'd win the next one, free and easy, and he wouldn't breathe a word of anything Dean said. From what Bobby said about the nyxro venom, Dean wouldn't remember any of this anyway.

That was just as well.

Dean slept soundly for the rest of the night, and Sam couldn't stop smiling.