Changes + Sequel [Supernatural, M, 14 + 3 parts.]

[BlueRandom]

Title: Changes (Yeah, the title sucks ... If anyone has any suggestions, they're welcome!)
Fandom: Supernatural
Disclaimer: SPN is very much not mine.
Warning: Set after episode 7.04, so anything up to then.
Notes: Okay, it's been a while! So I'm a little nervous about posting this.


Part One

Dean bent down, prodding the small patch of shimmering slime with the toe of his boot. “Think we found our trail.”

Sam grimaced and glanced around briefly to check the street was deserted. It was dusk, they were on the outskirts of the town, and the only people in sight were a small group of youths absorbed in drunken conversation at the front of a bar. He nodded, dragging aside the manhole cover and lowering himself down the rusted metal rungs into the sewer below. Dean came after him a few seconds later, surveying the street once more before replacing the cover.

“Eugh.” Sam had jumped off the final rung to land in the main tunnel, and found himself standing in a pool of a thick, pale substance, a darker stream of blood spilling around it. “You were right; he shed.”

“At least we know for sure we're dealing with a shapeshifter.” Dean stared distastefully at the skin, clothes just visible through the more translucent, filmy patches that were illuminated by the natural light from the entrance above.

“Right, but now the problem is who. Before we knew which guy we were following, but since he's changed - ”

“Sam,” interrupted Dean, still focused on the pile of remains. “Take a look at this.” He indicated a corner of denim material, pushing through the liquid.

“Blue jeans.”

“Then it's not our brown-slacks guy. You don't think ...”

“There are two of them.” Sam pinched the bridge of his nose, and sighed. “Unless he left it earlier?”

“Nope,” countered Dean, gagging as he crouched down to examine the warmth emanating from the substance. “Definitely fresh.”

Sam choked a little as the smell reached him properly, and he began to move further down the tunnel, still coughing into his fist. There were stretches of darkness along the sewer, interspersed with sections that were lit from the overhead grills, and the bottoms of Sam's jeans were soon drenched. Dean had his flashlight out, trained on the ground, scanning the gloom ahead for any signs of life. His fingertips grazed the side of his gun, which was loaded with silver bullets, the smooth edge reassuring.

“Uhh … uhh'Heschh!” Sam sneezed suddenly, directing it into his elbow.

“You gonna keep it down?” cautioned Dean, incredulously. “We don't want every goddamn monster in this place getting onto us.”

Sam ignored him, pointing at a dark shape on the ground several feet away from them. It was partially submerged in the filth of the sewer, but on approach they could make it out to be another skin.

“If it isn't Brown Slacks,” Dean remarked. “We were wondering where you'd got to.”

Sam's attention had moved on: he nudged Dean, directing him straight ahead. The tunnel split into three paths; two branching to either side of the way they were currently facing. “Any ideas?”

Dean appraised their surroundings. “Over there. The left path: there's blood on the wall. It gets thicker towards this end, by the skin, so our guy must have come in from an entrance down that way.”

“And the other two?”

“I got nothing.”

“You want to split up?”

Dean scrutinized his brother's face for a moment, frowning. “Sam, you're still seeing Lucifer.”

“I'm fine. I can handle it.” Sam's expression was resolute and earnest. “Unless you've got another plan, it's the only way we can keep on track of this thing.”

Dean took a deep breath, releasing it slowly as he made his decision. “Fine. But you call me the second you get into any kind of trouble, okay? Not just with the shifter – if you get any voices, any hallucinations, you call me. Got that?”

"We're underground, Dean. No signal.”

“I - ”

“It'll be okay. I swear.” Sam half-smiled, and started down the path to the right of the junction. Dean watched his back until he disappeared into the shadows, considering going after him. Then he shook himself, and took the middle way.

The floor of the passage was becoming wetter under Sam's feet, the sections of light distributed less frequently. He had to move cautiously to prevent the splashing sounds from echoing around the walls, squinting into the darkness but unwilling to draw attention to himself with a flashlight. After some time he pulled up short, at the corner of another dim tunnel branching away to his right that he had only noticed when it was a few inches from his face. He held his breath, pressing his back against the wall of the sewer and listening intently. The sounds were close by; footsteps pacing just beyond the turn. Sam drew back a fraction more, sliding his gun up to his side, then leaned forwards to peer around. The man had stopped pacing, angled away from him and with his watch brought up close to his face, as though he was timing something. The pale linen of his shirt stood out in the gloom, his hair dark grey and slicked back with oil in a manner that looked distinctly familiar.

Sam started to raise his gun, but the shapeshifter turned so fast that he had barely steadied his hand on the trigger. A broad shoulder slammed into him, knocking the gun out of his grip and forcing Sam back into the open tunnel. Sam staggered as the shifter lunged for the fallen gun, regaining his footing and rounding back in to seize the man's upper arms from behind. Twisting him around, he punched him hard in the face; the impact causing his own knuckles to sting. The shifter recovered immediately, his hands clenching around Sam's throat and shoving him against the rough wall. Sam choked, writhing until he could drive his knee into the shapeshifter's stomach and throw him off. In the brief moment that the man's balance was compromised, Sam dived towards the floor of the sewer and grabbed the gun. The silver bullet found its mark on the first shot; the shifter's body crashing onto the putrid ground with a ringing echo.

Sam stepped back, panting, and swallowed painfully as he regarded the body, certain now that he recognized the man. Glancing further down the tunnel, he could see light streaming in from an exit, so he headed that way. As he reached the set of iron rungs and set his foot on the lowest he paused, turning his face in towards his shoulder. “Hhn'CHShh! Hehh'KSHh-uh!”

When he climbed into the open once more, he allowed a few seconds to take in his surroundings before removing his cell phone from the back pocket of his jeans. Time to call Dean.



* * *

Edited November 24, 2015 by BlueRandom

[Sawyer]

OH MAN I AM SO INTO THIS. I really really love your writing. They're so in character and the plot is also always really nice and developed and it's just like watching an episode (only better, because, like, all of the sneezes). This is AWESOME so far, with Sam already vulnerable and seeing Lucifer and Dean being all concerned about him anyway, and he's sneezing too!!! This is sooooo good. More more more!

[ID2006]

I love Lucifer seeing Sam, and possibly sick too (well he should be sick in my mind, but allergies is fine too) I'm in love.

[BlueRandom]

@Sen Beret: Thanks so much! I love yours, too.

@ickydog2006: Yeah, I was going with the sick thing haha - thanks!

Part Two

“The shapeshifter was who?” repeated Dean, his voice tinny through the cell phone.

“A.M. Barney; one of the political candidates in the town. We've been seeing his posters since we arrived here.” Sam was pretty sure Dean would have to take his word for it, but his brother didn't argue.

“So who do you think the other one is?”

“No idea, but the exit he was making for comes out by the town hall. There's some kind of function going on; I'm close by now.” Turning his head away from the receiver, Sam cupped his free hand across his face. “Huhh … uhh'IHShoo!”

“You still there?”

“Uh huh.” Sam wrinkled his nose, massaging the space under his eyes.

“Are you going in?”

“Yeah. There should be plenty of staff, so I'm going to try round the back.”

“I'm nearly at the car now; I'll meet you outside. Just look out for the other shifter - anyone who's acting suspiciously.”

Sam hung up, approaching the sprawling building cautiously from the far end of the most poorly lit car park. He was aware of the unpleasant smell coming from his damp jeans, the marks on his knuckles and throat and the cut on the edge of his face where it had struck the wall. He wiped his sleeve across it, hoping to catch any remaining smears of blood. A heavy door on the far right of the closest wing was marked out for staff, so he aimed that way. He came out into a dark, chilly storage room: some kind of pantry judging by the boxes and stacks of food lining the shelves, with an open hatch inset next to another door on the lengthwise wall. As he had anticipated, the room on the other side was crowded with waiters and kitchen staff, a black and white sea of impatient movement. He watched a line of servers assembling by a pair of swing doors, being ushered through them like obedient penguins. Two were standing reasonably close to the hatch and Sam sized them up quickly: one was way too small, the other much heavier than himself but probably able to accommodate for his height. Before the latter could move away, Sam had lurched around the door, locked a hand over his mouth, and dragged him into the store room. The scrawny waiter spun round, thrown by the inexplicable disappearance of his coworker, then clucked his tongue and continued through the swing doors.

“Sorry about this,” muttered Sam to the waiter's alarmed face, wedging a glove into the man's mouth for a gag and hastily searching around for some kind of rope.

Several minutes later, Sam emerged from the kitchens in full waiter's attire, attempting to balance a tray loaded with drinks and tuck in his shirt at the same time. His vision scanned the dining tables for signs of the shapeshifter: something that would be nearly impossible, he knew, since he had no idea what to look out for.

“Looking for someone?” A woman approached him; probably in her late fifties, with coiffured hair and a cigarette arranged affectedly between her fingers. She was staring at him with a meaningful intensity that made him uncomfortable.

“Uh.” Sam cleared his throat awkardly, about to move off when she waved a hand over his tray of drinks.

“Which one would you recommend?”

“Umm ...” He had no idea what the array of glasses contained, although he would guess from the vibrant colours that they were fairly potent.

She smirked, taking a cocktail. “I had you down as the strong, silent type.”

Sam's cheeks flushed, and he backed away as discretely as he could. His eyelids flickered suddenly, and he ducked his face towards his elbow. “Huhh … huh'SHEWw!”

“Careful!” The small lofty waiter had appeared next to him with a click of polished shoes, snatching the tray and looking him over disdainfully. “You're new. Obviously.”

“Right.” Sam was preoccupied, still trying to assess the various guests around the room.

“Hello?” The waiter snapped his fingers brusquely in front of Sam's face, shoving the tray back into his hands and stalking away.

A man had ascended the steps onto the stage at the opposite end of the ballroom, unfolding a page of notes and tapping the lecturn microphone so that the collective attention of the room became focused on him. He began to speak in a smooth monotone, giving Sam the opportunity to scour the place properly, unobserved. The guests were attentive and dull, mostly staring at the speaker in feigned intrigue. One or two were talking amongst themselves, or swilling the wine moodily in their glasses. Sam's head was beginning to ache, and he pressed his fingers against a patch just above his eyebrows.

That was when he saw her: a woman with elaborately entwined hair and a fur jacket, sitting at the table closest to the stage with an empty seat beside her. Her eyes were roving the room as his own had been, while her companions were all fixated on the man speaking. Sam watched her for a minute or so, noting that she appeared to be monitoring the time on the wall clock in the same manner as the shifter he had come across earlier. He rubbed his nose distractedly, rolling his eyes in frustration when he had to turn aside to stifle a couple of sneezes into his sleeve. “Hh'NGHHt! Uhh … uhh'KXHht!”

He looked up, focusing immediately on the woman's table. Her space was empty. Panicking for a second, he skimmed the walkways to either side of the room. The woman's coat was disappearing through the door that presumably led to the reception area. From the corner of his vision, Sam could see his irritable colleague aiming furious gestures towards him; but he ignored them. Resting the tray precariously on a mahogany side table and making a quick check around him, he stepped surreptitiously through the glass double doors in the direction the woman had taken.

* * *

[Skyler]

This is really good, please continue! XD

[Sawyer]

Yes yes yes yes yes I loooove when they go undercover! Sam in a waiter's outfit! SO HOT. And having to stifle sneezes and being annoyed by it, and aww he has a headache, and there's so much stuff going on and juuuuuussstt wow I am still loving this! Cannot wait for more!!

[Zebra]

Oooohh I love this! Your attention to detail is wonderful. Irritated Sam (dressed as a waiter?!) is so sexy. Excited for the rest!

[BlueRandom]

@SkylerSneeze: Coming right up!

@Sen Beret: Me too, especially when the cover is really random. Thanks loads for the lovely feedback.

@g123: Thank you!

Part Three

Dean was stationed in the Impala just outside the building when Sam emerged: he swung himself into the front passenger seat and Dean stepped on the gas pedal.

“Uhh … uhh'Heschhuh!” Sam moaned softly, sniffling behind his hands.

“Bless you. I think our mark is headed this way: middle-aged woman, wearing some kind of animal?”

“Yeah. It looked like she was waiting for someone, and we know the shifter was headed over here. Plus she left halfway through the main event.”

“Could be something witchy,” remarked Dean, musingly. “Skinned rodents, and all that crap.”

“Dean, it's definitely a shifter.”

“I was just saying. It's been a while since we last ganked a witch.” He scratched the stubble on his chin vaguely before speaking again. “So do you know who the thing's impersonating?”

“Could be the politician's wife. They're obviously working as a pair, so it would make sense for them to take on forms as a couple. And she seemed to be important - she was sitting right at the front of the room, at least.” Sam winced, trying to soothe his head with his fingertips again. A thought struck him, and he squeezed the cut on his left hand hard; wanting to be sure it was only a headache.

Dean sneaked a look at his brother before setting his eyes resolutely back on the road. He wanted to ask if Sam was still with him – whether he was stuck in a battle against Lucifer and his own mind at that moment – but he decided against it. Sam had been doing well recently: arguably better than Dean himself, if the run-in with Osiris had been anything to judge by. If Sam wanted to keep it quiet; well, there were things Dean wasn't telling him, either. He forced his mind away from the memory of Amy and the kid, concentrating with determination on the streets.

“Huhh … hnn'uh …” Breath hitching, Sam let one hand hover a few inches from his face.

Dean glanced round again. “You okay?”

“Huh'ihh … hh'KSHhew! Yeah, uh,” Sam paused, shutting his eyes momentarily as he scrubbed at his nose. “Just a sneeze.”

“Well, bless you.”

“Thanks. So, are we both going to follow her in wherever she's going, or should one of us stay behind?”

“Hold up a sec.” Frowning, Dean lowered his foot on the brakes, allowing the car to decelerate to a further distance behind the one they were tailing until it was nearly out of sight, and switched off the headlights.

They had entered an area composed of expansive houses, with wide bay windows and sweeping lawns. The streetlamps were nestled in between carefully groomed hedgerows and arching metal gates, illuminating the parts that would not be covered by the private search lights. Dean slowed the Impala to a crawl, watching the car in front park in the driveway of one of the largest houses on the street, and the driver step out to open the back door.

“That's her,” mumbled Sam, a confirmation.

They left the Impala where it had come to rest and followed the driveway around the side of the house, grateful for the stone paving in place of gravel. A trail of lights showed the woman's path through the house, visible through a row of windows, each one lit in turn. Dean nudged Sam, indicating that they should climb the fence into the garden. It was a well-timed hunch: they landed by a flower bed to one side of a raised veranda, high enough for them to crouch out of sight as the woman came out through the French doors. She leaned against the wooden railings, still clad in her furs, speaking impatiently into a cell phone. Sam shivered inside his thin waiter's shirt.

“I waited for nearly an hour,” Dean heard the woman say, her voice brisk and callous. To his other side, Sam's breath caught in his throat. Dean turned to see his brother's eyes half closed, his shoulders tensed.

“Oh no you don't,” breathed Dean. “Don't you dare, Sam.”

Sam clenched his jaw, the muscles in his face straining, and clamped one hand over his mouth and nose. Dean pressed his own hand hard on top of Sam's, tilting his head downwards to meet his eye line and willing him mutely to keep silent. He could feel Sam's nostrils flaring slightly, his breath coming in gentle pants.

“I don't think anyone noticed yet ...” The woman put emphasis on the last syllable.

Sam's eyes were tearing up a little, his expression urgent.

“... but they'll definitely get suspicious if neither of us return.”

Sam jerked forward: Dean grabbed his upper arm with his free hand, holding him steady as he sneezed, soundlessly. The woman was still speaking into her cell phone, her voice carrying across the empty garden. Dean remained frozen below her, fingers digging into Sam's shoulder.

“If I find out you went the other way when I specifically told you … Well. I think you know what the outcome will be.” She ended the call and slipped back into the house, leaving the door panel open behind her.

“Nice timing, Sam,” muttered Dean, standing up and making his way swiftly onto the veranda.

Sam came after him, still rubbing his nose lightly. He caught up to Dean in a sitting room that opened onto the hallway, where the woman-shifter was now browsing over a shelf of books. They exchanged a glance: Sam readied his gun and sprang into the hallway, preparing to shoot.

The shapeshifter moved quickly enough that Dean barely caught what was happening. Sam's bullet struck the wall, his gun spinning to the floor as he was slammed into the bookcase. Books toppled on either side of him as he hit the ground, the shifter bearing down on him.

“Hey!”

Dean's shout rang across the room. The woman looked up, startled, as his gun fired and the silver bullet found her heart. Dean stepped over her body, letting his weapon fall as he dropped down next to his brother. Sam struggled to sit upright, then held up one finger in caution. “Nn'CHSHhoo! Ugh.”

“C'mon. We should get out of here before the cops -”

“Not so fast, Winchester.” A man had entered the room behind them, unfamiliar and innocuous-looking in his beige pants and striped tie. He wore a wedding band and reading glasses, a layer of stubble from a few days without shaving, and the gun he was clutching with both hands was aimed at Dean's chest.

* * *

Edited April 7, 2013 by BlueRandom

[Sawyer]

Oh my god! Your plots are always so SOLID and interesting! You have so much going on in your stories that it makes it seem like a real episode, which makes the sneezing extra extra hot because it's so realistic! I loved Dean blessing Sam in the car (aww! awww!) and worrying about him, and helping him stifle that one silent one near the end! You're amaaaaazing.

[Zwee]

YEEEESSSS... I love sick Sammy going undercover in a waiter costume!! And sneezy Sammy's nose making trouble whenever he's trying to be super inconspicuous. I also love the image of Dean helping Sam stifle and Sam almost literally sneezing INTO Dean, with Dean just being like, "Noooo, don't get us killed please!" but also worried for Sam and... you're just REALLY good at writing plot. And action-scenes. AND SNEEZE SPELLINGS-whaaat?

I can't even wait for the next part!! Thank you!

[Introvertedme]

gahhhhh omg this is amazing!!!!! wow your writing is excellent! the characters are spot-on!!!! AND YOUR SPELLINGS. guhhh.

amazingggg. I cant wait for the next chapter!

[iluvsneezes]

I am seriously loving this!! I can't wait for the next chapter.

[shingetsu]

Your writing style is beautiful! And the sneezes are just delicious! The silent sneeze was my absolute favorite.

More? *puppy dog eyes* pretty, pretty please? XD

[SpookyScarySkeleton]

Ahh I love ur plot so much. For please please continue I love ur writing style. So so detailed c:

[BlueRandom]

@Sen Beret: You always leave such sweet comments! I like to try and make them kind of real – I love reading all the other kinds of fics, I just have trouble writing them.

@Zwee: Sam in a waiter costume would be kind of hot!

@Introvertedme: Hehe, thanks!

@iluvsneezes: Thanks for commenting! Next chapter is coming up.

@novusluna: That's so nice of you to say

@DeathNoteOwner: Thanks! Continuing now.

Note: Bobby's alias in this part is from one of the episodes.

Part Four

Dean felt his brother stir behind him, the rope tautening against his arms as Sam came round and raised his head. They were tied to one of the columns in the entrance hall of the house, on chairs presumably taken from the adjacent dining room; Dean angled towards the staircase and Sam facing the opposite way, to the front door. Dean pulled a face in disgust as he noticed the pile of bloody skin and residue oozing across the floor a few feet away from him.

“Huhh'KSHhh! … uhh'HESCHh-uh!”

The rope dug into the insides of his elbows with each involuntary movement his brother made. “Sam?”

“I'm good.”

Dean heard him swallow back a cough, but the recently-arrived shapeshifter had come into view once more and was walking towards them, gun now dangling from the manicured fingers of the woman they had just shot. Dean could see the body of her doppelganger, the other shifter, still lying at the bottom of the staircase. The newcomer crammed a wad of material into Dean's mouth, ignoring his violent attempts to move his head away, fixing it as a gag and standing back to assess her work. She glanced at the clock, smirked, and raised her weapon. “Now you two,” she moved the gun so the barrel arched in a circular motion, “I'll be seeing later. Don't you be going anywhere, boys.”

The moment the front door had slammed behind the shapeshifter, Dean began writhing and squirming in his bindings. The ropes weren't letting up any time soon, but he managed to shift the gag down to his chin. “Any chance you can get your hands loose?”

“No; it's too tight.” Sam was trying to free himself too, with as little success as his brother. “How the hell did it tie us both up?”

“Don't ask me. That thing moved fast."

“Yeah, well -” Sam broke off, coughing.

“Something bothering you?”

“I dunno. Can we just work on getting out of here?”

“You really pick your moments.” Dean was leaning as far as he could to his left, digging his elbow into his hip. He struggled for a second, then gave a victorious sort of grunt and straightened, somehow flipping the cell phone he had just extracted from his pocket into his hand. Sam could hear the muffled beeps coming through the speaker, then a reassuring tone at the other end.

“FBI, Mike Kayser speaking?”

“Bobby, it's me.”

* * *

“Why do I always have to – save – your – ass?” Bobby panted, hacking at the rope with his knife until it fell away. “Plural,” he added, as he cut away the shorter length holding Sam's wrists behind his back.

“Thanks, Bobby. We owe you one.”

“One? That's a freaking joke.”

“Seriously, we're grateful.”

“Okay, okay; don't overdo it. Good job I was in the area. Where'd you park the car?”

“You didn't drive up here?”

“Thought the truck might kinda stand out in Wisteria Lane.”

Sam hung back when they exited the house through the back, letting Bobby and Dean go ahead as the cold night air irritated his nose.

“Ehh'KTSCHhh! Huh'ihh … huhh … heh'Shuhh!” He remained still, his mouth slightly open, then jolted forwards for the third time in a row. “Huhh'TSCHhew!” He ran a hand over his face, letting out a slow exhale.

“Hey, Gary?” Dean reappeared on the other side of the fence's metal bars, barely visible in the darkness. “You want to pick up the pace a little?”

They reassembled in the Impala, Sam feeling somewhat out of place in the back as Bobby took up his position in the front passenger seat.

“It was freaky, how they were working together,” ranted Dean, over the rumbling of the ignition. “Like the skinwalkers - except these guys don't come in packs. They don't come in packs, do they?”

“Agreed, it's weird.” Bobby tugged at his beard contemplatively. “But this whole Purgatory business really shook up the monsters.”

“Man, I miss when hunting used to be straightforward.”

Bobby snorted. “Since when has anything ever been straightforward with you boys?”

“I guess it was bound to be chaos, with the alpha gone,” Sam put in; his voice cracking almost imperceptibly on the final word.

“Or maybe they're confused by the whole Leviathan business.”

“They wouldn't be the only ones.” Dean leaned across Bobby to search through the glove compartment. Apparently he didn't find what he was looking for, because he resumed his hold on the steering wheel with a disgruntled sound and started tapping out a rhythm to the radio's background noise.

Sam was fighting with himself: his nose was itching like crazy, but he couldn't help feeling that giving in would be failing some kind of test to his willpower. He held his breath for a few seconds, but his eyes were already being forced shut, inhale catching in his throat. “Huh … huhh'EHSHhoo!”

“Bless you.”

Not feeling so good, Sammy?

He was there, Lucifer, sitting cross-legged beside Sam on the back seat of the Impala. Sam bit back a gasp, watching him with wide eyes. Lucifer's smile was lopsided, smug, taking his usual twisted pleasure in Sam's discomfort.

I'd have thought Dean-o would have noticed by now. It's amazing how unobservant people can be: sometimes they don't even see what's in their rear-view mirror. He leaned into the center of the back seat and waved to his own reflection, grinning provocatively.

Sam grimaced, and pressed down hard on his stitched-up hand until Lucifer vanished with an eye-roll and a mocking sigh. His voice lingered in an echo around the insides of the car, audible only to Sam. Bobby half-turned in his seat to give him a watchful look, but said nothing; instead, bridging the silence with a fresh opening into conversation with Dean. Sam let himself relax a fraction, holding onto the warm reality of their words.

* * *

Edited April 11, 2013 by BlueRandom

[ID2006]

Yay, I can't help but love Lucifer vs Sammy.

[Sawyer]

PERFECT. I love how Dean is so subtly concerned and how Sam just says "I'm good" (totally something he would say!), and Bobby is AWESOME as always (I love how you write him! Spot on!), and poor Sam really isn't feeling so good and he's just so sweet and sick! And Lucifer of course. OF COURSE. I need mooore of this!

[SpookyScarySkeleton]

This s so interesting continue please I love it I love the whole plot and everything xD

[BlueRandom]

@ickydog2006: Me too, they were kind of cool.

@Sen Beret: Thanks again! Bobby is so awesome, definitely fave character.

@DeathNoteOwner: Continuing now - thanks for the comment!

Part Five

The town hall was even more crowded than it had been previously when they approached it, causing Dean to park along the road a little way from the car park. They could see the car they had followed before, now stationary a few feet in front of them. “You mind being on getaway, Bobby?”

Bobby scowled in a kind of resigned assent, shooing Dean irritably out of the Impala. He looked around again before Sam could leave the car; able to see his face properly by the light from the street lamps for the first time that evening. “You know you look like hell.”

Sam made as though to reply, maybe to remark on the poor choice of phrase, but Dean was calling for him to get a move on. He was still wearing the waiter's uniform, which would simplify things a little, but Dean's leather jacket and heavy boots would have a harder time getting into the building. “We'll have to go in the way I did before; through the kitchens.”

Dean nodded, keeping pace as they reached the storage room. Sam put a finger to his lips: the kitchen ahead seemed to be empty – he supposed the kitchen work had been finished hours before, and the wait staff must all be on duty in the ballroom. He began to search through the boxes of preparation items, hoping to scramble together a semblance of a uniform for Dean.

“Oh my God. Is that blood?”

The small waiter was back, staring at Sam in horror. Sam glanced downwards, realising that the white collar of his shirt, and probably some of his face, was stained scarlet. Before he could react, Dean had vaulted through the hatch from the storage room and thrown a punch at the man's face, knocking him out.

“Kind of brutal, Dean.”

“Yeah, well. Help me get his shirt off ...”

The scene in the ballroom was almost exactly as Sam had left it, although people had begun to leave their seats and hover in conversation by other tables. He grabbed a waiter's cloth from a discarded tray as he passed, draping it over his shirt to conceal the blood as best he could, then raised his hand up to his face. “Huh'UHShhoo! Uhh … uhh'HESCHhuh!” He hesitated for a moment, staring at a point on the blank wall across the room, and inhaled sharply. “Huhh … hehh'IHSHhoo!”

“You see her?” Dean appeared by his side, now dressed in matching uniform.

Sam glanced at him, and let out a laugh that he hastily suppressed. “You look -”

“Dashingly handsome, as always,” Dean stated, firmly. He had undone the buttons on the cuffs of his shirt, but the sleeves were still inches above his wrists. His socks were on full display, too; stripy and unraveling at the top where the trousers failed to cover them. More worrying to Sam was the large purple bruise that was beginning to rise on Dean's cheek, and the cut seeping blood at his temple.

“Can't you do something about that?” he murmured, gesturing to it.

“We gotta get a move on, Sam.” Dean shielded his forehead self-consciously, trying to hide the cut from view. “See our shapeshifter anywhere?”

“She's not here.”

“Now, who would that be?” The woman who had flirted with Sam earlier was back, batting her thickly mascara-ed lashes. “And you brought a friend – oh.” She eyed Dean up and down, taking in the overly tight uniform and the worse for wear expression.

“Yeah, yeah.” Dean grabbed Sam's elbow, hauling him away to hiss in his ear. “So where the hell is she – it – then?”

“She must be in one of the other rooms. There are loads of them on this floor; boardrooms, meeting rooms.”

Dean scowled at another woman casting a disparaging gaze over at him. “We better get going.”

They strode out into the corridor, Sam breaking into a jog once they were away from the ballroom. He passed several empty meeting rooms and one or two occupied, but found no sign of the shapeshifter until he reached the final door on the landing. He let Dean catch up, and the two of them listened intently to the voices inside.

“I notice that Arthur didn't show,” a male voice was saying. Sam thought he recognised it as belonging to the man who had made the speech earlier.

“Yes, he was – caught up. At the last minute,” a woman answered: the one they had spent the evening tailing.

“Here, I'll pour you a scotch.”

Risking a glimpse around the door frame, Dean saw that the man had his back turned, facing away to decant the drink on a side table. The woman, less than four feet from him, had just slid a knife from the inner lining of her coat.

“No!” Dean's yell exploded into the clean cut quiet of the room, reverberating around the panelling as he burst onto the scene, gun in hand.

The shapeshifter bolted, making for the only other door leading fromthe room, in the direction parallel to the corridor. Dean fired a single shot but missed: not wanting to waste his remaining silver bullets, he hurtled through in pursuit of the woman. He got to the second boardroom just as the shifter was moving into the next. Sending an office chair containing an evening-dressed business woman spinning across the polished floor, he continued to run through the chain of meeting places, finally reaching one whose double doors signified that the ballroom must be on the other side. The shapeshifter was backed against them, looking suddenly triumphant. Dean gathered his senses enough to appreciate that if it got through to the rest of the party, amongst people who would be unable to distinguish it from the politician's wife it was impersonating, he and Sam would be completely fucked. He lifted the gun, positioning it at the exact moment the shifter fixed its grip on the door handle.

A gunshot sounded, and the woman's body hit the ground before Dean had even pulled the trigger. He stepped back, stunned, and saw Sam standing in the doorway to the corridor with both hands clasping his own gun.

From the ballroom next door, they could hear someone scream. Without flinching, Dean fired at the huge window pane so that it shattered: they dived to avoid the fragments of broken glass, then plunged through the opening and pounded across the car park.

“That's twice we ganked her tonight,” shouted Dean as they ran, with a mixture of resentment and adrenaline.

By the shrieks and cries in their wake, the other guests must have flooded through the double doors behind them, but neither looked back as they sprinted towards the Impala. Bobby launched the driver's door open for Dean; Sam, a little way behind, collapsed onto the back seat in a fit of coughing.

As Dean slammed on the gas, he called over his shoulder. “You okay back there?”

Sam choked himself back into quiet. “Yeah.” He let his head rest against the cool interior of the car, out of breath and dizzy. “Fine.”

* * *

Edited April 20, 2013 by BlueRandom

[Sawyer]

Awww!! YES! Dean in the waiter's outfit too and them having to cover up how bruised and hurt they are, like they have obviously just been in a fight, and aww Sam coughing (choking himself back into quiet -- your phrasing rocks) and Dean asking if he's okay! More more more!

[SpookyScarySkeleton]

Oh my I'm glad your back ^o^ It's too interesting continue c:

[BlueRandom]

Part Six

“Why have all the monsters gone crazy? Aren't politicians kind of high profile for a shapeshifter at the moment?”

“You'd think so.”

“You reckon it's got something Leviathan behind it? They knew our names.”

“Can't be. They're keeping undercover. Besides, you ain't exactly been dormice these past few years.”

Sam half-registered Dean and Bobby's fervent conversation, his head dropping closer and closer to the pile of books on the sofa beside him. Dean was straddling one of the chairs in the main room of Rufus' cabin, taking intermittent gulps from a bottle of beer and holding a cloth to his bruised face, while Bobby was seated at the opposing side of the small table. Sam's fingers were curled around his own untouched beer.

“I mean, three of them, Bobby. At least.”

“I know, I know.”

Dean shuffled restlessly, carving scratches into the wood of the chair with his pocket knife. “Hey, Sam? Any chance that the last shifter was the same one you took care of in the sewers?”

“What?” Sam blinked, struggling to re-engage.

“Your fight in the tunnel. Are you sure you finished the job?”

“Positive. It was a clear shot.”

Dean nodded. “Fine. Then we're back to dealing with a three-way attack.”

Sam lost the thread of the discussion, knocking a couple of the books from the top of the stack as his full weight sank onto the couch.

* * *

Bobby had no idea what time it was when he woke to the pitch blackness of the cabin, and the sounds of someone stumbling across the floorboards. He knew Dean had been planning to spend the night in the Impala, having been wide awake when Sam crashed out on the couch, and unwilling to disturb him considering the solid nights he had been missing out on recently. Bobby raised himself creakily from the mattress of the bottom bunk, watching the unsteady figure moving clumsily into the bathroom as his eyes adjusted. Definitely Sam. He could hear his muted groans coming through the gaps around the door frame, and waited; giving the kid a few moments. When Sam went silent, he pushed open the bathroom door.

“Alright, you.”

Sam lifted his head to see Bobby crouched next to him on the floor of the bathroom, a deep frown etched into his brow. He put his arm around Sam's back, one hand under his armpit, and heaved him upright; coaxing him back through onto the living room couch.

“You want to tell me how long you've been sick for?”

Wincing, Sam coughed for a few seconds before he answered. “Not long. I'm okay, I swear.”

“Right. This is definitely what okay looks like.”

“It just came on kinda fast.” Sam hesitated, rubbing his knuckles underneath his nose. “Uhh … uhh'HESChhew!” He sat back, shivering. “Where's Dean?”

“He's sleeping out in the car.” Bobby flicked a switch on the wall, and the heater clunked into action. “Any reason you weren't going to mention this to him?”

“He's got other things on his mind. Leviathans, for starters.” Sam's voice was scratchy and deep, his face pale. “And I know he's missing Cas.” He stopped abruptly again, and tilted his body away from Bobby. “Uhh … huhh'IHSHhoo!”

“You realise that getting yourself sicker and more useless isn't helping any?” Sam gave him a look as close to the Sam Winchester puppy-eyes as Bobby had seen in a long time, but didn't seem to have a reply. Bobby sighed, leaving the couch momentarily and returning with a scruffy blanket which he tossed to Sam. “Get some sleep, idjit.”

He turned to depart again, and found Dean standing in the doorway in front of him. “Sam's sick?”

Bobby indicated that they should move through to the front, waiting until they were out of Sam's earshot before he spoke. “Yep. You two never know when to take things slow.”

“What's wrong with him?”

“I dunno, maybe the flu? Do I look like a doctor to you?” He softened at the expression on Dean's face. “He'll be fine, just shouldn't be hunting right now.”

“It's not – you know?” Dean gestured to his head, anxiously.

“No, I don't think so.”

“Dean?”

“If you don't get your infectious ass back down on that couch right this second,” Bobby threatened, seeing Sam stand up shakily as he and Dean went back inside. “I swear to God ...”

Dean followed Sam to the sofa; taking note of his brother's slightly dazed appearance, and the coughing that he'd put down to something irritating him at the house the day before. “You need anything?”

Sam shook his head, hunching over and pressing both palms to his nose. “Huh'ihh … hh'CHSHhuh! Huhn'KShhah!”

Torn between wanting to give him his space – not that there was a surplus of that in the cabin - and to maintain an older-brotherly protective stance, Dean perched precariously on the arm of the couch. Bobby surveyed the two of them for a minute, then gave an exaggerated stretch. “Well, seeing as I'm up now, I'm gonna take a look at some of the junk down in the basement. If either of you feels like behaving sensibly for a change, Sam can take the bunk.”

Dean let his footsteps thud down to the bottom of the basement steps before speaking. “You want to move over to the bed?”

“Not really.” Sam cleared his throat, uncomfortable. “Kinda dizzy.”

Dean nodded, reaching out to pick up his flask from the table. He offered it to Sam, who pushed it away with a roll of his eyes.

“Only if you want this as well.”

“Good point.” Dean took a swig, and screwed the cap back on. “Do you remember the first time you got sick when we were hunting, just you and me?”

“Uh, no, actually.” Somehow, Sam had been focused on the other, many and varied, interruptions to their lives over the period. "You do?"

“A few months after you left Stanford, I think. Might have been before we'd even dealt with that first shapeshifter ...”

* * *

Edited April 20, 2013 by BlueRandom

[Sawyer]

OOOH, IS THIS A FLASHBACK I SPY?? You can't leave me hanging now! More more more! Now Dean finally knows, and he's all concerned and sweet to him, and I love the Sam didn't want to drink from the flask because he's contagious (poor baby! so sweeeeet!) and how he turns away each time he sneezes and ooooh Bobby is so snarky and awesome! You're the best. The best the best the best.

[Zwee]

Awww! AWWWW! Sammy! He's so sick! It came on so fast! He's so CUTE. I'm crying. So... so much cuteness.

FLASHBACK. YES. I'M SO EXCITED. THIS IS MOST WONDERFUL.

[ID2006]

So so so wonderful.... can't wait for this to continue, and Dean remembering, and OMG yes. I need this like now.