Title: Five Times Dean Looked In The Mirror And Saw Someone Else

Summary: Witches, body swaps, and an urban legend. With all of that, it's no wonder Dean isn't always, well… Dean.

Rating: K

A/N: Numbers 2 and 5 are scenes that I've wanted to turn into stories for ages, but haven't been able to. Same with number 4. Maybe someday, but probably not.

Disclaimer: Supernatural isn't mine. It belongs to Kripke. Yeah, I know. It's so sad.

Five Times Dean Looked In The Mirror And Saw Someone Else

Too-long hair fell over his eyes, and he wrote himself a mental note to cut it later. Sammy was due for a trim, anyway. Yeah, he'd be doing his brother a favor.

Dean brushed hair that wasn't his away from his face, staring into the bright green eyes that gazed at him from within the mirror. He felt different. He couldn't quite place it, just knew that he was… better.

Yeah, that was it. He was better now. He was stronger and smarter and taller and faster. He could rattle off exorcisms like nobody's business, find even the most hidden bit of information on the internet, and always fit into a warm place in his father's arms. He was taken care of, raised by others, loved.

In that moment, looking at his new self, Dean didn't want to kill the witch. He didn't want to go back. He didn't want to be Dean.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o

"I don't know, Sam," he yelled, hating the squeaky quality of his voice. "I just woke up and I was you."

"That is not me," Sam argued.

"It was when you were five."

"Great." Sam rolled his eyes. "Not only do we switch bodies, we get to time travel to do it. Dad's gonna laugh his ass off."

Dean stared at his brother. Dad. They were in the past. Their dad was still alive. He was alive, and Dean was supposed to be ten, but he wasn't. He was Sam. He was Sam, and Sam was supposed to be five, and the house was familiar. It was where they'd gone after…

"We can't tell dad."

"Why not?"

"Because we can figure this out on our own."

"Dean-"

Sam tried to argue, tried to fight him on it, but Dean was adamant. He knew where they were, when they were. He knew what he had done, how his father had reacted. Most importantly, he knew how his father treated Sam. That was what he was after. Just one more day of that.

When their father burst through the door the next day, he got his wish. He ran to the man, who opened his arms and scooped Dean up in the kind of unrestrained hug he'd wished for since a shtriga had almost had his brother for a snack.

His father loved Sam. His father loved Sam, and, unintentionally, Dean.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

All he had to do was smash it. Just take the crowbar and break it.

Sam's bloody face wavered in the mirror as his real brother writhed on the ground in pain, Mary's latest victim.

The image in the glass changed, Sam's feature's melting, softening, his hair lengthening and lightening as flames erupted around him.

Jessica Moore gazed out at him, her face contorted in pain. "How can you be happy?" she questioned, her voice an inhuman shriek in his mind.

He swung the crowbar, shattering the image of the woman whose death gave him his brother back.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Dean gulped back his fear, positioned himself in front of the mirror, and turned on the lights. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but it definitely hadn't been this.

They'd been hunting a witch. She'd spun a spell at them just as Dean had shot her, the combination of the blasts sending both brothers hurtling through the warehouse. They'd slammed into each other, landing hard on the floor, and then everything had gone black.

Dean had sat up around the same time Sam had, a muddled confusion of thoughts running through his head in his brother's voice. He'd opened his eyes, searching for Sam, hoping that they wouldn't have to add telepathy to the younger man's list of psychic abilities. Sam had been nowhere in sight.

Dean had called out to his brother, who had answered back that he was right there. He'd answered with the same mouth Dean had used to ask the question.

It was weird, really. Almost like some genetic experiment gone wrong. He could hear Sam's thoughts, feel his emotions, and was sure that Sam could do the same with him.

They looked into the mirror through their shared eyes- one green, one hazel- and gasped. If it had been possible for two dudes to reproduce, Dean was pretty sure that they were what their child would look like.

Shaggy blond hair hung in their face, over long eyelashes and an even longer nose. The cheekbones were high, the face more rounded than Dean was used to. He was only about an inch taller than usual, meaning that Sam was feeling a couple of inches shorter. He felt too long, like his legs and arms didn't fit his body.

"Dude," he said, his voice soft yet gravelly, "we are so screwed."

o0o0o0o0o0o0o

He stared into the mirror, willing the usually harsh brown eyes to soften. He held out a hand toward his new reflection, one that seemed too tall, too sore, too old. He was thankful for the chance.

Dean touched the mirror, licked his lips, scowling at the small brush of scruff that met his tongue. He had one chance to do this.

He smiled. "I am so proud of you, son." He heard his father's voice, saw the man's mouth move as the boy's mind formed the words. "I love you." It was a whisper, but a whisper was enough. He'd waited too long to hear that.

Outside the bathroom door, John heard the words, curled his thirteen-year-old knees into his chest, and wept, the tears slipping down a freckled face that wasn't his.

Man, my muse is working overtime today, and she really wants to know what you think of her ideas... :)