Part 1 - Scrying

After Dean went to hell, Sam lost most of his social connections to atrophy. There was no one from his life before, his life with his brother that he had any desire to talk to unless absolutely necessary.

After Dean came back, everything was different. Not normal or even typical by Winchester standards (because that wasn't possible anymore there on the brink of apocalypse), but Sam found himself... vaguely content. And thinking about people again. People like Bobby and Ellen and Jo. Like Gus. He thought about Gus a lot, but mainly just because she wasn't answering her phone, because no one had seen or heard from her in ages.

Dean tried to be subtle about it, but after the thing with Anna, he steered them toward Georgia at the first available opportunity.

They'd been by Gus's house quite a few times in the nearly three years since that mess with the de-aging curse, at first checking up on the witch but then just making social calls. The woman had really cleaned up her act since they'd first met her, still dabbling in some lighter forms of protection and healing magic but overall keeping on the straight and narrow. Harnessing her inherent powers and putting them toward worthy causes. She'd actually gotten quite skilled, and she'd patched them up after more than one hunt gone awry. Dean often laughed that she'd turned into a good witch instead of a wicked one. The comment was usually accompanied by a lascivious wink across the dinner table or couch while they were hanging out and killing time. Both Winchesters considered Gus a friend.

Sam had long suspected that his brother was more than friends with the crotchety former beauty queen, and the only evidence he needed was the look on Dean's face when they arrived at her isolated home and found it not only deserted, but also ransacked. Utterly trashed. All her wards demolished by what had to have been a tremendous evil force. There was no indication of whether or not Gus was alive or dead. Though a few spots of months-old blood and a lot of sulfur seemed to suggest dead.

Dean didn't handle it well, drinking himself into a stupor even more often as the weeks progressed, calling everyone trying to get a lead. But still: nothing.

Augusta Elaine Vaughn had vanished without a trace.

If the expiration date on the spoiled milk in her otherwise bare refrigerated was to be believed, she'd been gone for many months, and Sam felt guilty that he hadn't noticed sooner. Worried about how his brother was reacting. And, after that case with their haunted high school and then almost killing each other over the siren, after Pamela's dying and Alistair's thrashing of Dean, after having their memories rewritten by some twisted angel, he felt like he owed it to the man, wanted to find Gus for him. To cheer him up, you know?...

To win him back.

And, ok, Sam totally knew better than to mess with witchcraft. But Ruby had been giving him pointers. And her hex bags worked wonders. Besides, it wouldn't be the first time he used just a little for a good cause. What would be the harm, Sam thought, in casting a small spell to locate Gus? At least then they would know if there was even anything left to locate...

The scrying ritual, gleaned from an ancient book of Ruby's, was surprisingly easy to set up and didn't even require any gross ingredients. A few candles, a few cleansing herbs, a national map, and a crystal pendant later, Sam was in business.

Chanting alone in an Iowa motel room (Dean hadn't been able to get them out of Ohio fast enough), Sam dangled the translucent white crystal over the map and pictured Gus: curly blonde hair and wide blue eyes, a cranky scowl and a petite, too-thin thirty-something body.

Like a magnet, the map sucked the crystal down onto a random stretch of wilderness in Northern California.

And then, like a hammer to the forehead, Sam's vision exploded with white hot pain...

xxXxx

He awoke in pitch darkness, lying in a foot or two of lukewarm water. At least he hoped it was water; Sam had woken up in worse before.

When he stretched them out carefully, Sam's hands hit slick contours. Tile, maybe, or ceramic. A bathtub. He sloshed around for a few moments, trying to get his bearings, groping for something light-switch shaped. He managed to stand and immediately regretted the action; he felt nauseas and bloated, shaky, dizzy and disoriented. Strangely top-heavy.

But the Winchester soldiered on, managing his way out of the tub and almost immediately running into a closed door. He cursed quietly, nursing his jammed toes. Finally, he found the switch and clicked on the lights.

Blinking roughly against the harsh glare of the fluorescent bulbs, Sam peered around what was, indeed, a small, atrociously decorated bathroom. Seriously, that much lace was never appropriate. And everything seemed so... big. Like someone had taken a normal-sized room and stretched it out.

Still trying to figure things out, he turned and found himself face-to-face with a rather startled-looking Gus... an entirely naked Gus.

Sam covered his eyes, blushing as he did a short mental victory dance and squeaked, "Sorry!"

No answer. And, come to think of it, his voice sounded strangely high...

He peeked out between his fingers, gingerly, and saw Gus doing the same... ok. Weird... Sam cleared his throat, asking, "So, where are we? Where've you been?"

Her lips moved in time with his, but Gus made no move to clothe herself, just standing stock still and copying his stance.

"Are you mocking me?" Sam wondered, very confused by the whole situation.

And then he saw it: the mirror over the sink. He wasn't looking at Gus; he was looking into a mirror. But that meant...

Fearing the worst, hoping that he was caught in a sick nightmare, Sam let his gaze slowly travel downward. He saw boobs, much bigger ones than he remembered Gus as having. The bulbous pregnant belly poking out underneath them explained that though.

Right on cue, something kicked him in the kidney. From inside.

And then Sam full-on fainted, wondering how the hell he was ever going to live this down.

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The sequel is upon you. Tremble in fearful ecstasy :)