FOUR

"What the hell!" the other Sam protested, slamming the door behind Sam.

Sam just stared at the other him, the one standing right in front of him.

He's exactly like me! An exact copy! he gawped.

The now very short hair on the back of his neck stood up in fear swiftly. He dodged round the other Sam and found a mirror, slamming the pizza box down and his hands on the desk to look into it at close range.

"That's just… not right," he managed, seeing Dean's face look back at him, and even worse, Dean's mouth make the words right along with him as he spoke. "Unholy shit!"

"You're damn right!" came the angry retort from behind him.

Sam looked away from the mirror and looked at the other Sam.

That's not another Sam – that's me! he realised in a panic. No, that's Dean! Looking like me! And I look like him! He paused, speechless and thoughtless for a long second. That explains the girl on the street. Then:We are so screwed!

He stared at his brother. He was standing looking at his hands – which were actually Sam's hands, he corrected himself – and looking very, very petulant.

"This ain't fair! What the hell?" he said, looking up and pinning his younger brother with an accusing look.

"I – I really – uh – I just don't –" Sam stammered, lost by the sight of himself talking back at him.

"No – seriously – what the hell?" Dean demanded. "What's causing this? Why am I in yoursorry ass?" he cried plaintively – in Sam's voice.

Sam couldn't help it – he laughed. As soon as he started, he couldn't stop. Dean closed his mouth and fumed at him. Sam couldn't care – the look of ultimate suffering on his older brother – who was now wearing Sam's face – was too much after the day he had had, and he simply let it out in long, strangely gravelly guffaws.

"Am I the only one who thinks this is all eff'd up?" Dean tried again, and Sam just collapsed on a bed, laughing fit to burst.

Dean blew out a long breath, walked to the other bed, and sat down with aflump. He simply watched his younger brother, in his own body, control his laughter and sit up on the bed.

He looked at him and they stared at each other, wide-eyed, letting it sink in.

"Stop staring at me," Dean said suddenly.

"You're me, dude," Sam reasoned.

"So stop staring at you! I'm in here, not you! So you're staring at me!" he pointed out. Sam made himself look down, noticing the jeans on the legs that weren't his but did what he told them. In a detached way he took in the affected rips in the denim and frowned.

"These are your jeans," he muttered.

"You're me! I was wearing my own goddamn jeans, Sammy, so now you're wearing 'em!" Dean blurted, frustration adding to his volume.

Sam waved his hands up quickly; a ring on his right hand caught his eye and hammered home the fact that they were in fact Dean's hands. Sam made himself stay focused.

"Alright! I get it!" he managed quickly. "Calm down."

He made the mistake of looking up, and they stared at each other for another minute. Sam put a hand up slowly, realised again that it was Dean's hand, and hesitated. Then he stretched it out to touch his own face, currently on Dean and looking extremely suspicious.

His finger almost connected with the face on Dean. But Dean flinched and slapped his hand away smartly.

"Don't," he warned and Sam cleared the throat he was using, pulling the hand back quickly.

"You know what's really weird?" Sam said presently.

"Other than the fact that we've swapped bodies?" he said sarcastically.

"Other than that," he said seriously. They continued to stare.

"What?" Dean asked eventually.

Sam paused, thinking how to phrase it. "Since we were kids… I've always wondered what it was like to be you, man. And now… now I know."

"Sam, don't start," he warned.

"No, all I'm saying is… It's my turn to be the 'handsome one'," he said, lifting his hands to perform cute little air quotes. "And you can be the intelligent, pansy-ass haired college kid," he grinned.

"Don't make me kick your ass," Dean fumed, and Sam's grin dropped.

"Ok, I'm joking," he said quickly, turning his hands out in surrender. "Look, we're not so bad off, you know? All we have to do is figure this out and get put back. It'll be fine."

"Oh yeah? Fine how?" Dean demanded angrily. "We have no idea where to start looking, Sam!"

Dean's phone started to ring and he glowered at his brother, before Sam realised it was in the jeans he had on and pulled it free of Dean's jeans that he was wearing. He tossed it at his brother, who caught it and pressed the button quickly.

"Yeah, this is Dean," he said shortly.

"Dean! It's Bobby," he said.

"Bobby! Thank God!" he breathed.

"You alright?"

"No! No I'm not alright! I've fallen into the ninth circle of Hell–"

Sam snatched the phone from him irritably but Dean made a grab to get it back. Sam turned his body to block him, and Dean launched himself at his back.

"Bobby! I'll call back!" Sam said quickly, tossing the phone onto the bed.

They struggled and fought for the phone, Dean grabbing him in a bear hug that wasn't really as effective as it would have been with his own arms. Sam found it much easier to shake him off than he expected, but Dean would not give up. He grabbed his arm, he snaked under his chest, he grappled with his elbow, until eventually Sam managed to wrench his brother off him with his knee. Dean was propelled to the floor smartly, cursing and rolling to his feet.

"Gimme my phone!" Dean seethed, now on Sam's feet and throwing himself at him again.

They wrestled and strained, struggled and tugged, until at last Sam had his arms – or rather, Dean's arms – round his brother's neck. He squeezed and Dean paused for breath.

"Get off me!" Dean roared.

"Wait!" Sam pleaded. "Dean, listen to me," he added quickly. "What are we fighting about? Really?" He felt Dean hesitate and knew he had won. "See? Nothing! This must be how it works! We're ready to go four rounds here and we have no idea why! You see?"

There was a long silence. Eventually, Dean reached up and patted Sam's arm round his neck.

"Alright, you win. Let me go."

Sam released his neck from the potential sleeper hold, and Dean backed away, looking horrified.

"You alright?" Sam dared. Dean shuddered and wriggled his shoulders abruptly, flicking his arms out as if trying to shake off a deluge of water.

"I'm fan-friggin'-tastic, Sam," he growled sarcastically. "This is just – ugh!" he shivered, another shudder running through him as he shook his arms again.

"Look, we have to call Bobby back and find out how to put this right," Sam said. Dean didn't appear to hear him, still intent on finding out if shaking himself would somehow rid himself of Sam's body. "Right?" Sam prompted. "Right?" He huffed at his oblivious brother. "Dean!"

"Yeah!" he said quickly, looking at him and making himself stop. "Yeah, I know. Sorry, man," he added awkwardly.

"Fine." He turned and found Dean's phone, pressing Bobby's speed-dial and clearing his throat. "Hey Bobby, sorry about that."

"Sam? What's in the Sam Hill's going on with you two?" Bobby demanded immediately.

"Ah… We have a slight problem," he said.

"Oh, Dean, sorry," he said quickly, recognising the voice.

"No, it's ah… I'm Sam," he said.

"Really? Then you sure sound like –"

"Yeah, that's our problem," Sam said slowly. "We've been jumped, Bobby. We've been swapped."

"Well… Shit," came Bobby's reply.

-------------------------------------------------

Sam talked to Bobby at great length while Dean paced the room. He stopped at the curtains, looking out. He walked back to the coffee on the table, taking a swig. He helped himself to the now very cold pizza on the table too, secretly quite glad that Sam had spurned it – leaving more for him – but also worried his brother hadn't eaten. He walked backwards and forwards, watching the feet that were moving him around without actually being his. He could feel the anger building up, could feel the helplessness and frustration.

He didn't pause in his pacing but looked over at his younger brother. His now shorter, wider, stockier, blonder younger brother.

He stopped pacing, his head tilting to one side slowly as he took a good, very long look at Sam. Or rather, himself.

Never actually seen me before, he thought grumpily. Well, not like you can see other people. And definitely not like they can see you. He shook his head, turning and pacing again, biting his – Sam's – lip and trying to think back over every tiny thing they had done since they had arrived in Grand Rapids, Michigan.

"Ok, thanks Bobby," Sam said, sounding relieved in a voice that made Dean's skin creep, knowing it was his own. He stopped pacing and watched Sam put the cell phone down on the bed next to him.

"Well?"

"Blood," Sam said, putting a hand up to his neck, then realising it was no longer his. "Ah – your neck. The one that – that used to be mine," he added gingerly.

Dean put a hand up and touched the throat under the fingers that weren't his but did as they were told, feeling the semi-scabbed marks. "Where that bitch tried to strangle you?" he asked.

"Yeah. Whatever she did, she got something into the blood. And Bobby thinks it has to be shared with someone who has the same blood type," he added quietly. "That's why it seems to jump between family members or only certain friends."

"I touched your neck," Dean realised, his mouth hanging slightly open. "You were bleeding, and I touched your neck. Is that it?" he asked, looking back at Sam.

"Seems that way. Do you have any–. Oh," he said suddenly, stopping and raising his hands to look at them. "Yeah. You've got a cut here on your left palm, that's how it got in," he said, looking up at Dean and showing him his hand. Dean scowled.

"Yeah, thanks. Up until an hour ago that was my hand, remember?" He huffed, looking round the room slowly as he collected his thoughts. Those, at least, were still his. "How do we reverse it?"

"Bobby's working on it. But in the meantime, we have to be careful not to start going psycho."

"Great! Well that's just – just friggin' great!" he shouted, "Of all the people I had to get swapped with, it had to be you!" he continued, anguished.

"I don't see the problem here, man," Sam said carefully, standing and watching his brother start to pace again. The way Dean was working himself up was starting to worry him.

"You don't see the problem!" Dean exploded, turning on him. "The problem is you're supposed to be my younger brother! You know, we don't exactly live normal lives – but at least three things were for definite: I'm the older one, you're the little college boy, and we kill undead things before they get people! And now look, it's all friggin' screwed!" he roared.

Sam walked over but Dean's hands shot up quickly in an all-too-familiar defensive manoeuvre. Sam froze and then took a step back slowly.

"Look, all I'm saying is, there's a way out of this, and all we have to do is keep calm until we find it, ok?" he said soothingly.

"I'm not a kid, Sam!" he shouted angrily.

"I know! Believe me, I know," he said warily. "Look… Just let it go, man. Why are you so angry?"

Dean huffed and turned away from him, walking away to the window and looking out. He was silent for a long moment, and Sam watched him wrestle with something. Finally he cast him a furtive glance before looking back out of the window.

"Cos if I hadn't left you alone, she wouldn't have hurt you. And then we wouldn't be in this mess."

"Dean…" Sam gave up, huffing and sitting on the bed nearest him. "When are you going to stop this?"

"Stop what?" he demanded, looking at him.

"I'm not a kid either. Don't think you have to watch me every time I take a step, I won't break," he said a little testily. Dean just looked at him for a long moment, then back out of the window. But all his anger seemed to have drained away.

"So we just wait for Bobby to call back, or what?" he asked eventually, in a small voice.

"Yeah. Look, it's not even four o'clock yet. Perhaps if you sat down, maybe got a few hours' rest, you'd feel better," Sam ventured.

"I can't sleep," he admitted.

"Why?"

"I have another problem," he said, avoiding Sam's gaze admirably.

"What's what?"

"I… ah… I need the toilet," he confessed.

"What are you, three?" Sam teased. "Just go."

"Sam!" he blurted plaintively. "You're my brother and we grew up together, but I ain't never touching another man's–"

"You have a point," Sam said quickly. He thought for a long moment. "Well, I'm sorry man, but when I need to go, I'm just going," he shrugged.

"Sam!" he protested, pinning him with a tortured look.

"Dean, it's called 'necessary'!" he shot back. "Honestly, get over it!"

"Fine! Just – when you do go, just don't look," he said firmly. Sam just stared at him, incredulity written on his – Dean's – face. "Cos I sure as hell won't." He turned and marched into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

Sam collapsed backwards on the bed, closing Dean's eyes that he was currently using, rubbing them generously. Dean's phone started to ring again.

"Thank God," Sam breathed, uncomfortable with sounding exactly like his brother. He sat up, reaching for the phone.

"Oh man!" Dean cried, tortured, from behind the bathroom door. "Gaaah! When we find out who caused all this, I am seriously gonna kick his thievin' ass!" he wailed.

"Hey Bobby," Sam said politely down the phone.

"Which one are you?" Bobby asked.

"Sam. Did you find anything?"

"Oh this is just wrong!" Dean protested from the bathroom.

"Yeah, I've got some good news, and I've got some bad news," Bobby continued, oblivious.

"What's the good news?" Sam hazarded.

"Oh Je­sus, that is something I never wanted to see in this lifetime!" Dean wailed.

"Hang on Bobby," Sam said irritably, then pressed the phone to his adopted chest to cover it, turning to look over at the bathroom door. "Dude! Don't be such a girl!" he shouted clearly. Then he sniffed and lifted the phone back to his face. "So, ah, you were saying?"

"Yeah… I was saying the good news is, all you need to do is get some blood from the woman, and meet me. I've got something here that will fix all of you," he said.

Sam closed his eyes and concentrated on the phone, pinching the bridge of his nose and ignoring the grumbling coming from the bathroom door. "And what's the bad news?"

"It has to be before midnight tonight," Bobby replied.