The drive from warehouse 58 to the Lucky 7 Inn ("not as good as the Super 8, but better than Motel 6," Dean had said earlier) only took about 30 minutes. To the Impala's two passengers, however, it had seemed to take a lifetime.
The door to the room swung open easily and the brothers entered, neither daring to even look at the other. Sam closed the door, locking it behind him, and stood beside his brother, facing him, in the darkness. Both boys had their heads down.
"On the count of three?" Dean asked, his hand hovering over the light switch. Sam nodded. "One…"
"Two…"
"Three!" Both heads snapped up as the lights in the room flashed on and the siblings locked eyes for a brief moment.
"Whoa," Sam muttered, looking his brother up and down before taking a step to his left. Dean stepped to his left as well.
"Got that right."
The brothers circled each other, hardly speaking, each trying to comprehend what had happened. It was like looking in a mirror. Finally, they both stood stationary, just staring blankly at each other, the reality of the situation finally starting to dink in. Dean shook his head, long hair flapping around his face as he did so, "this can't be good."
"Got that right."
Slowly, uneasily, knowing what they would see but still afraid to confirm their private thoughts, the two approached the large mirror hanging opposite the beds and stared at their reflections.
"It's creepy," Sam muttered, "like we-"
"Switched bodies or something," Dean nodded, gingerly touching his face, his brother's face. It was too weird.
"Is that even possible?"
"Dunno," Dean shrugged, "but it's unsettling."
"Not something you see every day."
"Like a bad episode of a cartoon show."
Sam glanced at his brother, trying to repress a shudder as he looked up at the man for the first time since that adolescent growth spurt of so long ago, about to make a joke about the fearless hunter watching "Dora the Explorer," but decided to state a simple fact first. "Dude, you're short."
"Did you ever stop to think that maybe you're just freakishly tall?"
Sammy grinned, realizing he'd struck a nerve. "Nope. You're just short. Where're you going?"
Dean was walking slowly off toward the bathroom door, running his hands through the long brown hair his brother had grown in spite of their father's wishes to cut it. "I'm gonna go take a shower, if you don't mind. For some odd reason I feel really scummy."
Sam sighed. "Fine. Just keep your hands to yourself, all right, Dean?"
His brother stopped in the doorway to the bathroom, staring fixedly at his hands. "Technically," he muttered, "they're your hands." He entered the room and slammed the door.
Sammy shook his head and smiled, sitting down on the edge of one of the beds. Leave it to Dean to try to find humor in a situation like this. At least, Sam hoped it was humor.
From his spot on the bed he could still see his reflection. The hazel eyes, the short hair, the leather jacket with the popped-up collar, the necklace, everything he'd come to associate with his brother. It was his now.
The digital clock told him it was almost eleven. Sam figured he'd lay down, try to catch some sleep, shower in the morning, and then attack this latest problem with a clear mind. He slipped off his brother's jacket and threw it on a near-by chair, then slid the necklace from around his neck and laid it on the bedside table. Dean would probably want it back.
As the shower came on, Sam laid back on the bed and closed his eyes. His brother's eyes.
