"Why isn't the door opening?" Sam asked as he stood, peeking I through the thick glass, "and why aren't the lights on?"
"Maybe she isn't here yet," his brother suggested, shrugging, "or maybe she's in trouble. Maybe she was tricking us."
"Maybe she's dead."
"Oh, if I was dead," Madeline replied from behind them as the door swung open, "you boys would know. You'd be the first ones I'd tell."
"What took you?" Dean asked as she brushed past him and into the shop turning on the lights with a wave of her delicate hand.
"I had to pick something up," she explained, "a kind of present for you boys for being such good sports through all of this. I mean, it is kind of my fault you're in this whole mess."
"What is it?" Sam asked. The woman's hands were empty and her car was nowhere to be seen.
"Turn around," a familiar voice said. Sam moaned as his brother's eyebrows shot up in shock. Their father's brand of help was certainly the last thing they needed, especially since hunts with the older man usually included insults, yelling, and a truckload of uncomfortable silences.
"Dad," Dean began, "boy, do we have a lot to catch up on."
"Later, Sammy," John replied as his sons turned around, trying to hide the new shock that had arrived at their father's use of Sam's much-hated nickname, "right now I need you to help me unload some stuff. Oh, you cut your hair? I like it. It looks nice."
"Thanks," Dean grinned, elbowing his brother, "I told you. He doesn't like it."
"Dean," the eldest hunter scolded, "compliment your brother's hair. It may not be perfect, but at least he doesn't look like a sheepdog anymore."
"Wait," Sam began, "you thought I… he looked like a sheepdog?"
"Yeah," he turned to Dean, "you were a shaggy mess there, son. Now help me unload the stuff. Dean, why don't you go talk to Madeline, see if anything else has come up."
Both boys nodded and headed off, Dean toward the shop and Sam with his father.
"What's wrong with you?' John asked, annoyed, "Dean, go talk to Madi. Sammy, come on."
Sam turned his back on his father and headed into the shop as Dean passed him, walking down the sidewalk and muttering, "right. I am Sam. Sam I am."
"You didn't tell him?" Sammy hissed as he caught up to Madi, who was busy rooting through a bookcase in her office, "why didn't you tell him?"
"I figured it wasn't my place."
"But it's OK for you to call him?"
She smiled. "Of course. That' what friends are for. I had a very interesting dream last night, one that gave me the feeling you two might be needing a little help on this job if you ever want things to be right again."
"Let me guess," Sam sighed, "Dean and I were running through a cemetery about five years from now?"
"Yes, actually. Did you see it, too?"
"Yeah. But why didn't you just tell our dad we'd," he lowered his voice as Dean and John approached the door, their hands full of books and weapons, "switched bodies?"
"And ruin a perfectly awkward father-son moment? Forget it, Sammy, this is how I get my kicks."
"What's how you get your kicks?" Dean grunted, throwing a large pile of books down on the room's single desk.
"You'll see," the blind woman smiled, bringing another chair around by the desk.
"Sammy," John muttered, entering the room with his arms full of various knives, guns, and an assortment of books and papers, "I've been meaning to ask you something. Why are you wearing your brother's necklace?"
"Oh, well…." Dean began, scratching his head.
"He won it. From me. In a game of…. Poker. He had to promise he'd give it back by Christmas, though." Sam jumped in, smiling broadly and hoping his father bought the obviously made-up story.
"I guess that makes sense," John shrugged, though his eyes seemed doubtful, "help me sort through this stuff, will you, boys?"
"Dad," Dean sighed, "he's lying."
"What?" Sam glared at him.
"No, Sammy. We've gotta tell him. It's the only way he can help. We need him to shoot it while it's eating. He's going to need to wait until we're almost dead, and if we don't explain this, he won't have any reason to."
Sam closed his eyes and sighed. His brother had a point, but how do you explain to someone, even someone as well-versed in the supernatural as their father, that two people switched bodies? It's not exactly an everyday occurrence.
"What are you talking about?" John asked, narrowing his eyes in suspicion, though they seemed somehow enlightened, and even bright, laughing. It was almost like he know. "And why'd you call him Sammy?"
Dean took a step away from his father. "You might want to sit down for this, dad. It's unbelievable, even for us." His father took a seat by Madi, who smiled encouragingly. "Sam and I kind of…" he trailed off, trying to think of a way to logically explain the events of the witch hunt.
"There was a witch," Sam said, "a soul-sucker. I don't know if Madeline tried to contact you, but she called us. A little girl was killed in a warehouse, her soul was sucked out of her. When we went to investigate we found it. It grabbed both of us, held us up, tried to kill us. Dean shot it, though, and we got away."
"But when we got back to the car," Dean added, "we realized something was wrong. We, uh, weren't exactly ourselves. I know it doesn't seem possible, but we switched bodies somehow. I'm Dean."
John stared at them, his intelligent eyes flicking from one to the other, judging them, taking in their story. "Sam," he said, pointing at the shorter of his two sons, "and Dean," he pointed to the tallest. Both nodded. "You cut your brother's hair. Did he give you his permission?"
"No, sir," Dean mumbled, averting his eyes.
"Well, that's the least of our worries, now, isn't it?" John replied, his voice rising, "how could you have let this happen? How could you have been so stupid? You just let it attack you?"
"It took us by surprise," Sam defended, "it was an accident. No one's fault. But Madi thinks she knows how to fix it."
"We'll need your help to do that, Mr. Winchester," the female psychic nodded, "but we need your full cooperation."
John sighed. He could easily wrap his mind around the fact that his sons had switched bodies, just as he had been able to wrap his mind around the fact that his wife had burned on the ceiling. It was the fact that it had been allowed to happen. Why had Dean waited so long to shoot the thing? Had Sam even tried to shoot?
"Fine," he nodded after considering, "but why do you need me?"
"Not only do they need to switch back," Madi explained, "they need to kill the soul-sucker, too. In order to do both, they need to use themselves as bait. As soon as it attacks and begins eating them they need to shoot it. Like the shtriga, it's only vulnerable while feeding. If it's killed while both of their souls are hanging there, they should return to the right bodies."
"Should?" John asked, "what if they don't?"
"It's like I told Sam earlier. Those boys are lucky they're both pretty. If this doesn't work out for them at least no one has to take a step down on the female food chain."
"Yeah, Dean's already established that," Sam mumbled bitterly.
John either hadn't heard his youngest son or hadn't wanted to. "So you want me to shoot it?"
"While it's feeding," Dean nodded, "not before. Not after. I know how protective you can get, but you need to wait."
"How will I know?"
"Easy," Madeline said matter-of-factly, "a human's soul outside of its body appears as a colored vapor, looking much like a demon as it's exorcised. Once you see the vapor you can shoot, but it has to be far enough out of their bodies. Understand?"
"If it isn't far enough out?"
"It will go right back in and your boys will be stuck."
John sighed. "Where is it and how do I kill it?"
