AN: Happy Birthday Worm!

Dude, I don't even know.

I've used some dialogue from episode 7x16 'Out with the Old'

As this work is a gift for my usual beta, it has not been beta'd.

Dean pulled into the parking space and switched the car off. A prickling on the back of his neck made him turn around. There, in the back seat, were the ballet shoes. The ballet shoes that they had definitely put in the trunk. The ballet shoes that seemed to have a decided air of innocence about them.

"Hey. Didn't we put those in the trunk?" he asked Sam slowly.

Sam turned around to see what Dean was talking about. "H-how did they…"

Dean sighed. "Cursed object, Sam."

Sam was quiet for a beat. Don't say it. Don't say it, Dean thought. Sam said it. "Do they... look like they're... your size?"

"Shut up," Dean grumbled.

Sam looked over at his brother, the worry clear on his face. "Wait, a—are you…?"

Dean closed his eyes. "Getting the strong urge to Prince Siegfried myself into oblivion? Yes."

"You really did see 'Black Swan.'"

That was the last thing Dean remembered clearly. Somehow he'd found himself in the antique shop with the ballet shoes in his hands. He looked around, bewildered.

"Sam? Hey, Sammy?" There was no answer.

Dean walked around the small shop calling out, but he seemed to be the only one there. And those damn ballet shoes were throbbing in his hands…

Dean looked around once more. Then down at the shoes he was holding.

"I mean, they probably won't fit anyway," he told himself. He sat down on the nearest chair and started to pull his shoes and socks off. Discarding them on the floor he lifted his right foot and pulled a ballet shoe on. It fit perfectly.

"Huh."

So he went and pulled the left one on as well. They truly felt like they were made for him. The satin was soft—even the fabric on the inside felt like silk against his skin—and the shoes fitted snugly and so comfortably. It made Dean feel like he never wanted to wear anything else on his feet for the rest of his life. There was only one problem…

"How are you supposed to tie these damn things?" he mumbled to himself. He was folding the ribbons around his ankles but they seemed to go on and on. Was he supposed to wrap them around his calf, gladiator sandal style? Or did they tie around the ankle? Knot or bow? In the end Dean went with tying them around his ankles and fastening them with a bow in front. He nodded to himself with satisfaction. He thought that looked decidedly ballerina-ish.

Dean had hoped that the supernatural pull the shoes were exerting on him would lessen once he had them on his feet, but just the opposite happened. The throbbing he'd felt when he'd held the shoes just intensified once he had them on his feet, until it was almost painful.

"Fuck it." Dean stood up and did a little shuffle. The shoes must have approved because the throbbing subsided and in its place a low, pleasant tingle started to sink into his flesh, starting in his feet and gliding up his legs. He stood still for a moment and the throbbing started up again.

So Dean tried to stand on the tips of his toes, like he'd seen Nina, the main character in Black Swan, do. Mmmm, Nina, he thought to himself, while he struggled to stay upright en pointe. His ankles were just not made for this. They were accustomed to the support of stiff leather boots. This standing on tippy toes while carrying the weight of a six foot manly body had never been a part of the job description and they were protesting. Loudly.

"Ow," Dean huffed, standing flat once again and rolling his ankles first one way, then the other, in an effort to seek some relief from the new, non-shoe related, throbbing that had started. "Definitely too old for this."

He bent down and rubbed at his right ankle a little. That ankle was still a bit weak since he'd broken his leg a few months earlier. As he stood up, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in a full length mirror across the room. He walked over to get a better look.

"Oh man, that's priceless," Dean snorted when he could see himself properly. He was still in his fed suit; slacks, shirt and tie. He even still had his jacket on. And there, peeking out from underneath the hem of the slacks, were pink, satin ballet shoes. He looked around furtively once again. "Man, am I glad you're not here to see this, Sammy."

Dean waved his arms around a little, and bent his knees, like he'd seen the dancers do in the movie, and chuckled. He tilted his head to one side, considering his reflection, and then extended his right foot in front of him, trying to point his toes. It was surprisingly difficult, as the front of the ballet shoe was very stiff. He bent his left leg and held his right arm out in front of him, bent a little at the elbow, while he arranged his left arm over his head. After a moment, he bent his wrists a little, and then struck a pose. He grinned at his reflection.

His head was still tilted to one side when Dean thought he heard something. Tilting it still further, he strained to hear, but then realised that wasn't necessary. The sound was getting louder and it didn't take Dean very long to recognise the music from the ballet, that Swan ballet, that the movie had revolved around.

"Pas de what the fuck?"

Before Dean knew what was happening, he was back on his toes, doing little quick steps, and fluttering his arms all around his body. Then the music changed to something faster; a little upbeat classical melody that Dean didn't recognise from the movie but somehow sounded like it probably belonged to the ballet. And his feet took over completely, or at least the shoes did. Dean suddenly found himself kind of hopping to the side, step by step, with his knees out at an angle that was very uncomfortable, even with his bowlegs. He did a little jump, stretching his legs out and then started over again with the same steps but moving in the opposite direction. He didn't know why, but his arms were held out to his sides, as if he was holding hands with people on either side of him. Dean's eyes were wide as saucers and he was, if he were totally honest, a little scared. He did a little hop at the end of the sequence, lifting his right foot up to his left knee and then started all over again in the other direction. It was a little tricky hopping and skipping around all the antique furniture, and he knocked his shins more than once on small occasional tables or random upright chairs.

He made his way across the room, trying to figure out how he could get the shoes off when he couldn't seem to stop dancing. His head was behaving strangely too, seemingly pointing in the direction he was dancing and then looking up or down rather dramatically before snapping to the other side. It really did feel an awful lot like being possessed.

"Arrrgh," Dean moaned loudly, when he found himself suddenly jumping with his feet passing each other at what was certainly an unnatural speed for him, and then sort of springing repeatedly onto the toes of the shoes. His ankle was aching terribly but he simply couldn't stop.

"Help!" Dean was at the point now where he no longer cared if anyone saw him, he just needed to stop dancing. "Sammy?!" But all he could hear was the cheerful little melody playing on in his head, and all he could see was his rather ungainly self galumphing past the various reflective surfaces in the shop. When he ended up standing on the toes of just one foot, with his other foot once again brought up to the opposite knee, he felt something snap in his ankle and he was sure he'd broken it. "Mother-fouetté," he cursed, and then wondered what it was that he'd just said.

When the shoes started making him take delicate steps forward before springing up onto one toe and extending his leg behind him, Dean really thought he was going to die. Or his feet would fall off. He was in so much pain he didn't understand how he was still upright, but the shoes kept him going and Dean really started to panic.

Then somewhere, far off, he thought he heard someone calling his name. If only the damn music would stop so I could hear, he thought to himself, straining to hear anything over the melody in his head. He tried to look around, but his head was not completely under his control. He didn't think there was anyone else in the room…

"Dean!"

That was definitely Sam, loud and clear.

"Sam! Sammy!" Dean was trying to twist his head around, to see where his brother was, but some force kept pushing against him. He couldn't turn his body, he couldn't control a goddamn thing!

"SAMMY!"

Suddenly there was a sharp pain across his face, and Dean opened his eyes in shock.

"What the hell, man?" Sam was looming over him, his face full of concern. He was shaking his hand as if he'd hurt it and Dean put his own hand to his cheek, which was stinging.

Then Dean looked around. His head was under his control, so that was good. He was in a bed, even better. He was in his room, in The Bunker.

And then Dean remembered that they'd worked the case with the ballet shoes almost five years ago.

Dean sighed with relief.

"Fucking cursed objects, man."

AN: The music Dean dances to and the dance he does is the "Dance of the Little Swans" or "Dance of the cygnets" because of a video manip that I saw on the Internet once. God bless the Internet.