Chapter Four

The shopping run took longer than they'd anticipated, and by the time they found somewhere to have breakfast, Sam was hungry and grumpy, and Dean was hungrier and grumpier.

"When I find out who did this, I will gank 'em with nothing more than a plastic specs case and a tube of acne cream," Dean growled, peering at the menu through the glasses he was wearing. It had become clear that the glasses were necessary when, trying to read the price tags on larger pairs of pants, it had become apparent that he was also short-sighted. "Fuck," he pushed them back up his nose, "Are they intentionally designed to do this? Aren't they supposed to help you see, not drive you insane?"

"Be grateful we found a pair of non-prescription ones that were suitable," Sam cautioned, "Optometrists don't come cheap, and you'd have to wait a couple of weeks for the lenses to be made."

"This is a disaster!" Dean practically wailed.

"It's not, you know," Sam countered, getting fed up with Dean's melodramatics, "It's very common – about half the population in our age bracket wear some sort of corrective lenses at least part of the time. There's nothing weird about needing reading glasses, bro. In fact, I was wondering if I should go and have my eyes tested, because I've noticed…"

"I don't care about needing 'em to read," sighed Dean. "But couldn't they at least make 'em so the wearer doesn't look like something out of a 1960s high school anti-drug educational movie? I look like Clark Kent! Actually, no, I don't look as cool as Clark Kent, I look like Steve Urkel, only not black. I look like Bill Gates, only not rich. I look like John Oliver…"

"Only not smart and witty," Sam cut in, "And definitely not highly amusing."

"I was going to say not famous, bitch," griped Dean. "But that Limey smartass would have more hope of getting laid than me wearing these."

"News flash," humphed Sam. "Medical science has established that not having sex for more than three days is not a fatal condition."

"Lucky for them," Dean replied, "Scrawny geeks in white coats and glasses even thicker than mine, they'd die out before they ever qualified."

"Whatever," Sam gave up, not even bothering to rise to the bait of blatant stereotyping since it was clear that Satellite Dean was not in a stable orbit around Planet Rational for the time being, "Anyway, you won't need 'em for long, just until we figure out what's happened to you and undo it. Let's eat. Maybe food will settle your hormones, jerk."

Muttering darkly, Dean consulted the menu.

He brightened up considerably when their waitress arrived: she had a bright smile, legs going all the way up, and a rack he could rest his beer on. He gave her an attenuated version of the Killer Smile and a wink as she headed back to the kitchen.

"Uh, Dean, I think maybe you shouldn't do that," Sam ventured carefully, in a tone suggestive of a man trying to take a pleasant morning stroll through a mine field.

"Do what?" asked his brother, watching her go. "Oh, man, look at those legs. Look at the tops of those legs."

"The smiling thing," Sam went on doggedly. "I think maybe it might be a good idea not to do that."

"What, now it's against the law to appreciate a fine female form?" demanded Dean.

"No, I didn't say that," Sam countered hurriedly.

"Good," Dean huffed, "Because that female form, Sammy, is definitely worthy of appreciation."

"Yeah, okay, there's nothing wrong with looking, but..."

"In fact, I'm imagining those legs wrapped around my…"

"Stop! Stop right there! I have no desire to hear about any of your depraved fantasies!"

"You might learn something."

"No, Dean, what I'm getting at is…"

They were interrupted when the object of Dean's attention returned with their coffees. "Here you go," she said, putting them on the table, "Do you need any more sugar?"

"Nah, darlin'," Dean drawled, the Smile reappearing, "I'm sweet enough."

"Okay. I'll be back with your order soon." She retreated again. Dean's face rearranged itself into a frown. "Well, that's weird."

"What's weird?" asked Sam.

"Well, I usually get a smile back, and at least a little giggle," Dean went on. "Huh. She must bat for the other team. What a waste."

"Uh, I don't think that's it, Dean," Sam sighed.

"Course it is," scoffed his big brother. "I didn't pick it, though, usually my radar is totally accurate for that."

"No, really, I don't think that's the problem," Sam resumed tip-toeing through the claymores, "I think it might be to do with your… smile."

"My smile?" Dean echoed. "My smile? What's wrong with my smile? I got a killer smile, Sammy, I've been told that by a number of seriously hot chicks."

"Dean…"

"False modesty sucks, dude. My smile attracts women like honey attracts bees, like a tanning booth attracts guidos, like a cardboard cut-out of a gormless glittery vampire attracts screaming tweens."

"Yeah, okay, but…"

"My smile can make panties hit the carpet at 20 paces, bro."

"Yeah, okay," Sam agreed, nonetheless giving his brother a Bitchface #12™ (I Am Going To Pretend I Didn't Hear What You Just Said You Disgusting Individual), "You have the most come-hither smile that God ever put on the front of a male face. When you're you. When you're the original Dean Winchester, Living Sex God and Creation's gift to women. But right now…"

"What?" demanded Dean. "Right now, what?"

"Right now, you're… not," Sam finished lamely.

"Well, thanks for that, Einstein," Dean rolled his eyes. "I really needed help to work that one out."

"No, what I mean is, well, your smile, on your proper face, it's come hither, but on the one you've currently got, it's more…" Sam waved a hand uncertainly. "Not so much 'come-hither', more 'go-thither'."

"Huh?"

Sam decided on the band-aid approach. "That face doesn't do Killer Smile, bro. What it does is more Creepy-Ass Leer."

Dean stared at him as if he had just announced that he wanted to begin transitioning to live as a woman and retire to a convent where there were absolutely no hot nuns whatsoever. "What?"

"The way you ogled that waitress," Sam went on, "From a certain point of view, the way you looked at her could be regarded as, well, creepy."

"Whaddyamean, from a certain point of view?"

"Well, from her point of view, if the look on her face was anything to judge by."

Dean snorted dismissively. "Don't be ridiculous, Sammy, I'm still me on the inside. I don't ogle women."

"Yeah, you do. All the time."

"Okay, yeah, maybe I do, but I don't ogle ogle them, in a creepy way, I look at them to appreciate them because they're so…"

"Ogle-able?"

"Exactly."

"Right." Sam knew defeat when it was staring at him – ogling him, even. He stirred his coffee. "So, first order of business, work out what happened to you, work out if it's connected to the other hot guys, and undo it." He looked up. "The last person you had contact with was that brunette you went home with."

"Why would she do this to me?" Dean complained. "I told her how hot she was, I showed her a good time, and she enjoyed herself, no doubt about that, judging by the noises she made when we were…"

"We may not work out the 'why' until we identify the 'who'," Sam told him, "Maybe she uses her hotness to lure hot partners. You know," he added trenchantly, "The way you do."

"Hey, if you got it, flaunt it," Dean pronounced shamelessly.

"Well here comes our food," Sam hissed, "So for now, remember that you really don't got it, so keep your flaunting to yourself."

Dean turned and was disappointed to see that the waitress approaching was not the appreciable young lady who'd taken their order, but an older one, whom Bobby would no doubt refer to as 'a fine figure of a woman'.

"Here you go boys," she smiled pleasantly, "Enjoy!"

"See?" Sam couldn't help the small note of triumph that leaked into his tone, "You scared the first one off with your creepy leering."

"I didn't leer!"

"You did."

"I didn't!"

"I'm afraid you did, bro."

"I didn't!"

"You did!"

"I didn't!"

"You did!"

Didn't!"

"Did!"

"Didn't!"

"You did so!"

"Sam, I – did – NOT – leer," growled Dean, stabbing a piece of bacon with rather more force than is usually required to subdue a run-of-the mill-rasher, "What suddenly makes you an expert on leering, anyway?"

Sam gazed at him levelly. "Dean, I once saw a leer like that on a guy who was looking at Jess," he stated, "I know a leer when I see one."

"So a guy looked at your girlfriend," Dean shrugged. "No big deal."

"To Jess, it was," Sam continued. "It made her really uncomfortable."

"Yeah, but nothing happened, right?"

"Actually, it did," Sam smiled pleasantly. "What happened was, I punched him in the face."

"Yeah?" Dean beamed. "Awesome! Then what?"

"I got a round of applause from the other women in the bar," Sam finished.

"That's my boy," Dean hummed contentedly.

Sam drooped visibly. "I'm just not getting through here, am I?" he sighed.

"Nope." Dean's grin was as infuriating as ever. "But you're used to it, so it's all good."

They discussed a plan to scope out the home of the woman Dean had bedded ("And sofa-ed. And shower-ed." "Dean!") as they finished breakfast, then Dean decided that he wanted a piece of the delicious-looking pie in the cabinet.

"You want pie right after breakfast? Isn't that a bit much, even for you?"

"Any time is pie time," Dean's beaming smile was relentless. "Anyway, since we had to mess around findin' me some pants that would fit, and some glasses that would let me see, it's halfway to lunch already, so I'm just gettin' an early start."

When the older waitress returned to collect their plates, Dean smiled and asked for a piece of pie, with cream and ice cream.

She gave him a doting maternal smile. "Oh, honey, you've just had your breakfast, are you sure?"

"Yeah I'm sure," Dean replied, "It looks awesome!"

"Oh, it is," she agreed, "But, well, you know, what I tell my grandkids is, pie is a sometimes food…"

"A what?" Dean asked, incredulous.

"A sometimes food," Sam repeated, smiling serenely, "Full of refined carbs, saturated fat, and a lot of calories contained in a small serving. So, it's not something you ought to eat every day, it should be an occasional special treat."

"Exactly!" their waitress beamed. "But if you really are still hungry, Katie in the kitchen has made a beautiful fruit salad, I can recommend it, with a big dollop of yoghurt on top, it's just delicious!"

Dean stared at her as if she'd just suggested that he eat something with a liberal lacing of cyanide sauce. "Fruit salad?" he echoed in disbelief. "Are you suggesting that I eat… fruit salad!"

"It's a sensible snack, bro," Sam nodded eagerly, "Lots of fibre, and vitamins, and trace elements, delicious and good for you!" His face became serious. "You don't wanna grow out of your new pants any time soon," he added just a touch ominously. (And, in truth, just a weeny bit viciously.)

Dean's open-mouthed expression of bewilderment assumed a pout worthy of a Sam Winchester trademarked Bitchface™. "I – want – pie," he stated flatly in a calm and quiet voice that hinted it could get a whole less calm and quiet if said pastry was not put in front of him soon.

With a shrug, the waitress took his order, and he was soon stabbing his pie just as viciously as he'd attacked his helpless bacon.

"What the hell was that about?" he hissed at Sam.

"She's probably just worried about you," his baby brother shrugged. "Seeing as the body you are currently occupying looks like it likes pie just as much as you do."

"Well, of course it does," he griped, "Because it is me. Fruit salad. Huh. Maybe we should start with her, she's probably an evil witch."

"Dean, I really don't think she is," Sam sighed. "Not so tactful, perhaps, but that doesn't' make her evil. I think we should work backwards – go check out your brunette bed-buddy's place, see what we can find. If she's a witch, and we can find her grimoire and her altar, we might be able to undo this there and then."

"Good," Dean shoved another mouthful of pie into his face and continued speaking for the express purpose of annoying Sam. "And for the record, if you join in with attempting to body-shame me again, I will temporarily suspend my refusal to be in the same grid square as a single molecule of tofu, and I will stuff it into every orifice until you burst."

Poor Dean - horrificating him is just too much fun. What is Beau-Ponty up to? Feed him reviews to find out!