Immutable Law (1/5)

(c)2006 gekizetsu


Summary: Sam discovers exactly what lengths he'll go to for Dean after he's waylaid by an opportunistic entity. So dark, the con of Sam.

a/n: Smut for charity? Why yes, I will. This one's for seraphina, who gets props for driving me over several edges. The following applies in no particular order: genderswap, Girl!Sam, cursing, plot, angst, humor, obscure album references, drama, het, slash, Wincest, dubious consent and whatever else I could get in there including the kitchen sink, by request. NC-17 for graphic het and slash and incest, all between the same two people. If you're used to gen from me, there's none in this tale. You can't even skip the porn because it's integral to the plot. Not old enough, don't like that kind of thing, hit the back button now. Not crackfic although the preceding description makes it sound like it should be.

Just humor me. You've all done it so far.


But now he lives inside someone he does not recognize
When he catches his reflection on accident.

--Deathcab For Cutie, Brothers On A Hotel Bed



Sam tried again to remember exactly how long he'd been there and at what point he'd made the transition from absentmindedly wandering back early from a weekend with friends to being hogtied to a chair.

No more than five miles away from the motel Dean would still be waiting in, he'd stopped to grab dinner for them both but somewhere in the dark parking lot between the car and door, something had snagged him. Obviously. He didn't have a damn memory of it, but he wasn't still in the parking lot of the fuckin' Perkins, now, was he.

Someone or something kept circling behind him and asking him the same question.

"What do you think sin is?"


~two days back

"More email?"

Dean, prodding but not. "Yeah," Sam said. "Couple of friends getting married this weekend, been trying to track my ass down."

"Why don't you go?"

Sam swivelled to look at Dean, who was tying a bag full of red Twizzlers into a long rope. Something with a sweet tooth had been stalking campers in the southern Oregon woods and attacking them for food. Something that couldn't even pretend to look like a bear. Hanging Twizzlers from trees had become a nightly ritual. Sooner or later, whatever it was would give in to the temptation.

Dean finally glanced up. "You wanna go or not?"

"You get into trouble when I go places without you," Sam said.

"Whatever, Sam," Dean said, dropping his gaze again. The room smelled of some kind of cloying, faux-strawberry sweetness. "You waiting for permission, it's not coming. You're a big boy." He paused. "Sometimes."


He'd come to be tied to a chair which in turn was tied to a concrete post in what looked like the lowest tier of a parking garage but dimmer. Dark and damp and smelling like abandonment. He didn't feel as if he'd been drugged, and his head didn't feel as if it had met yet another blunt object it didn't like. The owner of the eerily androgynous voice was likely to blame, but how he/she/it had done it, he wasn't going to ask unless he needed a reason to keep it talking for distraction. No way it was human, if it could grab him like this without manhandling him or doping him first.

Dean wasn't expecting him back until Monday afternoon.

No one would be looking for him for awhile.

"Sin, Sam. Definition?"

Sam kept his gaze on the ground and thought it was a good thing Dean wasn't with him aside from the obvious reasons, because he would be smartmouthing it nonstop and drawing its attention. Dean never quite understood that he might be playing older brother and taking the brunt of things, but watching him get whaled on was worse to Sam than if he was taking the blows himself.

"Do you automatically think of the big seven deadlies? I'm pretty sure your brother runs through at least half of them just getting up in the morning."

"You don't know anything about us," Sam said. What he meant was don't talk about my brother . How or what it knew...he could only guess. Stalking them? A revenge ploy? Had they left things behind, had he said too much to the wrong mark cities and days behind them? It had been talking since he'd regained consciousness, and kept talking, and he kept trying to make sense of it.

"I don't have to," it said with a shrug in its voice. It was circling behind him. "You've been rummaging through the world, loudly, messily. Just answer me, and I'll let you go."

"You're just one more fuckin' bump in the road," Sam heard himself say with distant horror. "We kill things like you every day."

Instead of laughter or rage, there was only what sounded like a weary sigh. "Not like me, no. What do you think sin is, Samuel John?"

Sam was able to keep his mouth shut, this time. Knows my whole name, and that's important, somehow, because it's not guessing.

"What exactly do you think would send you to hell? If there was a hell."

It was trolling for something, and he'd just have to wait to see where it was headed. It would get bored with him and slip up, and he'd kill it. would suck his brain out. Either way there wasn't much that was in his control in the meantime except his mouth. God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can... The anti-Winchester motto. What he really meant was I'm going to change it even if I shouldn't, and fuck up whatever gets in the way.

"Maybe not telling your almost-betrothed that you knew what was coming was unforgivable," it said.

Sam didn't flinch at the mention of Jessica. He wouldn't allow it to taunt him anymore.

"That was still kind of uncertain, though," it said in such a musing tone of voice that Sam wondered what he'd get for twisting around and kicking it. "Not something you did out of cruelty or even a conscious attempt at anything but avoidance. Kind of a sin of omission , right, Sam?"

He heard a shuffle of feet and then it came into view, still all too human looking right down to its gaze, but he knew. He knew right away. Too-pale eyes that looked almost transparent, features as indiscriminate and bland as if it had decided to mold itself after a store mannequin; shapeless form under jeans and a sweatshirt, for Christ's sake. But the hair - waist length, unnaturally glossy and black. Not a demon, not likely, but something tilted enough to get him where he was and carry out enough trouble to be a real pain. There was a suggestion of something much larger in the room besides the form he could see. Every time he looked at it, there was a burning across his shoulderblades that he thought was from being tied so long.

"I want one," it said softly, unblinking.

Sam didn't look back or reply. It didn't matter.

"One sin. Just for me. I don't want you to cry or anything, or rock in the corner and suck your thumb. You're already a fifty cent cab ride from that on a good day. I'm thinking something that you'll run like hell from. Something more important to you than it is to me."

"Is this some sort of retribution?" Sam said with genuine curiosity.

There was an empty suggestion of a smile. "How about something really uncomfortable? What would be damn near impossible for you to do?"

Sam decided that reverting to silence would be better. The lesser of two evils.

"How about a deal," it said, walking around to one side again so that it could watch him but not be watched in turn. "You pull off one really good dare, one that damages you and amuses me, and I won't take your brother apart. How's that?"

Breaking his own rules yet again, Sam snorted. "You can't do anything to him. He'll see you coming."

"It doesn't have to be me," it said. "Sam, why do you think so small , after everything you've seen?" It leaned close enough to be a gentle breath on his ear. "He's allergic to things that neither of you know about. And you know, he's got a few weak spots. Do you have any idea how many blows to the head he's taken? Granted, that's one thick skull, but there are a couple of places right in his parietal lobe that with the right touch will just give after all that abuse. Be kind of fun to have him look at you and not know you. Be pretty amusing to see him need help feeding himself."

"Fuck you," Sam said emotionlessly and without turning his head.

"That's a good suggestion," it said. "I'm all about grand gestures, but I'm in no mood to tangle with him just yet. I like small pushes in the right direction. Subtlety can be so rewarding. What would you be willing to do to your brother to save him, Samuel John?"

Sam kept his gaze level. Chatty bitch, whatever it was.

"How much do you think you can get away with?"

"I'll just tell him what's going on," Sam said with feigned boredom. "And we'll figure you out."

"Hard to tell him if he doesn't recognize you," it said.

Sam froze. "What the hell does that mean?" he said. Jesus, did it mean to disfigure him? Put a glamoury on him?

"You guys have been through a lot, but even in all that demon-killing there are still immutable laws. Rules. You're Sam and he's Dean Winchester and neither of you change. You can get possessed and mindfucked and turn on each other, and that's hilarious any day. But to do something atrocious to each other on purpose? For any reason? Will he forgive you anything, Sammy ?"

" Fuck you ," Sam said again, but with a snarl.

"I'm thinking something that'll make it hard for the two of you to look at each other ever again," it said. "Wouldn't you just angst yourself into the floor over that? So, so damaged, you two. Damage is so pretty. Can I choose the sin for you, Sam?"

"Just tell me what the hell you want," he said.

"Something you can never take back," it said. "Not the worst I can imagine, but it's good enough. More important to you than to me. How about a little incest, Sam?"

At first it didn't register. There was no connection. Incest was something hushed and freakish that happened in backwater towns in inbred communities or when fathers wouldn't keep their hands off their kids. It was stupid jokes about people from Arkansas even if it was bullshit and something you accused people of when you were drunk and trying to start something. It had nothing to do with brothers -

He felt it hit him as if he'd been shoved. He reeled without moving, face blank with shock.

"C'mon," the voice cajoled. "What's that song? 'Brothers on a hotel bed'? I can't remember the band, but oh, the soundtrack of your life, Sam, I could sing it every day."

Sam burst into humorless laughter. "That's it? That's the best you can do? It'll never work."

"It kind of has to," it said. "I like it. You've got until noon tomorrow to ride him hard and put him away wet or I'll do it for you...with a little more permanence. That's a nice piece of ass, Sam, and I'd hate to see him drooling and being taken for walkies after a stroke."

Sam bared his teeth in a snarl.

"It won't kill you." It leaned closer again. "Will it?"

At first he thought it had changed his mind and had decided to kill him; the pain was enough to convince him of it. He was being pulled apart by an unseen force, bones shifting, his entire frame compressed. He burned, every joint aching and stretched, skin pulled tight but not tearing. He tried to scream and nothing would come, everything choked off into a blinding white silence.

When it stopped, he was still bound in place, head bowed in exhaustion.

"Good luck convincing him you're Sam with that face," it whispered.

It was the last thing Sam knew for awhile.


When he woke up in the car, his first thought was that he'd just had another vision.

That only lasted as long as it took to realize that sitting up from an unconscious slouch didn't make him as tall as it should have. He didn't feel any discomfort; he only felt odd, like he wasn't fitting into his own frame. Or his clothes.

He looked down. His hands were the first thing he saw; his hands and wrists were slender, smaller. He blinked to try and clear his vision the rest of the way. The legs of his jeans spilled far over his feet and were rucked down along his hips. He was swimming in them. His shoes had dropped off and were on the floor. As he dropped his head forward to look, a lock of hair swung into his face, a loose shoulder length curl obscuring his vision. He brushed it away with a hand that wasn't his and when realization hit, he almost panicked.

He clutched a double handful of his jeans and kicked his way out of the car. Standing up didn't make him feel any better, but being out of the enclosed space did. He had to hold the jeans up. His shirt fell off one shoulder. He knew the clothing - it was his. It wasn't some larger size of the same articles just to mess with him. The top of his head barely cleared the roof of the car. His center of gravity was off, way off, and he couldn't feel anything he'd taken for granted as second nature. Musculature, balance, shoulder span, deftness. Something had happened to him that was so severe that he didn't grasp it at first.

Not until he looked into the driver's side mirror.

His eyes were the same. That was all he'd been allowed to keep.

Long, soft almost-curls - more of a wave - spilled below narrower shoulders. His jaw was narrower, Adam's apple gone, nose less prominent. If he could gain a little distance from the shock, he could consider the face in the mirror a pretty one. He wanted to convince himself that it was the glamoury he'd thought he might be getting. He was seeing himself the way the damn thing wanted him to. It had messed with his head. He'd shake it off and get over it, he'd -

Get a double handful of breasts.

Those were not a glamoury.

When he felt lower, felt all over, mygodholygodnowhatthefuckwhere is my DICK, things were as different as different got. He slid down until he was sitting on the gravel by the driver's side door, one hand still clutching a crotch he didn't recognize as his own.

His first impulse was to laugh. So he did. Despite everything, he laughed, and he wasn't even hysterical. The whole thing was nuts. Whatever he'd run into had been powerful enough to change him without touching him. It didn't kill him, or hold him out as bait so it could kill him and Dean, it just changed him. Changed him and sent him off with a mission.

He quit laughing. He was a lunatic girl in clothes that didn't fit, feeling herself up in a parking lot next to a car. A girl that couldn't walk up to Dean and say hey it's Sam, we're in some trouble. They'd run into some shit before, but not something that made so little sense, and in the time he'd need to take to convince Dean he really was Sam...

He'd still have to follow through if they didn't find and kill whatever had done this in time. Anything powerful enough to change Sam at the damn cellular level could call in the bet anytime it wanted to. Could just snap Dean off like a light. He could believe that but fearing it wouldn't do him any good.

Okay. He had to figure things out. There was a reason for all of it, and if he could get to that place, then he could narrow down the suspects and figure out what to do about it. Without tipping it off. It got something out of making Sam dance, out of making him uncomfortable for the sake of thinking he would be saving Dean. Jesus Christ, even if he followed through, there was still nothing keeping it from doing whatever it wanted to them both. Changing his form the way it had didn't make things harder, it made them easier. Harder would have been to leave him the way he was, or make him a really ugly chick.

Good luck convincing him you're Sam, with that face.

Will he forgive you anything?

It could just kill Dean while he tried to warn him. But if it just wanted them dead, they'd already be dead. What the hell else could he do but get it over with, clear the first hurdle, and then confront it again? It wanted this one thing, and it would know if he'd done it. He had to assume that. It would be back to give him another task or to mess with him somehow. It wouldn't be able to resist. It had gone to all this trouble, so it made sense that it would be back. And they could be ready for it by then.

He just didn't have time, right then, to avoid it all. He had to at least find a way to keep an eye on Dean. If he was lucky, Dean wasn't hanging around the room all night. He'd be out...being Dean. Not even Dean would be likely to go for any girl who knocked on the door and introduced herself and expected him to stick it in. Safer to approach him in public.

Holy shit am I plotting the best way to seduce my brother?

That deserved a little more laughter.

Sam drove around and ended up driving further out than he'd meant to before he found a thrift store. He gave the two older ladies behind the counter his best smile and hoped it was still his best since he had no goddamn idea what it looked like anymore. They only stared a little while he hobbled around and poked at things that looked like they might fit him. Things that smelled like they'd been laundered before they went out on the racks. Things he'd want to see on a girl. He didn't plan on being one long but he had to make it count. The faster he moved, the less he had to think about it.

A skirt hid his boxers easier than jeans would. No way he was getting underwear from a thrift store. No way.

He folded his real clothes and tossed them and his sneakers onto the floor in the back of the car. Now if he showed up in a typical store, no one was going to notice or remember him.

Shoes and panties and a bra from the Wal-Mart about ten minutes from the motel took a lot longer than he'd thought it would because who knew the bra thing was that complicated? Cup size had never been something to think about before. It wasn't like trying on shoes. He respected the process a lot more, that was for sure. He paid in cash because he had it and he didn't want to screw around with trying to find a card in their stash that had a unisex name.

He tried not to think about how he'd chosen the panties with Dean in mind.



Immutable Law (2/5)       Supernatural: Silver and salt