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Title: Changing Channels, Skipping Songs
Author: Gwendolyn D
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters / Pairing: Sam, Dean, the Trickster
Rating: G
Genre: Gen
Spoilers: 5.08 – Supernatural (Changing Channels); 1.01 - Glee (Pilot)
Word Count: 5,591
Concrit?: Yes please

A/N: Many thanks to [info]a_happy_place, [info]icelily01, [info]faye_dartmouth, [info]dress_myself_up and [info]bree_black. Together they helped push me forward, picked me up when I was on the ground in defeat and helped me cross the finish line!! Thanks to [info]summer_sam_love!

Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to Eric Kripke and the CW. No profit is being made from this fan-fiction.

Summary: Stuck in TV land to learn a lesson from the Trickster, Sam and Dean thought they had the game figured out. Play their roles correctly, and they get to move on to the next channel. But when the boys find themselves trapped in a high school wannabe soap opera, even auditioning for the school’s dorky glee club doesn’t seem to be enough. Will they be able to figure out what the Trickster wants from them before times runs out?

“Oh, you’re somebody’s bitch,” Dean stated with a half-amused smile, head tilting slightly.

The smile that had been gracing the Trickster’s face fell away as his eyes narrowed. In a blink, both his fists were tangled in Dean’s collar and holding the larger man against the wall, feet hanging a foot off the ground. A scowl had replaced the amused look.

Sam's jaw clenched as he took a ragged breath, letting it out just as shakily. He knew that throwing punches wouldn't do anything at this point, especially having just seen Castiel thrown against the wall then disappear into thin air in a burst of static. Instinct told him he needed to act but as Dean's face twisted in every direction of anger and attempts to free himself, Sam stood there watching because the Trickster didn't seem intent to hurt them.

“Don’t you ever, ever presume to know what I am,” the Trickster said in a low, warning voice, grip still tight on Dean’s collar.

Sam tried to make eye contact with Dean which proved impossible because his brother’s eyes were glued to the Trickster's face. His jaw was set as well and his mouth twitched with what Sam knew was restraint from making some comment that would undoubtedly be wildly unhelpful in his current situation.

After an intense moment of a staring, the second hand clenched around Dean's collar released sharply and the man holding him stepped back slightly. His eyes stayed on Dean for a long moment before he slowly turned to face Sam, easily holding his brother on the wall with the one hand still firmly gripping the green shirt. The Trickster then made eye contact with Sam and he felt uncomfortable under his gaze.

This thing is much more powerful than it should be...If it is a Trickster, Cas had said.

“Now listen very closely; here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna suck it up, accept your responsibilities," the Trickster looked from Sam back to Dean, "and play the role that destiny has chosen for you.” His words were clear and sharp, almost as if they had been spat at Dean.

Sam huffed, nostrils flaring, before he responded. “And if we don’t?”

Once again Sam found himself the focus of an uncomfortable gaze and the Trickster looked amused. His lips curled up into a lazy smile and his eyes seemed to light up. “Then you’ll stay here in TV Land. Forever."

Working to stay calm, Sam couldn’t risk saying anything. Dean was twisting under the pressure of being pinned up on the wall and he saw that his brother was struggling to focus on the situation. His face was contorting into various signs of discomfort, and his pain was becoming more obvious so Sam chose to stay silent. The last thing they needed now was for Sam to rush in, then be thrown against a wall like Cas had been earlier, and Dean to pass out from the extra time it'd take the Trickster to finish his speech.

"Three hundred channels and…uh…nothing’s on.” The amusement rang in his voice as he raised his free hand in the air, and snapped his fingers.

Sam’s eyes closed as something seemed to push on his chest while his head simultaneously buzzed with the aura of power. It felt thick and he felt like he could almost drink it in. The power filled the room, and an invisible shove on his chest constricted his lungs momentarily while forcing him backwards into a chair that had been behind him. His hands raised on instinct in an attempt to block out the blinding light that had exploded seconds after. The air shifted around them, and Sam felt a breeze rush across his face and heard Dean’s loud grunt a few yards away.

Seconds later, a flood of noise burst into the dead silence. Yells, laughter, wind—and most noticeable to Sam was Dean’s cry of, “Get off me!”

Blinking rapidly, Sam lowered his arm cautiously and watched as the world was revealed to him. First the sun in a blue sky, tree tops, and then the flat top of a building with a limp flag barely twitching in the breeze. When the sun spots stopped dancing in his vision, Sam could see an entire school ground—a building, a football field, and students with backpacks.

Sam turned his head to the left and found a group of cheerleaders gathered in the football field ten yards away, all yelling. One blonde girl clad in a cherry red and pristine white cheerleading uniform burst out of the cluster and sprinted towards a woman wearing a matching track suit standing off to the side. “Sue!" As the lady turned to face the cheerleader, Sam saw the word 'COACH' silk-screened onto the back of her jacket. "He dropped her! He didn’t even try to catch her!”

Passing over the scene of hysterical cheerleaders, Sam searched for Dean. When he turned to look behind him, Sam realized he was still sitting on something. His brows furrowed together as he looked down and saw the wheels that were attached to his chair. He was sitting in the sidelines of the field. “What the hell…?” Nose twitching in confusion, his long fingers were quickly at the arms of the chair to hoist himself out.

To his right, a female voice gasped, “Sam, no!”

Sam had already shoved off the chair but turned to look in her direction. Her eyes were wide, but now so were his own. He couldn't feel the ground beneath him until he came crashing down into a heap of limbs in front of the chair with a loud grunt. The usual twist of his torso to right himself didn't work and he realized with a start that he couldn't actually move his legs.

Blinking and rubbing his head in confusion, Sam gratefully muttered a 'thanks' when what he assumed were Dean’s hands gripped him under his arms and hauled him back into the chair in one swift movement. When he glanced backwards, he was surprised to see the girl from before—and not Dean—standing behind him. She had dark hair, smooth skin and her brown eyes were showed the same concern as before.

"What were you trying to do, Sam?" Despite the anxious undertone, her voice was soft and tender, just as her hand that now rested softly on his shoulder. With a sigh, she squeezed his shoulder then let go, turning and starting to walk away. "I'm going to go get our sodas now, you’re alright?"

Distracted by the crowd of cheerleaders parting to reveal a flustered looking Dean, Sam blinked, with a questioning, "hmm?" then quickly added, "yea, sure. Sorry."

Sam watched as Dean, standing now three feet from him in the field, glanced around at the area, squinting into the sun and then glanced down at himself. His shoulders sagged as his head fell back slightly. “You’ve got to be kidding…” Looking down again, pulling slightly at his pants, which were now a solid red with a white stripe to match his shirt.

He was dressed as a cheerleader.

Sam couldn’t help but chuckle as his brother threw his hands out to the side in frustration as he strode towards the sidelines. “What’s going on, Sammy? Where are we?” His arms fell back to his sides as he stopped in front of Sam.

Raising his eyebrows and half rolling his eyes, Sam shook his head slightly and sighed. “I don’t know, Dean…” he muttered.

“I need to find some different clothes. This is far too—” Dean glanced again at his outfit and made a face.

“Bright,” Sam finished.

“Exactly.” Dean grasped the bottom of his shirt and pulled it up over his head, pulling the undershirt back into place, a look of relief crossing his face as soon as his arms slid free. “Now, we play our roles,” Dean muttered as he squished the shirt into a ball in his hands, aiming and tossing it towards the trash a few meters away.

“So what role are we supp—oh, hey,” Dean greeted, looking back in the direction of the trash he'd tossed his shirt. There was a stocky black haired male (also a cheerleader, Sam easily noticed) who was clapping Dean on the back with a laugh. The previously discarded shirt was back in his brother's hands and he caught the man saying something about how pissed Sue would be if her star cheerleader had lost his shirt.

The cough of laughter springing from his chest earned him a quick glare before Dean's most charming smile was slapped onto his face, head tilting slightly to the left with a raised eyebrow. "Sorry, was trying to hit the bench."

The other male glanced toward the other cheerleaders and he started back toward them. "Do you ever stop bugging Wheels?” he laughed before continuing, “Let’s get back before Mercedes returns, man, the Cheerios are waiting. Oh, and put your shirt back on. You know Sue hates us looking sloppy in her precious uniforms." With that, he was off towards the other Cheerios leaving Dean with an expression of exhaustion and resilience that made it hard for Sam not to mock his brother.

“Sonovabitch...seriously?” Dean groaned.

A hand on his shoulder startled Sam from, and a can of soda was held in front of his face, so he looked up to find the same girl, Mercedes he now knew, looking down at him again.“Sam, we need to get to class.” The bell rang as if to emphasize her point. Giving his shoulder a pat, she leaned over and gathered a couple of bags that were on the ground.
Sam turned to Dean to ask him what to do, only to find Dean none too subtly leaning to one side to watch--seeming interested. Tilting his head slightly to the side and eyebrows furrowing, he didn't know what could be interesting about bags until Sam followed Dean's gaze only to get an eyeful of cleavage. “Dean!”
Dean’s eyebrows raised as he stood up strait again and he looked at Sam, raising his shoulders with a sly smile. “What?”
If Mercedes noticed, there was no indication before she headed off towards the school. Sam looked to Dean, but all he did was wink and walk towards the other cheerleaders, so he gripped the wheels and shoved off in the same direction.
After classes, Sam waited for Dean, who strode up behind him shortly after the bell rang, and quickly stepped alongside the lockers and the wall. He was holding a soda in one hand, and by the way he glanced around the corner, Sam knew he was being very protective of it. “Apparently the Cheerios don’t eat anything but protein shakes and salads. Salads, Sammy. I can’t survive on salads! We’ve been jumping channels forever. I’m hungry.”
Ignoring him save for a brief snort of laughter, Sam frowned at the bulletin board he was sitting beside. “Maybe we’re not supposed to just be students here, Dean. We’ve been following the schedule and going to classes, but we’re not moving on. There’s got to be another reason we’re still here.”

“I guess. I mean, the Trickster certainly wasn’t too happy with me,” Dean smirked and Sam let it go, knowing that it would only egg on Dean’s need to mock their puppet master. For all he knew, maybe that’s all he’d been doing while out of sight and that’s why they were still stuck here. Out of spite.

Survive the next twenty-four hours—we’ll talk, the Trickster had stated. Twenty-four hours. How long had it already been?

“Maybe we’re supposed to be more than just our roles. I mean, I just had to perform a surgery, and you just had to answer one question in the game show… Maybe that isn’t what we’re supposed to do anymore. Maybe we need to follow some sort of script.”

“Seriously? Like, an entire hour in this show?”

“Dean, we’ve already been here for more than that just trying to figure this out. I don’t know how much time we have left, but I’m thinking if we don’t figure this one out, we’ll be stuck. We haven’t played our roles yet, obviously. But what do we have to do.”

Sam turned to look at the bulletin board. He saw various posters for the Cheerios (demanding that everyone come out to the Nationals to support them in a few days’ time), fliers for school dances (no way in Hell was that going to happen), and one small paper in the lower right corner. “New Directions” was scrawled across the top of the page, and below was a pen hanging from a string, and lines to sign up on. “What’s this?”

“Hell if I know.”

“Mercedes …Rachel… They’re both signed up.”

“Is that a gold star sticker by Rachel’s name?”

“Yeah. You should’ve seen her test in Spanish today,” Sam said as he stared at the board, a little music note drawn over a stick person on a sign-up sheet labeled New Directions. “You don’t think—“

“That you’re destined to be a dancing diva? Yes I do.” Dean’s lips curled in a grin around the straw he was currently chewing on.

He was right, Sam realized. Sam did seem to be lacking in a role here other than student. Dean had to be a cheerleader—not that he seemed to mind right now other than their food choices—and what did Sam have? Some friends to hang out with? Classes to attend? He definitely seemed to be the character that would be part of this New Directions, though he did one last scan around the bulletin board in an attempt to find anything else he could sign up for that would be plausible. There was nothing but posters for dances and Prom King and Queen.

Swallowing heavily with a short sigh, Sam reached for the pen, signing his name. Letting the pen fall back to swing from the string it was attached to, Sam stared at the three letters that seemed to sign his death contract somehow. What he had signed up for, he wasn’t sure.

“Nice penmanship, Sa—shit!” Dean had stepped out of his sheltered corner to take a look at the bulletin board from the hallway, and at that same moment someone walked into him and promptly overturned the rest of Dean’s soda on top of Sam’s head.

With his lip curling in disgust at the slick, sticky liquid rolling down his face, Sam opened his eyes carefully as the liquid dripped through his hair and down his face. Taking a swipe across his face, he noticed the unusual shade of color. “Pink?” Sam raised an eyebrow in curiosity. He had never seen Dean’s choose to drink anything t other than brown fluids. Beer, soda—hell even his snow cones turned a mush of brown with the number of flavors he added on them.

A napkin was waving in front of his face, and as Sam reached for it, Dean pulled it out of reach. “It was all they had, alright?”

“I bet, now give me the napkin! Your soda’s starting to dry on my face!”

Dean lowered the serviette, with a shrug. “If you insist, but remember, I’m not the one who drinks anything with an umbrella.”

Snagging the napkin from his hand, Sam dragged it across his face, “Yea, yea. And that wasn’t me,” came his muffled voice from behind the napkin. When he tried pulling it away, pieces stuck to the drying soda on his face. With a groan, he cursed himself for missing the glint of amusement in Dean’s eyes. “Dean!”

Dean was halfway down the hall and turning the corner.

Sam wiped his face with his sleeve face. “Jerk.”


“No way.”

“You signed up, Sam!”

“I --” Sam floundered for words, but he couldn’t process an excuse quick enough. He hadn’t realized it was a show choir he’d signed up for, however looking back it seemed that he should have figured it out. Dean had given him the clue he needed after all—dancing diva. This realization made Sam curious just how Dean knew that ‘New Directions’ had been a glee club.

Mercedes frowned, her dark bangs falling into her eyes. “Nice try, Sam, you’re not backing out now!” She crossed her arms and shifted her weight to one hip but her mouth was in an amused smile, low and lazy. “You’ll be fine.”

The music began playing and Sam stared at the ground. Squeezing his eyes shut, he thought maybe this would turn out to be a dream yet, and that he’d wake up in their hotel room breathing in the steam from Dean’s shower along with the coffee and donuts that were usually nearby. Opening them was a disappointment as there was no case of guns sitting on the bed staring back at him or anything drooling slobber from hungry fangs staring him down. That he could deal with.

A handful of high school-ers staring at him from the seats of an auditorium, a pianist waiting with his foot tapping to the side, and his Spanish teacher staring at him with a pen twisting between his fingers—he’d rather be hunting a Wendigo. But seeing as Sam didn’t think one was about to come bursting through the school and everything was eerily quiet, he found himself sighing resignedly and mentally shouting to the Trickster that this had better be what moved them out of this place.

When the melody echoed in the large auditorium, Mercedes gave a half smile and nod and sat down. Pushing his way to the center of the stage from the shadows at the back, he felt the hairs on his neck standing up. Everyone was looking at him, and it made his insides turn. The lights focused on the stage were hot and the melody seemed too loud. Mr. Schuester was staring at him, waiting for him to begin.

The piano faltered, and Mr. Schuester glanced at the pianist, and then quickly waved his hand, returning his attention to Sam. “It’s okay Sam, take your time. He’ll start playing from the beginning again so you can catch the lead-in this time.”

Gulping as the music began, again, he ran a hand through his hair and averted his eyes to the far wall where no one was standing. He didn’t know the words to this song, but Dean hadn’t known Japanese either. Trying seemed to be the scoring point.

Eyebrows shifting together half in attempt to tone the lights down, and half in uneasiness, Sam sung anything he could think of. While the first thing that came to mind and what he was telling his mouth to sing was strangely a lullaby he remembered Dean humming to him on days when John was out hunting, what actually came out of his mouth was the same shaky, awkward and quiet tone, and completely different lyrics.

When I find myself in times of trouble, mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be

The uneasiness didn’t fade even though it seemed that it didn’t matter what he sang, what came out was lyrics of a different song. However, his voice was still his awkward must-be-worse-than-singing-in-the-shower voice. Internally grimacing, his neck grew hot with embarrassment. Mr. Schuester —however—was nodding and tapping his foot along to the beat with a smile on his lips.

And in my hour of darkness she is standing right in front of me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be

The music faded after what seemed like forever, and Sam couldn’t get off the stage fast enough.


Rolling out of the auditorium, Sam went immediately outside to where he’d heard the Cheerios would be practicing after school. Sure enough, there was the cloud of red and white standing on the field and each and every person was a wave of arms and legs, tosses, cartwheels and various other positions that looked far too painful for Sam to consider fun. There, in the middle, was Dean; pom-pom holding, high-kicking, grinning Dean.


“Hang on girls,” Sam saw Dean’s usual wink at the girls on his way over towards him and rolled his eyes quickly in frustration.

“Seriously, focus will you? You’re out here tossing cheerleaders around and meanwhile I’m inside having to stand on stage and sing for an audition.”

“To be fair, you weren’t st--”

“Don’t even.”

Dean smirked as the bell rang through the stands of the field.

With a quiet groan, Sam ignoring him. ”Where are we going to go now? I mean, it’s the end of the day….that should mean the…the episode is over? We’re done?”

Before the words had fallen from the air, the wind picked up and each person around them became a blur of movement as they circled, danced and then disappeared either into the school or around the side of it. As Sam and Dean stared, the sky darkened, the sun set, the moon rose, stars appeared, and rain soaked them through their clothes.

Before either could get a real shiver out, the rain faded away and simultaneously both brothers dried out and the moon set as the sun rose again.

“Dude, Twilight Zone much?”

The same blurs of people rushed around them, and suddenly Dean started to flicker and before Sam could comment, it was like he was grabbed by the insides and hauled backwards and away, and next he found himself sitting back in the auditorium up on stage. Mercedes and Rachel were there, along with another male, Kurt.

Mercedes tossed her fedora hat on the ground. “This is stupid. We can’t dance and Kurt keeps stepping all over our toes!”

“I said sorry!” came the sharp reply from the edge of the stage where seconds later Kurt’s head popped up and he tossed a few hats on the stage. “You’re the one who keeps tossing the hats way too far off the stage!”

Blinking and adjusting to the sudden shift in location, Sam glanced around to see Rachel, Kurt and Mercedes all dressed in a similar dark pant, green shirt, black vest, black tie, green fedora ensemble. Sam was also wearing a lot of green and black.

It was then that he noticed Dean laughing and walking along the back rows of the auditorium, chewing his bottom lip in clear amusement over the whole situation.

Mr. Schuester raised his hands. “Okay, okay. It needs some practice, but it’s getting there. You guys are really starting to work together.”

Sam raised an eyebrow as he watched Dean from the corner of his eye. “Why don’t we ask one of the Cheerios to join? They’re dancers, right? They can help us get our moves together.”

Fighting not to smile, Sam watched as Dean’s eyes grew big and he spun in a circle, bee-lining it for the doors to leave as quietly as he could, only to dramatically fall behind the chairs two steps later with a not-so-quiet crash.

Dean stood quickly , brushing his hands on his jeans, then raising one hand in an awkward wave with a cheesy smile. “Hey guys. Don’t worry about me, I was just…” Dean gestured with his head toward the door, “heading out.” He took a large step back and toward the set of double doors.

Will, glanced up, then down to his papers, then up again right away. “Dean,” he stated loudly, “You’re joining New Directions.”

Sam laughed. Dean cursed. Mr. Schuester told Dean he didn’t allow that kind of language, and Dean looked apologetic as he clambered his way to the front of the stage and glared at Sam.


“Kurt, would you please stop stepping in front of Dean all the time? You’ll get lead next time, but please! First your diva contest with Rachel, and now this? We need to practice right now and I can’t see how you are going to do on stage if you are constantly trying to over shine everyone! This is his solo, let it be, and let’s try from the top again please!”

Sam felt bad for the amusement he felt watching Dean sweat under the hot lights. He was uncomfortable if the way Dean’s hands curled persistently in and out of fists at the hem of his sweater was any indication. Dean’s lips moved to the music, and his edgy singing voice came out, and however non-matching to the music the tone was to Sam—Mr. Schuester seemed to be happy with it as he was bobbing like a gopher again.

Make me believe that this place isn’t plagued
By the poison in me
Help me decide if my fire will burn out
Before you can breath
Breath into me
I stand a lone

The music blared, and he found himself struggling to remember the routine that had been tossed out to them minutes before. Around him Rachel, Kurt and Mercedes seemed to have the routine just fine, while he—well he ran over Dean’s toes. He never was very coordinated.

I stand a lone
Feeling your sting down inside of me
I’m not dying for it
I stand alone
Everything that I believe is fading
I stand alone

It was his own imagination he was sure, but Sam found himself wondering if Dean was liking the spotlight a little more than he let on. There was a smile on his face—if only barely—and his shoulders were relaxed compared to the stiff, guarded stance Dean had when they first arrived here. How it was Dean could shift his persona so little to fit into every situation they came across, he’d never understand. No matter where they were, what they were doing, Dean managed to make fitting in look effortless.

The final chords sunk into the walls and Dean strode towards him, rubbing the back of his neck slightly. “Man, that sucked.”


The auditorium chairs squeaked as Dean sank into one with a sandwich in hand as Sam made his way on stage to move the microphone stands. He was off in the wings of the stage when a voice came from the back of the large room. “Well, well, well, still here, are we boys?”

Snapping his attention towards the voice, Sam saw that Dean was already on his feet facing the back wall, hand on the small of his back and dipping into his waistband for the gun that wasn’t there. Sam’s pretty sure he heard Dean curse the cheerleading outfit before his hand dropped to the side.

“Cutting it a bit close, aren’t we? Only an hour left and it’s looking like you’ll never be free from my little idiot box. Guess it doesn’t matter if I help you or not then.”

Yelling after Dean who was now rushing at the Trickster, Sam was frustrated. Dean already knew how he’d been pinned last time, and that was purely on verbal provocation. Now Dean’s trying violence, and is going to get himself really hurt this time.

Among his brother’s cursing and flying punches, Sam saw the amusement on the Tricksters face. Dean was just a toy being played with. They needed out, they needed help.

“Dean, enough! We want to talk, remember?”

A fist sailed in front of the targeted face and Dean spun to face Sam. “No way, Sammy. He dies,” and with that, he spun to punch again, but the Trickster was now standing halfway back in the auditorium seats, having quickly moved at Dean’s distraction. “Now look at—“

“Remember why we’re here Dean, to get him to—“

This time Dean cut Sam off, “get him to talk to us.” Dean’s tone was mimicking and irritated. “If you want to go all peace-maker on us, fine, but I’m owed some payback. He needs a few more places to whistle from.”

“Damnit Dean!” Sam was almost yelling, and before the words had made their full impact on his brother, music had begun and despite his best efforts, Sam found that his next biting words came out as lyrics.

The devil went down to Georgia, he was looking for a soul to steal.
He was in a bind 'cos he was way behind: he was willin' to make a deal.
When he came across this young man sawin' on a fiddle and playin' it hot.

Though the feeling of singing instead of speaking was still very confusing, the frustration he held with Dean didn’t leave. He found himself rounding on his brother who was now climbing the stairs onto the stage staring at the fiddle in his hand with total confusion, but he continued to sing.

And the devil jumped upon a hickory stump and said: "Boy let me tell you what:
I bet you didn't know it, but I'm a fiddle player too.
And if you'd care to take a dare, I'll make a bet with you.
Now you play a pretty good fiddle, boy, but give the devil his due:
I bet a fiddle of gold against your soul, 'cos I think I'm better than you."

While the words rang in the acoustics of the auditorium, Sam turned to Dean and watched as he held the fiddle by the neck, the bow casually slung over one finger. Turning to an invisible audience, he raised his arms as if to say ‘so what?’ When he opened his mouth, Dean’s voice continued the song.

The boy said: "My name's Johnny and it might be a sin,
But I'll take your bet, you’re gonna regret, 'cos I'm the best that's ever been."

Repositioning himself on the stage, Sam caught a glance of the Trickster as he grinned, popped something in his mouth and slid out the back doors. Rachel and Mercedes were now with them on the stage, front and centre, each of them donning a headband with devil horns. Together their voices combined in an awkward attempt at harmony.

Johnny you rosin up your bow and play your fiddle hard.
'Cos hells broke loose in Georgia and the devil deals the cards.
And if you win you get this shiny fiddle made of gold.
But if you lose, the devil gets your soul.

Rachel appeared at Sam’s side and handed him a fiddle that seemed to have been jeweled into a red and yellow flame pattern. It looked cheap, and when Sam resignedly reached for it, it didn’t feel real to him. His eyebrows twitched at the instrument before he adjusted the fiddle in his grip and words continued to pour from his mouth.

The devil opened up his case and he said: "I'll start this show."
And fire flew from his fingertips as he rosined up his bow.
And he pulled the bow across his strings and it made an evil hiss.
Then a band of demons joined in and it sounded something like this.

Sam managed to awkwardly hold the body and bow and he nearly dropped the both of them when he tried dragging the bow across the strings. An evil hiss was certainly right. Much to his relief, the audio for the instruments echoed in from the sidelines and all he seemed to need now, was to pretend.

When the devil finished, Johnny said: "Well you're pretty good ol' son.
But sit down in that chair, right there, and let me show you how it’s done."

The lights seemed to begin humming, and Sam frowned at them as he watched Dean stride across the stage with the appropriate arrogance for the song. The fiddle was raised to his chin and the bow dragged across the strings nicely, much to Sam’s surprise. Once again Rachel and Mercedes joined them centre stage, adding actual vocals to Dean and his’ attempts.

Fire on the mountain, run boys, run.
The devil's in the house of the risin' sun.
Chicken in the bread pan, pickin' out dough.
"Granny, does your dog bite?"
"No, child, no."

Blinking at the florescent lights, Sam saw Dean holding his hand up to shield his eyes as the humming grew louder. Pulsing as they got brighter and brighter and within seconds the entire room was flooded in gleaming white. Sam’s fingers tightened on the wheels of his chair when he felt the world tip and spin as the music and singing around them faded into sounds of cameras flashing.

Sam’s fingers lost their grasp and instantly the world stopped pitching, he got his footing, and the light rushed away to reveal a night sky. Blinking a few times to make his eyes adjust from the transition from searing pure light to black of night, he realized there was an occasional dim flicker of red and blue tinting the nearest landscape.

Blinking a few more times, Sam turned to face Dean who was standing beside him. The first thing that registered was the fact Dean was wearing sunglasses. The second thing was that Sam could see his reflection in them, and the third was that Sam was also wearing sunglasses. At night. A glance down confirmed that he wasn’t imagining that he was standing, but also that he was clad in a crisp new suit identical to Dean’s—a dark navy suit with a sky blue shirt.

Returning his attention to the scene around them, Sam noticed the cops weaving about the crime scene tape, the body splayed on the ground and forensics crouched by its side.

Beside Sam, Dean groaned. “Oh, come on!”


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