Tell me, what makes you so special.

It's all fun and games until someone pisses off an archangel.

You know, there are some pretty awesome eras that Dean could have been dropped into. He's heard the twenties were fun. The forties were pretty awesome. He could have gotten zapped back to see his parents again. Then again, if Dean were having fun, that might defeat the point of Gabriel zapping him anywhere at all.

(Granted, Dean doesn't know whether or not this is actually Gabriel's fault. He's just thinking that the odds are high.)

Still, Dean doesn't think he deserves this.

Middle Ages has the potential to be cool. Swords, knights, all that, but there was one thing that Dean swore up and down he would never, ever ever do. Dean Winchester does not do tights. Which is making his blending in a bit of an issue. Never mind the fact that he hasn't gotten over the fact that he's actually in this time period, with no cars, no phones, and no way to get back to Sam.

Yeah. Today, sucks.

So this is Dean, hiding out in some family's barn and trying to lay low, because if can manage to do that, maybe he'll be able to avoid the tights issue. He doesn't think the odds are high on that one, but it's worth a shot.

“You know where to find the thing, right?”

“Yes, Sam, I know where to find an amulet in an estate sale. I’m not a total idiot.”

Dean didn’t want to be on this job, but he also knew that the thing needed to be destroyed. The amulet had killed five people in three days just through touch alone and while the people around it weren’t seeing the pattern, a hunter would. This particular hunter, however, was dealing with the idea that he was going to be entering demon territory sooner than he would have liked, and when it came down to it, that was starting to look a little more important than some cursed crappy piece of metal.

Sam, though, didn’t know that that was the end that Dean was looking at, and Sam wasn’t going to know (if that skank Ruby told him, he would fry her ass with her own friggin’ knife—saved his life or not). So that meant that Dean had to keep this news to himself and pretend like nothing had changed, which meant taking any job he could that kept Sam from trying to figure a way out of this for him. He was not interested in seeing Sam drop dead two years in a row—that much was certain. Which meant hunting after a cursed crappy piece of metal.

He reached the front door of the estate and sighed to his brother on the phone. “Alright, I’m goin’ in. I’ll call you when I find it.”

“Remember, dude, we’re just casing the place. We’re coming back for it later.” He could tell by Sam’s tone that he was expecting his brother to be an idiot, forget that the thing had killed five people in three days and touch it with his bare hands. Dean rolled his eyes.

“Yes, Sam. Goodbye, Sam.” Dean hung up the phone and adjusted his tie before making his way into the estate, looking around for any sign of the amulet. As his eyes scanned the room, he couldn’t help the groan that escaped when he spotted someone else who happened to be present. “You gotta be kidding me.”

Tonight, of all nights, was a night he did not want to deal with Bela Talbot.

[Cowritten with likely_evil. Is some serious crack that resulted from a miscommunication and the resulting conversation. We decided the boys were in need of it.]

It was a job. That was all Sam kept telling himself as he stood outside the dance school, a gym bag over his shoulder. He gulped, then turned and looked at his older brother who was leaning against the side of the Impala.

Over the years, John had made the boys do some very embarrassing things for jobs because he needed access to places. Sam remembered the time he had feigned being lost at the mall so Dad could look at security footage. The school play that Sam had been in where he dressed up as a clock - he was sure Dad had pictures somewhere of that - and the one time Sam had gone to a tea party with a neighborhood girl at the time and came home covered in sparkly stickers.

But he wasn't a kid anymore. He was twenty six, and was not liking the fact that Dean had just enrolled him in Ms. Fran's World of Dance so that they could get inside and check out the basement to find what might be causing the string of suicidal ballerinas.

"Dude, are you serious?" Sam looked at his brother with the most pathetic face he could muster. Which wasn't hard because he was really feeling it at the moment.

"It's our only in, Sam," Dean replied, pointing to the sign that was the dance version of Authorized Personnel Only. Shockingly, it hadn't been hard to get Sam into the class, and Dean was ready to just go in, poke around and see what there was to be seen, and then get the hell out. Sam could handle one day in a dance class. Right? "Besides -- dancers have this whole kind of secret in-circle thing. They're not going to talk to us if we just hang around outside."

( *** )