23. Dean Winchester, the Teenage Bieber

"You see him?" I ask Sam as we walk into the bar.

It's mildly occupied, and it smells of greasy food, booze, and alcoholism, with a hint a desperation mixed in.

"No. Let me try him." Sam dials Dean's number. I hear the faint voicemail message and frown.

"Keep at it." I branch off from Sam, scanning the bar.

I hear it, the subtle ringing. I look around before my ears settle on a direction. Sounds like it's coming from the bar itself. Sucking in a breath, I calmly make my way over to the bartender. Behind me, I feel Sam flanking me.

"Jo," says Sam. "The jacket."

My mouth parts. The bartender has Dean's jacket, which in turn has his phone. I wipe my face clean of the revelation as Sam and I reach the counter of the bar.

"Hey, buddy?" says Sam. "Where did you get that jacket from?"

The bartender chuckles. "My Bar Mitzvah." He makes his way around to the front of the counter. "It was a magical night."

"Yeah, I bet," I say nonchalantly. Swiftly, I take the bartender's head and smack it on the counter. "Why don't you try that again?"

"Dumpster. Found it by the dumpster. Let me go, psycho bitch."

My lip curls into a snarl, but I feel Sam tug at one of my arms.

"Jo, come on," he whispers. Huffing, I let go of the bartender and follow my little brother out into the night. If Sam wasn't around, I'd kill him easy.

We search for the dumpster closest to the bar. My lips quirk as Sam and I look around. Dean's disappeared, so where the hell is he? We've got flashlights on the ground, looking for any clues to where our big brother is.

"Jo, over here."

I turn, walking to the dumpster, bending down. Underneath the trash holder is one of Dean's shoes and his pistol. Exchanging glances, I grab Dean's pistol and see a yellow dust layered on it. I take a quick sniff.

"Flowers," I whisper. "Whatever took J.P. has Dean now, too. Great."

"Okay, uh, we can figure this out. We just need to book a room that has wifi and get some research in. There's got to be something that connects the dust with what we're dealing with."

I nod. "Look up the nearest motel."

Once Sam gives me the address, I kick Baby into gear and drive us to the closest motel. My mind is running rapid with thoughts. What has Dean? I'm sure he's all right, he's been in tough situations before. This shouldn't be too serious, even though the danger is always present in a hunt.

While I park the car, Sam goes inside to the receptionist desk to book us a room. I step out of the car, licking my lips. Once Sam comes back, we lug our things into the room we've been given. He finds the table, firing up his laptop. I loom over his shoulder, watching the search engine produce results for the search of "Yarrow and Transfiguration Spells".

My head perks up at hearing a knock on the door.

"I got it," I tell Sam, squeezing his shoulder. Taking the gun out from my pocket, I slink towards the door. I breathe out before opening it.

"Yeah?" I ask. I'm not met with Dean, I'm met with a scrawny-looking teenager bearing a red ball cap. "You lost, kiddo?"

The kid smirks. "Hiya, Jo-Jo."

I blink. What? No.

"Jo?" I hear Sam ask. My mouth parts in horror.

"Dean?"

"Yeah," Dean says abashedly. Oh my God, he's so little. He's shrunk, and it's clear puberty hasn't hit him. He walks in, leaving me floored by the door. Sam is the one to shut the door since my brain has a hard time catching up to what's going on.

I turn, finding Dean—my brother, who is a teenage version of himself—pull out a duffel bag out from under one of the beds, dumping it onto the kitchen table.

"W-wait a second," I finally say. "Y-you're a—"

"Uh-huh."

"How?" asks Sam.

"No clue." Dean loads and unloads his gun. The scene looks wrong even though it's supposed to be right. "Some scarface-looking dude, bright light." He loads the gun back again, cocking it. "Next thing I know, I wake up looking like Bieber."

"If you'd been him, I would've punched you," I joke. "But the resemblance is kind of creepy."

"Why would someone turn you into—?" Sam begins to ask.

"Don't know," says Dean, who puts the gun under his pants. "Don't care. Hey, we got any grenades?"

"What?"

"Don't—Wait, wait, wait," I say, realizing that Dean is trying to leave the motel room. "Wait a second. Talk to us."

"Really, Jo? Now? I got no grass on the infield, and a girl's gonna die. Sorry if I'm not in a chatty mood. Look, you wanted me back in the game, I'm back in the damn game." I'm floored, and Dean walks right past me. "Come on."

"Did I just get told off by my older Bieber-look-alike teenage brother?" I ask out loud. I feel a headache starting to form.

Sam guides me out after Dean. Nearby, a middle-aged woman who's overwhelmed with bags of groceries drops her motel key.

"Ma'am, allow me," says Dean, grabbing the key for her. The woman's face is one of surprise as my brother hands the key back to her, continuing his walk towards the Impala. She smiles at Sam and me.

"Your son is so polite, you two must be so proud."

"Uh, thanks," I say awkwardly, feeling skeeved out. Having a strange woman calling my brother and I husband and wife and our older brother our son really bothers me. I hate the assumption.

I jump at the sound of a hand smacking the top of the Impala. Sam and I meet up with Dean.

"Where are we heading?" I ask.

"Tell you on the way."

I don't get into the Impala, but watch as Sam and Dean get into their respective seats. I slowly walk to the driver's side, watching as Dean is adjusting everything inside of Baby. I wince, seeing as Dean adjusts the seat, Sam's goes up closer to. His legs are scrunched up against the dashboard.

"Maybe I should drive?" I offer.

"Yeah."

"Seat. Seat. Seat," Sam says. Once I get Dean out of the car and into the backseat, I relieve Sam of his pain.

Once Dean tells us where we're going, I kick Baby into gear and focus on driving while he relays his story to Sam and me.

"Cake?" asks Sam. "Why would they give you cake?"

"Well, don't know. It wasn't even good cake. Too dry. What? Jo, I see you looking in the mirror."

"Nothing," I say quickly. I sigh. "Okay, not nothing. Look, this is bizarre. Even for you two, and for me, and I'm the demon here. This is insane. You—you're like—what, you're like fourteen? How does that even feel?"

Dean sighs from the back. "Well, I'm me. I'm—I'm old me, but I'm a kid. It's freakin' weird, you guys. And..."

"What?" asks Sam.

Another sigh. "There was a Taylor Swift song on the bus that I hopped to the motel, and, uh...I liked it, you guys. I liked it a lot. My voice is weird, and I've got like nine zits, and I have zero control over this. I mean, it's up. It's down. It's up for no reason."

I shake my head. "That's enough. Yeah, thanks." I clear my throat. "Let's just call that puberty."

"Yeah, which sucks. Again."

"Well, listen, we checked out the alley where you got jumped, and we found yarrow."

"Which means what?"

"Means we're probably dealing with a witch," Sam explains. "Yarrow's a flower. They use it in a ton of spells."

"Okay. We still got some of that witch-killing crap in the trunk?"

"Hell, yeah. So, we'll get you changed back, and then light Sabrina's ass up. Right?"

"Uh, yeah, about that. It turns out, this whole freak show has an upside." From the mirror, I see Dean roll up his right sleeve. The Mark of Cain is gone. "The mark is gone."

"How?" I ask.

"Well, I figure if this hoodoo slammed me back into the body I had when I was fourteen—"

"You didn't have the mark then."

"Yeah, and if we reverse the spell—"

"Then it's gonna come back." I grimace.

"That's what I'm thinking. So...maybe we don't."

"Wait a second," says Sam. "Are you saying you want to stay like this?"

"No!" Dean sighs. "No, but...if it's between being a psycho rage monster-slash-borderline demon or a teenager, well..."

"Really?"

"Look, I'm not a fan, either, but...you guys, this is problem solved. And I'm still me. I can still hunt. I'm just, you know...dewier."

"Okay, look, y-you have a point, kind of, but, dude—"

"I know. Some good news, though—virgin liver. So, what do you say when we're done doing our hero thing, we take her for a test-drive?"

"Yeah, sure," I say. "I mean...you can drink again in, what, like seven years?"

"That's not funny."

"That's kind of funny."

"That's not funny."

"Oh, come on, man. It's kind of funny," Sam agrees.

I sigh. "I think this case is my favorite so far."

"Hey, look, just because I look younger than you doesn't mean anything," says Dean.

"I feel like the taller one for once. That's what that means." 

**Teen!Dean is too cute!! Yet, still so badass.**