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"What the-"
Six-pack in one hand and room key in the other, Dean stopped dead in the doorway, eyes fixed on the bed in horror.
"Holy shit..."
Sam blinked at him. And neighed.
"Holy shit..."
Dropping the beer and the key, Dean kicked the door shut and walked over to the bed. The bed which his brother had been lying on and which now held something that looked like a live-action My Little Pony.
"Sam?"
Sam seemed to wave at him and Dean corrected his earlier opinion. A live-action My Little Pony with wings.
Suddenly the six-pack didn't seem like enough beer.
Clinging onto the possibility that he was dreaming, or concussed, or on some kind of mind-altering drugs, Dean edged closer to the bed, hoping that Sam had just gone out to the drinks machine and had left a small, black, flying pony in his place purely to fuck with him.
As he peered at it, the small, black, flying pony schooled its features into what could only be described as a bitchface and Dean's hopes of trickery went out of the window. It was definitely Sam.
Running a hand through his hair, Dean swallowed hard and looked again at the creature formerly known as Sam. His giant of a brother had shrunk down to the size of a puppy and was curled up in an ungainly mass of too-big hooves, white-tipped wings and shaggy mane. His pale forelock fell in his eyes as he tilted his head up, and Dean could barely hold back a disbelieving laugh when tiny-pony-Sammy shook his head to dislodge it, only to leave it even messier.
Aware of how much the regular Sam hated him playing with his hair, Dean still couldn't resist reaching out and smoothing the unruly locks back and out of his eyes. He jumped a little when Sam made a happy noise but tentatively held his hand out to allow him to rub his soft nose against his palm, saying uncertainly, "Uh, good Sam?"
He sat down on the bed, stroking Sam's back with his other hand and unsure which of them he was trying to calm down as he murmured, "Take it easy. Everything's gonna be okay; we just gotta find out what happened to you and, uh, reverse it. It'll be fine."
Sam agreed by licking Dean's hand with enthusiasm.
"Ew, Christ, Sam. Don't lick me, dude."
Sam's huge eyes went even wider and he pressed his head sorrowfully into Dean's thigh.
"What are you- Aw, Sam, don't look at me like that." Sam continued to rub his head against Dean's leg, and he sighed. "You were the one who was doing the licking, bro. I don't care how small and furry you are, that ain't right."
Figuring his apology had been accepted, Sam pushed himself to his over-sized feet, wings flapping ineffectually as he stumbled up into Dean's lap. His body spanned the length of the crease of Dean's elbow to his wrist which, coincidentally, was where Sam decided to settle, his round belly warm against the skin of his brother's inner arm as he licked experimentally at Dean's bracelets.
Dean groaned. "Sammy, that's gross. Quit licking me."
Sam looked up, Dean's worn leather bracelet caught guiltily between his teeth, and Dean scrubbed his hand across his face, talking to himself more than to Sam, "This is not happening."
The flick of Sam's tail against his arm informed him that yes, it was happening, and Dean picked his brother up with a sigh, his hands wrapped around his middle as he looked him in the eyes. "Sam, can you hear me?"
Pony-Sam put on his serious face and whinnied.
Trying to ignore the fact that he was talking to a winged horse, Dean smiled in relief. "Good. That's good." He held Sam closer, meeting his eyes as he asked, "Do you know who did this to you?"
Sam flapped his wings and licked Dean's face lovingly.
Dean grimaced, dropped his brother back on the mattress, and decided to come up with some other way to get information from My Little Sammy.
+++
"Okay, Sam, tell me who did this to you."
Sam gave a slow nod and Dean felt a brief spark of hope that Sam had finally got his (horse) head back in the demon hunting game.
This spark was abruptly extinguished when Sam galloped joyfully across the ouija board as fast as his tiny little legs could carry him, squealing with glee at the noise his hooves made on the fake wood. He wheeled round, mane fanning out behind him as he prepared to go again, but whined pitifully when Dean put his hand down to stop him.
"Sam, this is not the time to play freaking slip 'n' slide on the spirit board." Picking him up, he resettled Sam by the planchette and instructed in short words, "Do you know who did this? Yes or No?"
When Sam pushed the planchette with his nose, Dean nearly cheered in relief.
When a jubilant Sam then jumped aboard the moving planchette as though it were a skateboard, Dean considered communication alternatives.
+++
"Okay, Sam, did any of these people come in here before you turned into this?"
He gestured to the sheets of paper on which he'd written the names of possible perpetrators in large capital letters and waited with bated breath as Sam trotted over to them, wandering across the sheets of paper in what Dean hoped was a logical pattern.
"You recognize any of them?" he prompted gently. "Anyone come in here and cast some spells while I was out?"
His heart surged when Sam stopped on the paper by the word 'LILITH' in big black letters.
"That's great, Sam. So Lilith was here, she-"
He trailed off at the sound of quiet splashes and looked down to see Sam peeing happily on Lilith's name. Before he could object, Sam finished with a wiggle and then ambled to a seat where Dean had written 'CASTIEL'. Oblivious to his task, pony-Sam yawned sleepily and Dean inwardly cursed cat macros for making him think four-legged creatures had even a rudimentary grasp of English.
+++
"Okay, Sam, one more time."
Sam pouted up at him, and Dean promised, "You can sleep after this. I just need to know who we're dealing with." Sitting cross-legged, he propped up yet more sheets of paper and asked hopefully, "Does anyone look familiar?"
Tossing the hair out of his eyes, Sam paraded up and down the impromptu line-up Dean had arranged and stared at each of his less-than-artistic drawings in turn. Praying for some kind of equestrian miracle, Dean smirked when Sam's eyes narrowed disapprovingly at the picture of Uriel but then frowned himself when Sam experimentally licked stick-figure Ruby. (If Dean happened to have made stick-figure Ruby look extra extra evil, that was just a random coincidence.)
Sam's horsey brain did not reach any firm conclusions - although he did seem to be interested by the picture of himself that Dean had sketched on a whim - and instead of selecting a picture, he took a flying leap over the drawings to land in Dean's lap. Where he then fell asleep.
Dropping his head into his hands, Dean wondered whether the spell had made Sam narcoleptic as well.
+++
Research had never been Dean's favorite part of a hunt.
Its popularity was not helped by the fact that his geek brother, who usually did the bulk of the searching, was now attempting to fly.
He'd fallen asleep in the early hours of the morning, lured into slumber by the insanely boring research material and by the snuffling snores of pony-Sam who'd decided that Dean's chest was The Bestest Bed in All the Land. After letting his eyes fall shut with Sam's weight resting on his chest, he'd then been woken up mid-morning by a panicked whinny and a thud.
Sitting up, he watched with a combination of admiration and confusion as Sam picked himself up off the floor and padded over to their duffel bag before using a complex construction of pillows, guns and blankets to scramble back up onto the bed. Kicking his hooves against the sheets, he breathed heavily before charging across the mattress with the horse equivalent of a war cry and launching himself off the edge of the bed before Dean could stop him.
"Sam!"
Mouth open, Dean stared as Sam managed to float above the floor for a moment, wings beating hard and legs flailing in an attempt to keep himself airborne. His back half started to sink first and Dean couldn't help but chuckle as Sam twisted his head around to catch his tail between his teeth and pull his behind back in line with the rest of his body. Satisfied that he wasn't falling, he neighed happily and flew around the bed in a victory lap.
Too distracted by the fact that his horsified brother was now flying, Dean failed to notice that Sam was actually flying towards him until he was headbutted in the chest by a little winged pony. A triumphant Sam soared around his head, hooves clacking together in excitement, and Dean batted him away.
"If you could not make me feel like I've just been hit by a cartoon mallet, that'd be awesome."
Sam ignored him and flew in a 360° loop.
Dean hadn't even known it was possible for horses to look smug.
+++
Dean's stomach rumbled hungrily as he knocked on the Harris' door.
Every time he'd even got close to putting food in his mouth that morning, Sam had swooped past his face, snaffling whatever he was eating from his fingers and then flying up out of his reach with a noise that sounded suspiciously like an evil laugh. (After Sam had eaten his entire slice of pie, Dean had finally grabbed him by his tail to check there was no yellow in those big horsey eyes.)
Eventually he'd given up on any more motel-based research and headed out to retrace their steps from the previous day, stuffing Sam in the pocket of his leather jacket with the warning, "I swear to God, if you pee in my jacket, I will sell you to a glue factory."
Sam had so far complied, and Dean had made progress through approximately two thirds of their earlier route, not yet finding anyone who had the power or inclination to transform his brother into a pocket-sized pet.
That all changed, however, when a miniature unicorn poked its head (and horn) out of the Harris' cat-flap.
It was pulled back inside a moment later as the stern voice of a young girl scolded, "Bad Mr Tiddles!"
The door swung open and Dean gave what he hoped was his most reassuring smile to the little blonde girl who was now holding the pink-tinged unicorn. "Hey there, Amy. Remember me? I came by to speak to your mom yesterday?"
Amy smiled happily. "Yes. You were the short one." She peered around Dean's legs before looking back up at him in puzzled disappointment. "Where's the tall one?"
Before Dean could register annoyance at being referred to as 'the short one' - six foot one was a perfectly respectable height; it wasn't his fault he had Gigantor for a brother - Sam poked his nose out of his pocket before making a break for freedom while the girl clapped her hands in delight.
"Pony!!!"
+++
As irritating as Sam could be sometimes, Dean decided he definitely preferred the human version of his brother.
He'd been told the transformation was temporary. Mrs Harris had been incredibly apologetic, explaining that she'd come up with an adapted version of the Tibetan spirit sigil which could make thoughts into reality and that her six-year-old daughter, Amy, had copied the symbol into one of her drawing books by accident.
Amy had apparently watched Fantasia too many times, and the Harris household had been graced with a dancing ostrich, a domineering broomstick, and a pair of mischievous unicorns until Mrs Harris had figured out how to reverse the spell, promising Dean that Sam would be back to his two-legged normality in less than twenty-four hours
(Dean had asked why anyone would try something as risky as this level of witchcraft, to which Mrs Harris had simply answered that he could never understand the pressures of the P.T.A.)
And so after prying Sam away from a reluctant Amy, who'd thoroughly enjoyed braiding his mane, Dean found himself back in the motel room trying to kill time.
He'd finally got some food in him by shutting Sam in a drawer and eating his taco with superhuman speed, and was now sprawled on his bed, working his way through his fourth beer and starting to think that pony-Sam was actually kinda adorable.
Pouring some of his drink into an ashtray, he placed it on the bed, coaxing drunkenly, "C'mon, Sammy. Come get the tasty beer."
(Yes, he knew it probably wasn't the best idea to test the constitution of a mini horse, but Sam would be turning back into a human soon and Dean figured a godawful hangover was a suitable punishment for pie theft.)
Sam trotted over to him, lapping up the beer before letting out the equine version of a burp.
Dean burped in return, smiling widely until it occurred to him that he was now bonding with a horse.
Christ, he needed a life.
As if reading his thoughts, Sam stumbled his way over to Dean's head and demonstrated his affection by seeing how edible his hair was. Not enjoying the feel of horse slobber in his hair, he detached Sam from his head, laughing quietly when Sam tried to fly around him before crash-landing into the mattress. "Don't drink and fly, dude."
He was faced with the patented Sammy pout, but lay still as Sam climbed clumsily onto his chest. The air was pushed out of his lungs when Sam collapsed in a sleepy heap, nuzzling into the warmth of Dean's shirts and whining until Dean's hand came up to stroke his back gently. "Shh, Sammy. Shh..."
His own eyes drifted shut as he spoke quietly, oddly comforted by the familiar sensation of Sam depending on him entirely, "Go to sleep, Sammy... It'll all be okay by tomorrow. Go to sleep..."
+++
When he was jolted awake by the crushing weight of a very human, very heavy Sam on his chest, Dean started to think the pony version had its upsides.