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I Dean of Genie	By : rae_roberts Category: Supernatural > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 2234 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to Supernatural, nor do I own any rights to either Disney's Aladdin or I Dream of Genie, which I have heavily ripped off for this fic. No money is being made from this silly little fic.

Chapter List
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The purple smoke swirled around the inside of the bottle. Dean knew he couldn’t escape; he was testing out the sensation of being nothing but vapor. Drifting in incorporeal circles was oddly relaxing. Eventually, though, he took human shape and sprawled out on the banquette with another cold bottle of beer conjured up with the blink of an eye.
He couldn’t really complain about the phenomenal cosmic powers aspect. As quick as thought, the purple velvet sectional was equipped with Magic Fingers™, and Casa Erotica was playing on a flatscreen TV mounted on the opposite side of the circular chamber. Why not? As a genie, he didn’t even have to pay for pay-per-view!
Dean didn’t know how long he spent drinking and channel-surfing. Time didn’t seem to matter. However long it was, it was long enough for most of his anger at Sam to dissipate. Sure, it rankled that Sam didn’t trust him, but Dean had to admit, if he were in his gigantor brother’s size fourteen shoes, he wouldn’t trust him either. Especially considering how recently he’d threatened to kill Sam.
But that, Dean rationalized, was the fault of the Mark. The Mark of Cain had turned him into a murderous demon...But he wasn’t a demon any longer. He pushed up his sleeve to examine the scar tissue branded into his forearm. That’s really all it was now, Dean thought; just another scar. He didn’t have to fight against its influence.
...But these genie-influenced thoughts and urges? Yeah, Sam was right to be cautious.
Hours must have passed even though it didn’t seem like he’d been cooped up all that long, because when Sam summoned him out of the bottle, Dean saw that they were back in the Men of Letters’ bunker.
“You called, ‘Master’?”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Cut it out. You’ve got to admit, being a genie beats being a demon. Doesn’t it?”
Dean rolled his eyes right back. “Sure. It does. Except for the whole ‘enslaved for all eternity’ bit,” he added pointedly.
“We’ll figure out a way around that. We always do. In fact, Charlie’s back in Oz right now, looking for information.”
“Sam. Charlie’s not going to find out anything about genies in Oz. Or anywhere else. If you couldn’t find any lore here, there isn’t any lore to find.” Dean waved a hand around the room, taking in the shelves of books. More books, boxes of files, and ancient scrolls scattered the entire length of the table in the center of the room, proof of Sam’s research efforts.
Dean crossed his arms and Sam tensed, bracing himself for more angry words, but Dean just blinked, conjuring up a steaming mug of coffee and a plate of food. Unappetizing rabbit food, from Dean’s meat-and-potatoes perspective, but his brother’s eyes lit up at the healthy grilled fish fillet and crisp green salad.
“For me? It’s not poisoned, is it?” Sam quipped, already pulling up a chair. Dean felt a surge of pure bliss. God, he loved granting wishes. It was almost--almost--as good as sex.
“Shut up,” he told Sam gruffly, embarrassed by the thought. “Eat. Caffeinate. I may be immortal now, but you’re still only human. You’ve got to take care of yourself.”
“Does this mean we’re good now?”   Sam asked around a mouthful of food.
“That depends. You going to wish me free?”
“I want to, Dean. I do,” Sam said earnestly, and Dean could feel how much his brother meant it.
“But you won’t,” he fired back.
“Not won’t. Can’t. Dean, you blink and break the laws of physics! You alter reality!” Sam waved his fork, brandishing a bite of conjured tilapia for emphasis. “And there’s the Mark--”
“The Mark of Cain isn’t a problem. Not any more,” Dean assured him. “Yeah, it’s still there, but it’s almost like it doesn’t even matter anymore. Genies aren’t all ‘roid ragey like demons.”
“Yeah? Then what are they like, Dean?” Sam’s eyes narrowed and Dean realized his mistake.
“Eager to serve?” he offered with his best innocent smile. “Granting wishes, Sam, I got to tell you… It’s a rush.”
But Sam shook his head. “You left out the part about cunning and deceitful. You remember the times we went up against the Trickster.”
“Yeah, but it turned out Gabriel wasn’t all that bad, in the end,” Dean argued.
“I can’t wish you free.” Sam pushed his half-eaten dinner aside and stood up. The stubborn set to his brother’s jaw made it clear that no matter how Dean argued, he wasn’t going to back down. “I just can’t, Dean, not until I’m sure I’m not unleashing another Trickster on the world.”
“So, what? You’re going to keep me trapped inside that damned bottle all the time? I can’t live cooped up like that, Sammy!” Dean put just the right edge of desperation in his voice. He wasn’t about to admit the bottle was better than a luxury hotel.
“Can’t we just go on with our lives like normal, you know, before the Mark and… All the rest of it?”
“It’s not as if there’s any better option,” Dean muttered.   His little brother’s patented puppy-dog eyes never failed to tug at his heartstrings. And with his genie abilities he could sense just how badly Sam wanted to get back to their version of normal, fucked up as it was. It was a wish easily granted. Dean turned away to hide his grin and plucked a newspaper from the clutter on the table. “Looks like there’s a job for us out in Denver.” He tossed the paper to Sam.   “Let’s hit the road.”
Sam scanned the police report of suspicious robberies and disappearances. “It’s not much of a case if you already know all the answers,” he pointed out. “I mean, you could just wish the monsters away.”
Dean considered it. The idea of using his powers to get rid of the evil in the world was incredibly appealing, but he could see the drawback immediately.   Sure, he’d save thousands, no, more like millions of lives, but that would also alter the lives of damn near everyone on the planet. It was too much; it would wreak havoc. Sam was worried about him going Dark Side, but Dean realized he could cause just as much damage trying to use his powers for good.
“Nah.   There’d be no fun in that,” he said after a long moment. Sam was already nodding agreement; his brainiac baby brother had already figured it out.
“So we just work the job like normal. No magic powers.”
None at all, Dean thought innocently. Except that he was damn near invulnerable. And there was nothing stopping him from using his powers to keep Sammy safe, too.

“Dean. Dean... Dean!”
The uncharacteristic tone of his brother’s voice-- uncannily similar to their father’s harsh growl when his patience had been pushed to the brink--finally caught Dean’s attention. “Hey, Sammy. Decided to join the party after all?” he asked hopefully, although the anger practically steaming out of Sam’s pores made him cringe a bit inside. Dean ignored the sensation, putting on his best cocky grin. Just because his little brother was technically his Master didn’t mean he had to jump to obey. Dean wasn’t twelve years old any more, and Sammy was no John Winchester.
“I could hear you from a mile up the road.” Sam scrubbed a hand over his face. “Dude, I’m not immortal; I need to get some sleep.”
“Sorry.” The bone-shaking volume of the music didn’t change, but Dean beamed up at his disgruntled brother, unrepentant. “Easy fix.   Soundproof bubble. You go on back to the motel,” he soothed. “Don’t wait up.”
“What about all this?” Sam’s disapproving glare took in the tables pushed back to create an impromptu dance floor, packed with gyrating bodies. Several of the more attractive female patrons were up on tables, dancing topless.
“Hey, this is a dive bar. People come here to get plastered. It’s not my fault alcohol lowers inhibitions.”
“It is when you’re the one conjuring up the free rounds. What about those guys?” Sam indicated a group of burly construction workers in a corner booth. The men had paired off and were making out with enthusiastic abandon. “And don’t even try telling me alcohol’s responsible for that,” he warned.
“They were picking on that kid over there, calling him faggot.” Dean pointed out a scrawny man in his mid-twenties who was clearly having the time of his life on the dance floor, a drink in each hand.    “You got to admit, Sammy, they deserved a little payback.”
“Maybe so, but is it right to embarrass all these women? Or do even worse to them, if things get more out of hand than they already are?”
Dean felt his cheeks flush with a very human sense of remorse at the rebuke. He folded his arms and with a quick blink the crowd’s antics began to wind down. The volume of the music lowered and people began to move apart and adjust their clothing, their expressions dazed. “I wouldn’t have let it go that far,” he murmured, abashed.
“I believe you wouldn’t have. Not on purpose, anyway, but Dean, this just proves you can’t be trusted to manage your powers on your own. Not yet. You can’t use your powers like this… And I’m sorry, but that’s an order.”
“Okay, okay. I get it.”
And he did, really, but the next night found Dean back in the roadside tavern, sulking over a glass of beer. Sam was human; he needed sleep. Dean had no such requirement, and even though he understood why Sam had restricted his powers, being limited to his no-fun, stick-in-the-mud brother’s human schedule and morals rankled.
He was just glancing around the dimly-lit room, looking for something or someone to entertain himself, when Dean felt a mental tug. Just like the time Sam had ordered him back inside his bottle, the pull was irresistible.   Unnoticed by the other patrons, his body dissolved into smoke and swirled away, out of the tavern, up the road to the seedy motel room and back into the bottle.
But this time, it wasn’t Sam who had called him back.
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I Dean of Genie