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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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It didn’t take long for Dean’s panic to subside. He forced himself to sit down and think his predicament through. It was obvious that Sam wasn’t in control of the bottle any more. Dean could feel the change.    Both brothers had felt that sick sense of uncertainty many times during their hunting careers, one not knowing where the other was, or even if he was okay, but that sense of fear and loss was a human emotion. This sudden severance of the genie’s connection to his Master was even more jarring. Dean had already gotten used to being able to sense Sam’s presence. It was there, even when they were apart, a constant reassurance in the back of his mind. He’d grown accustomed to monitoring Sam’s wants and well-being, almost without conscious thought. Whatever had cut him off from his Master--from his brother--it had happened quickly, too quickly for Sam to feel distress.
Now, Dean realized, there was a new, unwelcome presence occupying Sam’s place in his consciousness. His stomach gave a queasy lurch as he realized what it meant, and he swore furiously, helplessly. He had a new Master.

The couple’s laughter cut off abruptly as Dean materialized in front of them. They were in a cheap, shabby motel room, he noted absently, empty bottles lined up on the dinette table and the sweet smell of marijuana lingering in the stale air.
“What the fuck--”
“Oh my god, Brandon! Look! It’s really true--” the woman gasped.
“Where’s Sam?” Dean demanded. “What did you do to him?”
“What the fuck?” the shapeshifter called Brandon repeated, yanking a pistol from his waistband. He fired off a clumsy shot. Dean didn’t even bother to dodge; the bullet missed him by a good two feet.
“Where’s my brother?” he growled, advancing, but Brandon grabbed the genie bottle and brandished it at him like a weapon.
“Stop right there. No need to get rough. And no brother Sam, either.”    The shapeshifter pursed his lips. He squinted at Dean. “You really a genie?”
Dean realized he recognized his face from police reports he and Sam had gotten access to when they’d posed as FBI agents. He’d been one of the missing persons. It had been clear from the start that the case involved a shifter. Now he knew why the monster had managed to cause so much trouble. It was two shifters. And now he knew how they’d gotten the drop on Sam.
“He’s just like I Dream of Genie,” the female shapeshifter gushed. “Except, you know, not on TV.   And, you know, like… A guy,” she rambled.
Dean practically snarled with helpless frustration.   Whatever magical rules governed genies meant he wasn’t capable of causing harm to either his new Master or the woman with him, at least not overtly, and Brandon’s hasty but effective order of ‘no brother Sam’ meant he couldn’t just wish Sam here to rescue him.
“Shut up, Liz Anne.”
He’d tuned out the female’s yammering, but tuned back in when Brandon snapped at her.
“But he is cute,” she argued.
“Shut up!”
“You shut up. Make a goddamn wish already!”
“Oh, yeah. Okay…” Brandon grinned blearily at Dean. “Genie, I wish for an extra-large pizza with pepperoni, sausage, oh, and… Um… ‘Shrooms!” he announced.
His Master had the munchies.    What an idiot, Dean thought, just as Liz Anne said,
“Brandon, you idiot!”
It was too late. A extra-large box of steaming hot pizza had materialized on the bed. The two shapeshifters each dove for it.
“You should have wished for a million dollars,” Liz Anne lamented between bites. “Then we could’ve had, you know, a hundred thousand pizzas. Like, a lifetime supply.”
Brandon shrugged. “Okay, I wish for a million dollars!”
Even through the anger and worry churning his gut, Dean still felt a spike of pleasure each time he granted a wish. He folded his arms, blinked his eyes, and neat stacks of twenties piled up on the floor. He had to admit, they made an impressive display…
Even if they were counterfeit.
Brandon and Liz Anne didn’t notice anything wrong, each snatching up a bundle of cash and handling it reverently.   “Oh my god, we’re both idiots,” Liz Anne suddenly groaned. “We should have wished for like, a hundred million dollars.”
“Okay,” the shifter said agreeably, but Liz Anne shushed him.
“We got to think of a really good wish.” She jerked her chin toward Dean.   “Put it back in the bottle.”
‘It’, Dean thought, disgusted. They didn’t even think of him as sentient. Just a wish-granting machine. It was annoying as hell.
“Please,” he tried, though it grated on his nerves to offer the courtesy, “what did you do to my brother?” But he was already turning back into smoke and streaming toward the neck of the bottle.
Dean took note of the changes the next time Brandon summoned him. An upscale hotel suite. Expensive new clothes. Keys to a luxury car tossed carelessly onto a bedside table. Good, he thought. They were spending the wish money. The police should be aware of the counterfeit bills soon, if they weren’t already, and then Sam’s FBI persona would get the info. Sam was a seasoned hunter and one of the smartest people he’d ever known; it was only a matter of time before his baby brother picked up the trail.
The two shifters had changed bodies, too. Brandon was now a couple of inches taller and far better looking. Liz Anne had opted to re-use a form Dean had seen before, another missing person who police considered a robbery suspect. Dean knew better. The beautiful young woman had been one of the shifter’s victims.
“Okay, so I got my third wish,” Brandon announced when Dean materialized in front of him. “I wish for Liz Anne and me to be human. Healthy humans,” he elaborated quickly, “no cancer or nothing like that, and in these bodies.”
Dean could feel his Master’s longing as he made the wish. A lifetime of pain and rejection. A lifetime of wanting to be normal.   Human.   He might almost feel a twinge of sympathy for the shifter, if not for the innocent people he and his partner had killed, the lives Brandon and Liz Anne had ruined. They were monsters, not just because of what they were, but because of what they’d done. Still, Dean felt an intense surge of delight as he granted the life-changing wish.
The good feeling didn’t last. It was Brandon’s third and final wish. Dean’s lower body began to transform into purple smoke the moment his eyes finished blinking. The connection to this Master cut off just as quickly as it had formed, and Dean streamed helplessly back into his sumptuous glass prison.
He expected another summons immediately. Liz Anne didn’t strike Dean as much of a long-term planner, but she surprised him. The time dragged by as he waited and tried to ignore the constant knowledge of his new Master, there in the back of his mind, like being trapped in an elevator listening to Muzak. More than anything, he hated that she’d replaced Sam’s presence there. For all his ‘phenomenal cosmic powers’, he was powerless to know for sure if his brother was even alive.
Dean kept himself entertained by dreaming up devious ways of twisting Liz Anne’s wishes, imagining countless humiliations. Endless torments. Just give him a chance, he thought, and he’d make her wish for her own death.
He kept his expression neutral when he felt the tug summoning him out of the bottle and into corporeal form. Liz Anne had changed yet again, still in the same body now that she was human, of course, but with a different hairstyle and clothing that didn’t spell out conspicuous consumption. She was trying to blend in, Dean realized. Still on the move--this motel room was modest but clean and quiet--and it was clear she’d ditched Brandon.
“This whole fugitive from the law thing is a pain in the ass when you can’t switch out bodies,” she said casually.
“Must be rough not to be able to murder people whenever you feel like a change,” Dean couldn’t help but fire back.
“Says the guy who doesn’t have to, you know, eat or pay rent or work for a living.”
“Right. Slavery is such a cushy deal.”
“Look, I’m sorry, but it’s not like I came up with the rules.”
She sighed, and Dean could feel her loneliness and frustration. She’d never learned how to relate to people. Now she was finding out that just looking like a human being wasn’t enough.   “Just tell me your wish, Master,” he deadpanned, eager to put some distance between himself and her emotions.
“Fine. I wish for a new, legal identity, complete with all the documents, you know, birth certificate, social security number, driver’s license, the whole deal, all legit. I want my name to be Frances Forsythe Collins.”
“That’s got to be the WASPiest name I’ve ever heard.” Even so, he crossed his arms, blinked, and fulfilled the wish. It felt just as good as the ones he’d granted to Brandon. “We done here?”
Another sigh. “You don’t have to be like that. What’s your name?”
“Dean,” he told her, reluctant but unable to resist the pull of her need for conversation.
“Dean,” Liz Anne repeated. “That’s a nice name. And your brother is Sam.   No WASP names for you guys,” she quipped.
“Don’t talk about my brother.”
“He’s okay, you know.   Yeah, I bashed him on the head when he caught me going through his motel room, but obviously it didn’t kill him because he, like, chased after me. And I only took your stupid bottle because he seemed more worried about it than his guns or computer or whatever. I thought maybe there was some kind of booze in it, like Chambord or something. Funny how that turned out, huh?”

Dean suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. “Thanks for letting me know he’s okay,” he made himself say. It seemed best, for now, to play along. Stay on her good side. It warmed him to know that Sam was all right, and Dean felt both touched and exasperated to hear how his brother had gone down trying to keep his bottle safe. The damned bottle wouldn’t need guarding if Sam would just wish him free.
“You could, like, hang out here for a while, instead of cooped up in that bottle. Keep me company,” Liz Anne offered.
“Your wish is my command,” Dean said dryly.

“...It really is,” she said.
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I Dean of Genie