Work Text:
Identity Swap
by Sam-Tony
It wasn’t until Eliot pulled on his hair, shaking it out from the collar of Dean’s leather jacket that he realized how completely insane this was.
If there had been more time, Dean could have stashed his stuff somewhere safe to retrieve later. As it was they barely had time for a complete switch; clothes, jewelry, weapons, before Eliot was due to rendezvous with Nate at a meet with the mark. Or Dean would; Eliot would be taking over the job the Hunter had been on his way to complete when Eliot had called him.
Everything else fit well enough, but it was a good thing they could each keep their own jeans as Winchester had a couple of inches on him.
Eliot slipped the double banded silver ring Dean wore on his own middle finger, the beaded bracelet on his right wrist as Dean buckled Eliot’s wide leather cuff on *his* left, silver and turquoise cuff slipping in front and a couple of necklaces, including the small arrowhead and beaded bear claw round over his head own head.
Dean stared at his own necklace held in his hand a moment, not wanting to let it go. But Eliot didn’t want to risk any magical alarms going off over it; just in case Sam was right and it did have protective properties.
That’s why they were changing everything, just in case anything from Hunting lingered on Dean’s clothes or jewelry. He didn’t think Maxwell had anyone with any real Talent on his payroll, but it was better not to take chances.
“I’ll take care of it,” Eliot promised, blue eyes serious as he took the cord of leather from Dean’s fingers. Pulling the talisman over his head, leaving the little silver charm to settle against the Metallica tshirt over his chest, he waited until the green eyes left the charm to meet his before promising again, “I know Sam gave it to ya.”
“Yeah.”
“Be careful,” Eliot told him seriously. “Hey. Should be a cakewalk, a’ight? Rent-a-cops playin’ soldier. But just - I don’t want to have ta explain ta Sam why I’m bringin’ his brother back in pieces.”
Dean smiled, green eyes crinkling around the corners as he made a deliberate effort to change the mood. There was a reason he hated chick flick moments. “Please. Years of demon hunting, bar fights - I mean, I ain’t you, but,” he shrugged, false modest and they both knew it. “I do all right.”
Not taking the bait, the blue eyes remained serious as the hitter nodded. “Yeah. You do. Wouldn’t be goin’ in if I didn’ think ya could handle it, son.”
Dean rolled his eyes. “Yes, mom. Listen, yours should be a simple salt ‘n burn. Sammy did the research before Bobby roped him in for that vampire nest in Dalton. It could wait, but…”
“No tellin’ how many others the damned thing might go after while you’re playin’ hitter, waitin’ for our banker ta dangle on the hook.”
Danger for danger. But the team needed muscle for backup and Dean was the first one Eliot had called. Hell, the only one besides his brother Sam that Eliot had even considered, knowing the Hunter could more than hold his own.
It was just bad damned luck that Maxwell knew who Eliot was on sight; two years wasn‘t nearly long enough for a man to forget losin‘ close to a million dollars in Native artifacts just because his men couldn‘t fight worth a damn. Kicker was the man hadn’t learned his lesson because the guys he had now weren’t any better; Eliot had done the research on them himself.
Dean should be more than fine and it wasn’t like Eliot hadn’t Hunted before.
Even if he did wince and give the sawed off shotgun full of salt rounds that Dean handed over butt-first a dirty look. From the smirk on the Hunter’s face, he hadn’t been too subtle about his dislike.
“Just in case,” Dean made him promise.
“Fine,” he huffed, taking the shotgun with one hand and the com out of his ear with the other and handing it over. “Team knows what’s goin’ on. Just talk, Hardison’ll hear ya. If anythin’ goes wrong - “
Dean nodded once, completely serious. “Civilians get out first, an’ that ain’t us. I’ll take care of them, El.”
Eliot grabbed his wrist before Dean could put the bud in his ear, pulling the taller man in and claiming his mouth while they had a window of relative privacy. Pushing him back against the wall, Eliot kissed him breathless, only coming up for air when he himself was in danger of running out.
Pressing his forehead to Dean’s, Eliot warned, “Stay safe, Winchester.”
“Yeah. You, too, Spencer.” He felt lips against his forehead for just a moment, a short hug hard they both would deny later, and Dean demanded, “I want that shirt back in one piece.”
End