FIC: Welcome to the Dollhouse
Title Welcome to the Dollhouse
Author deadbeat_nymph
Rating Soft R (language, innuendo)
Word Count 4,600
Characters Sam, Dean, Bobby (Gen)
Beta The lovely and patient wanton_erato
Feedback is greatly appreciated.
Author's Notes Written for spn_rainyday, this is a lighthearted humor piece that involves genderswap, however it is not AU. There's smutty talk, but no actual smut. It's quite different from anything I've written before; I was snuggling in bed one night and got the writing urge. It was a lot of fun for me to write, and I hope that you enjoy it.
Summary Dean has a problem. Or maybe it's Sam's problem. Or, maybe, it's not a problem at all.
Girl Dean by maichan808
Welcome to the Dollhouse
Dean ran his hands over his breasts.
"Well, at least they're perky," he said. "What do you think, C cup?"
Sam stared. "Is that really your biggest concern right now?"
"Yeah, C. D would have been better - or, shit, double D - but C's okay." He turned his head to look over his shoulder and frowned. "Hey, how's my ass? I can't tell from this angle."
"Dean, I don't-"
"Looks pretty round. Wait!" Dean said then darted towards the bathroom. He whipped open the door and, raising his much too large t-shirt to his svelte waist, pirouetted in front of the full-length mirror.
"Damn, that is one fine ass," he said. "Sammy, are you seeing this?" He lifted his head and glanced at his brother.
"Dean, I really don't think-"
"Look at it, Sam - it's like a fucking apricot!"
"I'd say cherry if I thought you still had yours," Sam replied, sneering. "But seriously, Dean-"
Dean nodded at himself in the mirror. "Yeah, cherry," he said, "totally." He reached both hands behind himself and grabbed his buttocks. "Oh, you've got to feel this, Sam."
Sam sighed. "Dean-"
"Come on, Sammy, feel my ass," Dean said, grinning. When Sam sighed again and glanced away, he continued, "What, not even one cheek? Seriously, Sam, you don't know what you're missing."
"Dean, aren't you freaking out? I mean, don't you want to fix this?"
"In a minute," Dean said.
Sam sighed. He watched Dean preen in front of the mirror. Despite the curves, Dean still looked incredibly like Dean. Smaller, sure, and softer, smoother, but the details were remarkably the same. Short, dark blonde hair, plump pout, smattering of freckles, pert nose, ridiculously long eyelashes…
"Hm. You know, body aside, you don't look that different," Sam said. When Dean turned to face him with a questioning look, he continued, "Guess you always were kind of girly."
"Oh, please, I'm as manly as it gets," Dean replied, unflappable, his delicate fingers posed on his round hip. "Anyway, enough of this shit for now. I'm hungry," he said, and bent to grab his jeans from the floor.
"Ah, Dean, I don't think your clothes are going to fit," Sam said as Dean pulled the jeans onto his feet.
"They'll be loose - no biggie," Dean replied. He fastened his belt, setting it low on his hips, then bent to roll up the pant legs. As he did, the jeans fell straight down to his knees.
"Right. Well, Sam, you got any other ideas?"
Sam slipped on his jacket. "Yeah, I'll go out and get you some clothes, then we can go for breakfast," he said.
"Fine, but hurry up - I'm starving."
Sam nodded and left the room. After a few seconds, he returned.
"Yeah, I have no idea what size you are."
Dean felt himself up again, this time with greater concentration than relish. "Four," he said.
"How can you be so sure?"
"Trust me, Sammy, I'm an expert when it comes to the female body," Dean said, leering.
Sam chuckled, shaking his head. "If you say so," he said. "Hey," he continued, "you're kinda small. Do you think you need 'petite' sizes?"
Dean bit his lip. "Maybe?"
Sam beckoned Dean towards him. "Come stand against me," he said.
Dean came forward. "Jesus, you're fucking huge! You're lucky you got those puppy dog eyes or women would run screaming from you. Well, more than they already do," he said and snorted as he neared Sam.
Sam rolled his eyes, then pulled Dean gently against his chest. Sam placed his hand on the top of his brother's head, which didn't even graze his collar bone. "God, you might be five-three, but I doubt even that."
Tilting his head as far back as it would go, Dean scrutinized Sam. "I mean, really, how did Jess deal with your freaky sasquatchness?"
Sam directed Dean towards the nearest bed. "Sit down so I can measure your feet," he said, and pushed Dean downward with little effort. Then he laughed.
"What?"
"Dude, your feet don't even touch the floor."
"Shut up."
Sam chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment. "Here," he said as he grabbed a pen and a piece of paper from the table. He got down on one knee in front of his brother, pulling him forward to bring a bare foot to the paper he'd set on the floor. As he traced its outline, he murmured, "Hm, you've got cute feet."
Realizing what he'd said, he stopped, just as Dean chortled.
"You're into feet? That's my boy!" Dean said, beaming. "I knew you were a freak."
* * *
When Sam returned from his errand, Dean greeted him with a growl.
"Where the fuck have you been? I'm dying here."
Sam set down the bags he'd brought in with him. He tossed a small paper bag at Dean, then took off his jacket and hung it over the back of a chair.
Dean peaked into the bag. "One doughnut?"
"It'll hold you until we get to a diner."
Dean shrugged and crammed the doughnut into his mouth. As he chewed, Sam began to remove items from the shopping bags, laying them out on the bed opposite Dean.
There were lambswool sweaters, all crew necks, in grays, blues and greens, one a charcoal hoodie that zipped up. Long sleeved t-shirts, crew necked as well, a dozen of them. Jeans, dark and medium washed, straight legged and boot cut, four pairs in all and none with a low rise. Socks followed, a few old fashioned wool pairs among the cotton blues and grays, all knee-length. Then came underwear, boy cut shorts and demure bikinis, camisoles, in a variety of pale colors. Plaid flannel pajamas got placed near the pillows, and Sam stopped.
"I found a nice department store downtown. They had a good selection," he offered meekly when he was met with bulging eyes.
"Jesus, Sam. Why did you get this much stuff? I mean, what if I'm back to normal tomorrow?"
"What if you're not? Besides, if you don't wear something we can return it, and if you do wear everything, we can donate it to a women's shelter or something," Sam said.
"Oh, Sammy, always such a gentleman," Dean said, smiling. "As a woman, I have to say that I'm touched by your pansy-assed college boy PC-ness."
Sam chuckled and sunk down onto the other bed. "Thanks."
Still smiling, Dean approached the wardrobe bed. He perused the selection of clothing carefully, and then said, "Hm."
"What is it?" Sam asked.
"It's just…"
"What?"
"You didn't get anything pretty."
Sam stared at his brother, silent.
"Well, I might as well try it out now that I've got the chance to do it right," Dean said.
"I just figured you'd want to be as normal as possible," Sam replied. "Besides, I kind of thought you wouldn't want to, you know, encourage any men."
Dean looked away, thoughtful.
"Of course, I'm not judging. I mean, whatever you want, or don't want, whoever you want- it's all fine. Just. You know."
Dean smiled and said nothing.
"It's just," Sam continued, "men can be jerks sometimes."
Dean snorted.
"No, I mean it, Dean. I just don't want you drawing the wrong kind of attention."
Narrowing his eyes, Dean said, "Are you saying that if a woman dresses sexy she's asking for it?"
"No! That's not what I meant! Dean! Just- Fuck, Dean, I just know you, and you've got a big mouth, and you flirt with everyone and half the time I don't think you even know you're doing it. And I just don't want some redneck thinking that you're 'asking for it', you know?" Sam gazed at Dean imploringly.
"Pig," Dean said. Then he whipped off his t-shirt and shirked his boxer briefs. Stood buck naked in front of Sam, who blushed and looked away.
"Fuck, Sam," he said, "it's not like you haven't seen me naked a thousand times."
"Yeah, but you didn't have, you know…"
"Boobies?" Dean intoned, voice pitched high.
"Fuck off," Sam replied as Dean gave into gentle laughter.
Returning to the clothes piled before him, Dean caught his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He paused, a contemplative look on his face. "Sam, do you think I should shave, or wax, anything?"
"No." Sam glanced back in Dean's direction. "I mean, it's almost winter, so leg hair shouldn't really be an issue. As for…" Sam gestured weakly.
Dean tilted his head and waited for Sam to continue.
"I mean, it's not like anyone's gonna see it. You! I mean, see you." Sam brought a hand up to squeeze his temples, but still managed to catch sight of Dean as he ran his fingers through his pubic hair.
"Jesus, Dean! Didn't you have, like, three hours to do that shit while I was gone?"
"Well, yeah, but I went back to bed when you left and never made it out till you got back. Seriously, man, you can go forever with a clit."
"Thanks, Dean."
"Just sayin'."
Sam watched in mild surprise as Dean reached for the dainty pink camisole and panty set first. Of course, he'd said he wanted pretty, but his cheerful acceptance of the whole thing still seemed odd.
"No bra, huh Sammy?"
Sam opened his mouth to explain that bra sizes were tricky, but Dean cut him off with, "Hey, it's no problem for me. I mean, why restrain tits like these?"
"I think you mean 'constrain'."
Dean grinned. "No I don't," he said, pulling on a gunmetal gray t-shirt. He selected the medium wash, boot cut jeans, some denim colored socks, and a celery green sweater, then dressed quickly. Checking himself out in the mirror, he smiled. He turned towards Sam and wiggled his toes pointedly.
Sam snapped to attention. "Right," he said, and went to the remaining bags. Opening one, he retrieved a shoebox.
"Converse?" Dean said. "Jeez, you really do want me to look like a boy."
"They're girl Converse," Sam said softly, eyes rounding. He handed the box to Dean, who shrugged and sat on the bed. When he opened the box, Dean smiled, and Sam sighed in relief.
Slipping on the soft blue plaid sneakers, Dean said somberly, "I guess they'll do."
Sam shook his head but smiled.
"What next?"
Sam pulled a muted blue, tailored leather motor jacket and proffered it to Dean. At Dean's "Dammit, Sammy, that's sweet," Sam beamed. Once Dean had slipped it on, Sam came up to stand behind him, watching him in the mirror and smiling in satisfaction.
Dean tensed suddenly, eyes narrowing. "Oh my god," he said, "are you playing Barbies with me?"
"No!" Sam cried, aggrieved, then cringed.
"You are so fucking gay."
"Well at least I still have my penis," Sam replied, smirking.
"Yeah, that you use for all of your gayery." At Sam's grimace, Dean continued, "Well, maybe not… I mean, maybe it's just because I'm fucking hot like this."
Sam offered Dean a conciliatory smile. "I guess you are kind of pretty…"
Dean continued to gaze at his reflection. "Pretty? Fuck that! I'm smoking!"
Sam rolled his eyes. "Almost done," he said, then reached over for another shopping bag. From it he pulled out a scarf, some mittens, and a hat, all pale gray angora.
"Fuck, Sam, how much money did you spend on this shit?" Dean said, scrunching up his adorable little face.
"Actually, not as much as I was expecting…" Sam said.
"What does that mean?"
"When she rang it all up, I thought it'd be more."
"Uh-huh," Dean said, wrapping the scarf around his neck. He put on the mittens, but paused at the hat while contemplating his hair.
"About, um, eight hundred dollars," Sam mumbled.
Dean checked himself out in the mirror again.
"I guess it's worth it."
* * *
The ride to the diner was comfortably silent. Dean had suggested Sam drive, but whether that was because of some idiot notion about women drivers or out of a desire to gaze at himself without interruption, Sam wasn't sure.
As they turned into the diner's parking lot, Dean exclaimed abruptly, "Shit! Do you know what this means?"
"What, Dean?"
"I can fuck chicks like this!"
Sam laughed. "You could fuck chicks before, if I recall."
Dean rolled his eyes. "Are you a total moron? I can do girl on girl!" Dean beamed like Sam had never seen before in their entire lives. "I guess it's good that you got all boyish stuff, then. Now I can just be a cute dyke."
"Dean, they don't call themselves dykes," Sam said, annoyed.
"Yes they do," Dean said, looking at his brother with contempt, then returned to scrutinizing himself in the side view mirror. "I have to say, Girl Me looks fantastic with really short hair. Must be because my face is so awesome."
Sam rolled his eyes. "Must be," he said, pulling into a parking space. "Plus, it gives you that 'cute dyke' vibe you're after," he deadpanned.
"Totally," Dean said, smiling into the mirror and practicing his come hither stare.
As they exited the car and made their way toward the entrance, Sam noticed men looking at Dean. Passing truckers and shiftless youths, staring at his brother. Sister. Brother.
"Come on," he said, slinging an arm around Dean's waist and glowering at the men who dared lay their gaze on Dean. When they reached the door, he swept it open and ushered Dean inside. He took Dean's hand and led him to a booth in the back.
A waitress approached their table right away. Filling the cups with coffee, she said, "How are ya'll doin' today?"
"Great, thanks," Dean said, grinning.
The waitress returned his smile and said, "It's great to see such a happy young couple in here. Mostly we get truckers."
"Oh, no, no," Sam fumbled. "She's my sister."
The waitress looked at them in confusion, frowning slightly. "Oh," she said.
Sam blushed. He looked down at his lap and didn't lift his eyes until the waitress had taken their order and moved on to another table.
Dean had a pensive look on his face. "Wait a minute. If we don't pass for brother and sister, do you think that's why everyone thinks we're gay? When we're brother and brother, I mean?"
Sam paused to consider. He met Dean's gaze, and when the possibilities of that question sunk in, they both glanced away.
When their order arrived, Dean sunk into his bacon double cheeseburger with great zeal. He finished the burger at his regular pace, devoured his fries, and beseeched the aloof waitress to bring him some pie.
"Well, at least you haven't lost your appetite," Sam said, eyeing Dean and smiling gently.
Dean smiled back. A chunk of crust dropped from Dean's pie and landed on his breasts. "It's like a fucking crumb shelf," Dean said, annoyed. After a moment of consideration, he shrugged, then picked up the fallen morsel and popped it into his mouth.
"Dean!"
"What?"
* * *
"Sammy, who knows how long I'll have this body? I can't waste a single night at a redneck bar."
When Dean had suggested the bar on East College Street, Sam had agreed to it with little convincing. A college bar sounded like the best bet in Iowa City. He figured it would be nice to be around students again, but more importantly, it seemed a good idea to keep Dean and his cute little body away from bikers, truckers and yokels. However, when they arrived, Sam felt out of place among the entirely female clientele.
Dean answered Sam's frown with, "The review I read on the internet said that it's the only place in town where you can fist a girl in the bathroom and get away with it."
Sam groaned. After a beat, he said, "So, wait- you're a cute lesbian, fine," as they made their way through the small club. "But what am I? I can't be your boyfriend, obviously, and apparently we don't pass for brother and sister."
"Duh, Sam," Dean said. "You can just be my straight-boy friend. Why do you have to make everything so complicated? Sheesh."
"I don't want people to think I'm, you know… a dyke dog."
Dean sputtered. He choked on his laughter until tears streamed past his chin to his sweater. He looked at Sam, opened his mouth to speak, then burst into a fit of howls all over again.
"It's like a fag hag, but reversed. You know, a guy that follows lesbians around like a dog." Sam's face was nearly burgundy.
"Don't worry, Sammy," Dean said, catching his breath. "I won't let the big bad bulldykes beat your ass." Dean's eyes went round with excitement. " 'Sides, they'll be too busy staring at my ass to think about kicking yours." He winked.
"I am so going to beat you stupid the second you turn back."
"It's a good thing I’m not wearing mascara or I'd have to beat you stupid right now."
They got some beers at the bar, then found a table. Sam had to laugh at the image of Dean glancing around the room in search of prey. Dean looked like, well, like Dean in a bar full of lesbians. When he left the table, following after some femme redhead, Sam tried not to think about it. Tried not to look at them, or at anyone else for that matter. The atmosphere was friendly enough, but Sam didn't want to push his luck.
When Dean returned from wherever he'd disappeared to, the smile splitting his face nearly blinded Sam. "Mission accomplished," he said.
"So, how was it?"
"Wanna taste?" Dean asked, then pouted his lips, mouth open, at his brother.
Sam cringed. "Dean, that's disgusting."
Dean shrugged and took a sip of Sam's beer.
Sam shuddered. After ordering a new beer, he said, "So, are you ready to turn back into a guy now?"
Dean lifted his feet, now housed in the sleek black combat boots Sam had so carefully chosen, and set them on the chair across from him. "Whatever."
Later that night, back at the motel, Sam woke to a rustling sound. A small weight seeped into the bed.
"Dean?" He rolled over, rubbing his eyes. "What're you doin'?"
"I just wanna snuhhhggle," Dean said through a yawn.
"Are you kidding me?" Sam tittered.
"Must be the hormones."
As Dean settled beside him, small face hot on his chest, Sam chuckled gently. "Must be," he said, his smile unseen in the dark.
* * *
They left early the next morning for Sioux County. Dean did want to drive this time, and Sam enjoyed watching him labor over advancing the seat, tilting the steering column, and adjusting the rear and side view mirrors. After he'd finally settled into the driver's seat, they were off.
Despite the crisp November air, the sun was bright, and Dean kept his window down for most of the way. He hummed along to the Joni Mitchell tape, mittened fingers tapping the rhythm against the wheel, and appeared not to hear Sam's "Where did you even get that?"
After a few songs, he said, "You know, Blue's a classic album. And Zeppelin wrote a song about her."
"Oh, really? Which one?" Sam said, all exaggerated inquiry.
"'Going to California'," Dean said. "It's on Zeppelin Four."
"Oh."
They stopped on the outskirts of Beresford for lunch. The parking lot of Truck Towne Plaza was filled with big rigs and pickups. Sam sighed, but figured that, with his arm around Dean's waist, and in the middle of the day, harassment shouldn't be a problem.
He was wrong. Halfway to the entrance, as he passed on Dean's side, a grisly bear of a man muttered, "Pussy."
Without so much as a glance, Dean smiled and said, "You know it."
Sam, however, couldn't let that pass. He stopped, let go of Dean, and, stepping up to the man, said, "What was that?"
The man grinned. "Nice piece of ass you got yourself there," he said. As Sam stepped closer, he continued, "Relax, kid, it was just a compliment."
Sam smiled, then plowed through the man's face with his fist.
As the man lay coughing on the asphalt, Sam spat, "Don't even think about looking at her again." He stepped back, looked around them at the small crowd that had formed. "That goes for all of you."
He grabbed Dean's arm, ignoring his snickers, and led him into the diner. They ate quickly and were back on the I-29 in twenty minutes.
* * *
"Sam." Bobby greeted them at the door with a guarded look. "Who's yer friend?"
Sam scratched his head. "Um, Bobby…" he began.
Bobby's brow furrowed. "Dean?"
"Trick or treat," Dean said, winking, and bounced inside.
Sam followed, and Bobby closed the door behind them. Dean sank into an overstuffed chair while Sam hovered near the entryway.
"What in sam hell happened?" Bobby glanced from one brother to the other.
"We don't know," Sam said. "That's why we're here."
Bobby gestured at him, harassed. "Well, come in and let's figure it out."
Once they were all seated in the kitchen, shots of whiskey in hand, Bobby said, "So, what've you got so far?"
Sam eyed Dean across the table. "Why don't you tell him what we've been up to, Dean?"
Dean shrugged. "Sam wanted to play dress up and then we got me laid," he said, then took his shot.
"Dean!" Sam yelled as Bobby scrutinized them scornfully.
"What? That's what happened," Dean said around the lip of his glass. "Anyway, then we came here."
Bobby sighed. "Okay, then, why doncha start at the beginning."
"There's not much to say. Yesterday morning, Dean woke up like that."
"What were you hunting?" Bobby asked.
"Nothing. We'd done a basic salt and burn a few days before, but that's it," Sam said.
"It's probably a hex of some kind, spell or a curse," Bobby said. "You piss off anyone in particular lately?"
"What are you talking about? I'm a joy-"
"Yeah, yeah," Bobby said. "We know. But seriously, Dean, you pick up any women lately that you maybe put back down too fast?"
Dean pursed his lips and glanced heavenward. "Yeah," he said. "That's not a list we can really investigate with, um, due diligence." He dropped his gaze to the ground, clucking his tongue.
After a moment, Sam said, "Hey, Bobby, you think it might be a trickster?"
"Unlikely. We killed that one in Springfield. And I've never heard of another hunter meeting one. Two in two years? I doubt it." Bobby scrunched up his face. "Plus, why would it go after you? They tend to stay in one place, get to know a community. Unless you were," he coughed, "behaving in an ungentlemanly manner around one."
"What are you talking about? I'm a perfect gentleman."
Sam and Bobby shared a smile of amusement.
Dean rolled his eyes. "Okay, fine - keep trickster on the list," he said.
"In any case, it's most likely a spell," Bobby said, rising from his chair. "Come on."
They moved to Bobby's den to research metamorphosis spells and ways to undo spells cast by others, working in silence for almost an hour.
Once he'd finished examining a large manual, Dean stood and stretched his legs. He moved toward the giant bookcase behind Bobby's desk and, stepping up on his toes and lifting a leg for balance, he reached up to grab a book off the top shelf.
Sam caught Bobby's gaze roving over Dean's ass. He coughed.
"Shit, sorry," Bobby said softly, blushing.
Dean looked over his shoulder, perplexed. "What is it?"
This time it was Bobby who coughed. "Nothing, it's nothing," he mumbled, looking back at Sam.
Sam chuckled. "It's okay," he said. "This time."
Book in hand and back on both feet, Dean said, "What? What's going on?"
Bobby and Sam replied, "Nothing."
* * *
Another hour passed in deep silence, each man attending to his own research.
Dean lifted his head suddenly and scrutinized Sam. "Oh my god," he said.
Bobby glanced over and asked, "You got sumthin'?" as Sam looked up from his book and said, "What?"
"Oh my God," Dean bit out. He kept his gaze locked on Sam. "You did this."
When Sam responded only with a questioning look, Dean said, "Fuck! You did, didn't you?"
"Sam?" Bobby asked.
Sam's face caved in on itself as he exploded into laughter, tremors racking his entire body.
"Fucker!"
"Jesus, Sam," Bobby said.
Sam continued to cackle like a crazed maniac. Every time he caught his breath, he burst into riotous laughter again and again.
"Why the fuck would you do this, you fucking shit?"
Sam held himself still long enough to say, "Who's the girl now, asshole?"
"Oh, fuck you! I am so gonna cut you, bitch!"
"Oh, man, if you could just see your face right now, your cute, little, pixie face," Sam said, wiping away the tears from his cheeks.
"What if you can't break the spell?" Dean demanded. "What if I stay this way?"
"Well, it hardly seems like an issue now, Mister Cute Dyke." Sam's laughter subsided finally. "Oh, relax, I can end it whenever I want."
"How long were you planning on leaving me this way, fuckhead?"
"Till you got your period," Sam replied, bursting into a new fit of snickers.
At that, Bobby joined in with his own low chuckle.
Dean tried to maintain his righteousness but failed, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. "I'm still gonna kill you," he said.
After a long pause, he added, "You know, come to think of it, I already did kinda get my revenge, didn't I?"
Sam raised his eyebrows.
"Well, I was fine, but you were totally freaking out!"
Sam sighed. "Yeah, well, I hadn't considered what it'd be like to have a hot saucy little sister," he said. "Thanks for that, by the way. Fucker."
Dean snickered. "Yeah, I totally got you."
* * *
They left Bobby's a few days later, upon rumors of a real wampus cat in eastern Tennessee.
As they clambered into the Impala, Sam couldn't help but notice that Dean, now fully male, didn't exactly seem content.
"What is it?" Sam asked.
Dean shook his head in reply.
After several minutes on the road, he said, "I never got to wear anything frilly."
Sam grinned. "It's not too late."
"Shut up," Dean said, but he couldn't suppress his grin. He then looked off into the distance, one corner of his mouth rising.
Sam chuckled. "Okay then."
*
Author deadbeat_nymph
Rating Soft R (language, innuendo)
Word Count 4,600
Characters Sam, Dean, Bobby (Gen)
Beta The lovely and patient wanton_erato
Feedback is greatly appreciated.
Author's Notes Written for spn_rainyday, this is a lighthearted humor piece that involves genderswap, however it is not AU. There's smutty talk, but no actual smut. It's quite different from anything I've written before; I was snuggling in bed one night and got the writing urge. It was a lot of fun for me to write, and I hope that you enjoy it.
Summary Dean has a problem. Or maybe it's Sam's problem. Or, maybe, it's not a problem at all.
Girl Dean by maichan808
Welcome to the Dollhouse
Dean ran his hands over his breasts.
"Well, at least they're perky," he said. "What do you think, C cup?"
Sam stared. "Is that really your biggest concern right now?"
"Yeah, C. D would have been better - or, shit, double D - but C's okay." He turned his head to look over his shoulder and frowned. "Hey, how's my ass? I can't tell from this angle."
"Dean, I don't-"
"Looks pretty round. Wait!" Dean said then darted towards the bathroom. He whipped open the door and, raising his much too large t-shirt to his svelte waist, pirouetted in front of the full-length mirror.
"Damn, that is one fine ass," he said. "Sammy, are you seeing this?" He lifted his head and glanced at his brother.
"Dean, I really don't think-"
"Look at it, Sam - it's like a fucking apricot!"
"I'd say cherry if I thought you still had yours," Sam replied, sneering. "But seriously, Dean-"
Dean nodded at himself in the mirror. "Yeah, cherry," he said, "totally." He reached both hands behind himself and grabbed his buttocks. "Oh, you've got to feel this, Sam."
Sam sighed. "Dean-"
"Come on, Sammy, feel my ass," Dean said, grinning. When Sam sighed again and glanced away, he continued, "What, not even one cheek? Seriously, Sam, you don't know what you're missing."
"Dean, aren't you freaking out? I mean, don't you want to fix this?"
"In a minute," Dean said.
Sam sighed. He watched Dean preen in front of the mirror. Despite the curves, Dean still looked incredibly like Dean. Smaller, sure, and softer, smoother, but the details were remarkably the same. Short, dark blonde hair, plump pout, smattering of freckles, pert nose, ridiculously long eyelashes…
"Hm. You know, body aside, you don't look that different," Sam said. When Dean turned to face him with a questioning look, he continued, "Guess you always were kind of girly."
"Oh, please, I'm as manly as it gets," Dean replied, unflappable, his delicate fingers posed on his round hip. "Anyway, enough of this shit for now. I'm hungry," he said, and bent to grab his jeans from the floor.
"Ah, Dean, I don't think your clothes are going to fit," Sam said as Dean pulled the jeans onto his feet.
"They'll be loose - no biggie," Dean replied. He fastened his belt, setting it low on his hips, then bent to roll up the pant legs. As he did, the jeans fell straight down to his knees.
"Right. Well, Sam, you got any other ideas?"
Sam slipped on his jacket. "Yeah, I'll go out and get you some clothes, then we can go for breakfast," he said.
"Fine, but hurry up - I'm starving."
Sam nodded and left the room. After a few seconds, he returned.
"Yeah, I have no idea what size you are."
Dean felt himself up again, this time with greater concentration than relish. "Four," he said.
"How can you be so sure?"
"Trust me, Sammy, I'm an expert when it comes to the female body," Dean said, leering.
Sam chuckled, shaking his head. "If you say so," he said. "Hey," he continued, "you're kinda small. Do you think you need 'petite' sizes?"
Dean bit his lip. "Maybe?"
Sam beckoned Dean towards him. "Come stand against me," he said.
Dean came forward. "Jesus, you're fucking huge! You're lucky you got those puppy dog eyes or women would run screaming from you. Well, more than they already do," he said and snorted as he neared Sam.
Sam rolled his eyes, then pulled Dean gently against his chest. Sam placed his hand on the top of his brother's head, which didn't even graze his collar bone. "God, you might be five-three, but I doubt even that."
Tilting his head as far back as it would go, Dean scrutinized Sam. "I mean, really, how did Jess deal with your freaky sasquatchness?"
Sam directed Dean towards the nearest bed. "Sit down so I can measure your feet," he said, and pushed Dean downward with little effort. Then he laughed.
"What?"
"Dude, your feet don't even touch the floor."
"Shut up."
Sam chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment. "Here," he said as he grabbed a pen and a piece of paper from the table. He got down on one knee in front of his brother, pulling him forward to bring a bare foot to the paper he'd set on the floor. As he traced its outline, he murmured, "Hm, you've got cute feet."
Realizing what he'd said, he stopped, just as Dean chortled.
"You're into feet? That's my boy!" Dean said, beaming. "I knew you were a freak."
* * *
When Sam returned from his errand, Dean greeted him with a growl.
"Where the fuck have you been? I'm dying here."
Sam set down the bags he'd brought in with him. He tossed a small paper bag at Dean, then took off his jacket and hung it over the back of a chair.
Dean peaked into the bag. "One doughnut?"
"It'll hold you until we get to a diner."
Dean shrugged and crammed the doughnut into his mouth. As he chewed, Sam began to remove items from the shopping bags, laying them out on the bed opposite Dean.
There were lambswool sweaters, all crew necks, in grays, blues and greens, one a charcoal hoodie that zipped up. Long sleeved t-shirts, crew necked as well, a dozen of them. Jeans, dark and medium washed, straight legged and boot cut, four pairs in all and none with a low rise. Socks followed, a few old fashioned wool pairs among the cotton blues and grays, all knee-length. Then came underwear, boy cut shorts and demure bikinis, camisoles, in a variety of pale colors. Plaid flannel pajamas got placed near the pillows, and Sam stopped.
"I found a nice department store downtown. They had a good selection," he offered meekly when he was met with bulging eyes.
"Jesus, Sam. Why did you get this much stuff? I mean, what if I'm back to normal tomorrow?"
"What if you're not? Besides, if you don't wear something we can return it, and if you do wear everything, we can donate it to a women's shelter or something," Sam said.
"Oh, Sammy, always such a gentleman," Dean said, smiling. "As a woman, I have to say that I'm touched by your pansy-assed college boy PC-ness."
Sam chuckled and sunk down onto the other bed. "Thanks."
Still smiling, Dean approached the wardrobe bed. He perused the selection of clothing carefully, and then said, "Hm."
"What is it?" Sam asked.
"It's just…"
"What?"
"You didn't get anything pretty."
Sam stared at his brother, silent.
"Well, I might as well try it out now that I've got the chance to do it right," Dean said.
"I just figured you'd want to be as normal as possible," Sam replied. "Besides, I kind of thought you wouldn't want to, you know, encourage any men."
Dean looked away, thoughtful.
"Of course, I'm not judging. I mean, whatever you want, or don't want, whoever you want- it's all fine. Just. You know."
Dean smiled and said nothing.
"It's just," Sam continued, "men can be jerks sometimes."
Dean snorted.
"No, I mean it, Dean. I just don't want you drawing the wrong kind of attention."
Narrowing his eyes, Dean said, "Are you saying that if a woman dresses sexy she's asking for it?"
"No! That's not what I meant! Dean! Just- Fuck, Dean, I just know you, and you've got a big mouth, and you flirt with everyone and half the time I don't think you even know you're doing it. And I just don't want some redneck thinking that you're 'asking for it', you know?" Sam gazed at Dean imploringly.
"Pig," Dean said. Then he whipped off his t-shirt and shirked his boxer briefs. Stood buck naked in front of Sam, who blushed and looked away.
"Fuck, Sam," he said, "it's not like you haven't seen me naked a thousand times."
"Yeah, but you didn't have, you know…"
"Boobies?" Dean intoned, voice pitched high.
"Fuck off," Sam replied as Dean gave into gentle laughter.
Returning to the clothes piled before him, Dean caught his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He paused, a contemplative look on his face. "Sam, do you think I should shave, or wax, anything?"
"No." Sam glanced back in Dean's direction. "I mean, it's almost winter, so leg hair shouldn't really be an issue. As for…" Sam gestured weakly.
Dean tilted his head and waited for Sam to continue.
"I mean, it's not like anyone's gonna see it. You! I mean, see you." Sam brought a hand up to squeeze his temples, but still managed to catch sight of Dean as he ran his fingers through his pubic hair.
"Jesus, Dean! Didn't you have, like, three hours to do that shit while I was gone?"
"Well, yeah, but I went back to bed when you left and never made it out till you got back. Seriously, man, you can go forever with a clit."
"Thanks, Dean."
"Just sayin'."
Sam watched in mild surprise as Dean reached for the dainty pink camisole and panty set first. Of course, he'd said he wanted pretty, but his cheerful acceptance of the whole thing still seemed odd.
"No bra, huh Sammy?"
Sam opened his mouth to explain that bra sizes were tricky, but Dean cut him off with, "Hey, it's no problem for me. I mean, why restrain tits like these?"
"I think you mean 'constrain'."
Dean grinned. "No I don't," he said, pulling on a gunmetal gray t-shirt. He selected the medium wash, boot cut jeans, some denim colored socks, and a celery green sweater, then dressed quickly. Checking himself out in the mirror, he smiled. He turned towards Sam and wiggled his toes pointedly.
Sam snapped to attention. "Right," he said, and went to the remaining bags. Opening one, he retrieved a shoebox.
"Converse?" Dean said. "Jeez, you really do want me to look like a boy."
"They're girl Converse," Sam said softly, eyes rounding. He handed the box to Dean, who shrugged and sat on the bed. When he opened the box, Dean smiled, and Sam sighed in relief.
Slipping on the soft blue plaid sneakers, Dean said somberly, "I guess they'll do."
Sam shook his head but smiled.
"What next?"
Sam pulled a muted blue, tailored leather motor jacket and proffered it to Dean. At Dean's "Dammit, Sammy, that's sweet," Sam beamed. Once Dean had slipped it on, Sam came up to stand behind him, watching him in the mirror and smiling in satisfaction.
Dean tensed suddenly, eyes narrowing. "Oh my god," he said, "are you playing Barbies with me?"
"No!" Sam cried, aggrieved, then cringed.
"You are so fucking gay."
"Well at least I still have my penis," Sam replied, smirking.
"Yeah, that you use for all of your gayery." At Sam's grimace, Dean continued, "Well, maybe not… I mean, maybe it's just because I'm fucking hot like this."
Sam offered Dean a conciliatory smile. "I guess you are kind of pretty…"
Dean continued to gaze at his reflection. "Pretty? Fuck that! I'm smoking!"
Sam rolled his eyes. "Almost done," he said, then reached over for another shopping bag. From it he pulled out a scarf, some mittens, and a hat, all pale gray angora.
"Fuck, Sam, how much money did you spend on this shit?" Dean said, scrunching up his adorable little face.
"Actually, not as much as I was expecting…" Sam said.
"What does that mean?"
"When she rang it all up, I thought it'd be more."
"Uh-huh," Dean said, wrapping the scarf around his neck. He put on the mittens, but paused at the hat while contemplating his hair.
"About, um, eight hundred dollars," Sam mumbled.
Dean checked himself out in the mirror again.
"I guess it's worth it."
* * *
The ride to the diner was comfortably silent. Dean had suggested Sam drive, but whether that was because of some idiot notion about women drivers or out of a desire to gaze at himself without interruption, Sam wasn't sure.
As they turned into the diner's parking lot, Dean exclaimed abruptly, "Shit! Do you know what this means?"
"What, Dean?"
"I can fuck chicks like this!"
Sam laughed. "You could fuck chicks before, if I recall."
Dean rolled his eyes. "Are you a total moron? I can do girl on girl!" Dean beamed like Sam had never seen before in their entire lives. "I guess it's good that you got all boyish stuff, then. Now I can just be a cute dyke."
"Dean, they don't call themselves dykes," Sam said, annoyed.
"Yes they do," Dean said, looking at his brother with contempt, then returned to scrutinizing himself in the side view mirror. "I have to say, Girl Me looks fantastic with really short hair. Must be because my face is so awesome."
Sam rolled his eyes. "Must be," he said, pulling into a parking space. "Plus, it gives you that 'cute dyke' vibe you're after," he deadpanned.
"Totally," Dean said, smiling into the mirror and practicing his come hither stare.
As they exited the car and made their way toward the entrance, Sam noticed men looking at Dean. Passing truckers and shiftless youths, staring at his brother. Sister. Brother.
"Come on," he said, slinging an arm around Dean's waist and glowering at the men who dared lay their gaze on Dean. When they reached the door, he swept it open and ushered Dean inside. He took Dean's hand and led him to a booth in the back.
A waitress approached their table right away. Filling the cups with coffee, she said, "How are ya'll doin' today?"
"Great, thanks," Dean said, grinning.
The waitress returned his smile and said, "It's great to see such a happy young couple in here. Mostly we get truckers."
"Oh, no, no," Sam fumbled. "She's my sister."
The waitress looked at them in confusion, frowning slightly. "Oh," she said.
Sam blushed. He looked down at his lap and didn't lift his eyes until the waitress had taken their order and moved on to another table.
Dean had a pensive look on his face. "Wait a minute. If we don't pass for brother and sister, do you think that's why everyone thinks we're gay? When we're brother and brother, I mean?"
Sam paused to consider. He met Dean's gaze, and when the possibilities of that question sunk in, they both glanced away.
When their order arrived, Dean sunk into his bacon double cheeseburger with great zeal. He finished the burger at his regular pace, devoured his fries, and beseeched the aloof waitress to bring him some pie.
"Well, at least you haven't lost your appetite," Sam said, eyeing Dean and smiling gently.
Dean smiled back. A chunk of crust dropped from Dean's pie and landed on his breasts. "It's like a fucking crumb shelf," Dean said, annoyed. After a moment of consideration, he shrugged, then picked up the fallen morsel and popped it into his mouth.
"Dean!"
"What?"
* * *
"Sammy, who knows how long I'll have this body? I can't waste a single night at a redneck bar."
When Dean had suggested the bar on East College Street, Sam had agreed to it with little convincing. A college bar sounded like the best bet in Iowa City. He figured it would be nice to be around students again, but more importantly, it seemed a good idea to keep Dean and his cute little body away from bikers, truckers and yokels. However, when they arrived, Sam felt out of place among the entirely female clientele.
Dean answered Sam's frown with, "The review I read on the internet said that it's the only place in town where you can fist a girl in the bathroom and get away with it."
Sam groaned. After a beat, he said, "So, wait- you're a cute lesbian, fine," as they made their way through the small club. "But what am I? I can't be your boyfriend, obviously, and apparently we don't pass for brother and sister."
"Duh, Sam," Dean said. "You can just be my straight-boy friend. Why do you have to make everything so complicated? Sheesh."
"I don't want people to think I'm, you know… a dyke dog."
Dean sputtered. He choked on his laughter until tears streamed past his chin to his sweater. He looked at Sam, opened his mouth to speak, then burst into a fit of howls all over again.
"It's like a fag hag, but reversed. You know, a guy that follows lesbians around like a dog." Sam's face was nearly burgundy.
"Don't worry, Sammy," Dean said, catching his breath. "I won't let the big bad bulldykes beat your ass." Dean's eyes went round with excitement. " 'Sides, they'll be too busy staring at my ass to think about kicking yours." He winked.
"I am so going to beat you stupid the second you turn back."
"It's a good thing I’m not wearing mascara or I'd have to beat you stupid right now."
They got some beers at the bar, then found a table. Sam had to laugh at the image of Dean glancing around the room in search of prey. Dean looked like, well, like Dean in a bar full of lesbians. When he left the table, following after some femme redhead, Sam tried not to think about it. Tried not to look at them, or at anyone else for that matter. The atmosphere was friendly enough, but Sam didn't want to push his luck.
When Dean returned from wherever he'd disappeared to, the smile splitting his face nearly blinded Sam. "Mission accomplished," he said.
"So, how was it?"
"Wanna taste?" Dean asked, then pouted his lips, mouth open, at his brother.
Sam cringed. "Dean, that's disgusting."
Dean shrugged and took a sip of Sam's beer.
Sam shuddered. After ordering a new beer, he said, "So, are you ready to turn back into a guy now?"
Dean lifted his feet, now housed in the sleek black combat boots Sam had so carefully chosen, and set them on the chair across from him. "Whatever."
Later that night, back at the motel, Sam woke to a rustling sound. A small weight seeped into the bed.
"Dean?" He rolled over, rubbing his eyes. "What're you doin'?"
"I just wanna snuhhhggle," Dean said through a yawn.
"Are you kidding me?" Sam tittered.
"Must be the hormones."
As Dean settled beside him, small face hot on his chest, Sam chuckled gently. "Must be," he said, his smile unseen in the dark.
* * *
They left early the next morning for Sioux County. Dean did want to drive this time, and Sam enjoyed watching him labor over advancing the seat, tilting the steering column, and adjusting the rear and side view mirrors. After he'd finally settled into the driver's seat, they were off.
Despite the crisp November air, the sun was bright, and Dean kept his window down for most of the way. He hummed along to the Joni Mitchell tape, mittened fingers tapping the rhythm against the wheel, and appeared not to hear Sam's "Where did you even get that?"
After a few songs, he said, "You know, Blue's a classic album. And Zeppelin wrote a song about her."
"Oh, really? Which one?" Sam said, all exaggerated inquiry.
"'Going to California'," Dean said. "It's on Zeppelin Four."
"Oh."
They stopped on the outskirts of Beresford for lunch. The parking lot of Truck Towne Plaza was filled with big rigs and pickups. Sam sighed, but figured that, with his arm around Dean's waist, and in the middle of the day, harassment shouldn't be a problem.
He was wrong. Halfway to the entrance, as he passed on Dean's side, a grisly bear of a man muttered, "Pussy."
Without so much as a glance, Dean smiled and said, "You know it."
Sam, however, couldn't let that pass. He stopped, let go of Dean, and, stepping up to the man, said, "What was that?"
The man grinned. "Nice piece of ass you got yourself there," he said. As Sam stepped closer, he continued, "Relax, kid, it was just a compliment."
Sam smiled, then plowed through the man's face with his fist.
As the man lay coughing on the asphalt, Sam spat, "Don't even think about looking at her again." He stepped back, looked around them at the small crowd that had formed. "That goes for all of you."
He grabbed Dean's arm, ignoring his snickers, and led him into the diner. They ate quickly and were back on the I-29 in twenty minutes.
* * *
"Sam." Bobby greeted them at the door with a guarded look. "Who's yer friend?"
Sam scratched his head. "Um, Bobby…" he began.
Bobby's brow furrowed. "Dean?"
"Trick or treat," Dean said, winking, and bounced inside.
Sam followed, and Bobby closed the door behind them. Dean sank into an overstuffed chair while Sam hovered near the entryway.
"What in sam hell happened?" Bobby glanced from one brother to the other.
"We don't know," Sam said. "That's why we're here."
Bobby gestured at him, harassed. "Well, come in and let's figure it out."
Once they were all seated in the kitchen, shots of whiskey in hand, Bobby said, "So, what've you got so far?"
Sam eyed Dean across the table. "Why don't you tell him what we've been up to, Dean?"
Dean shrugged. "Sam wanted to play dress up and then we got me laid," he said, then took his shot.
"Dean!" Sam yelled as Bobby scrutinized them scornfully.
"What? That's what happened," Dean said around the lip of his glass. "Anyway, then we came here."
Bobby sighed. "Okay, then, why doncha start at the beginning."
"There's not much to say. Yesterday morning, Dean woke up like that."
"What were you hunting?" Bobby asked.
"Nothing. We'd done a basic salt and burn a few days before, but that's it," Sam said.
"It's probably a hex of some kind, spell or a curse," Bobby said. "You piss off anyone in particular lately?"
"What are you talking about? I'm a joy-"
"Yeah, yeah," Bobby said. "We know. But seriously, Dean, you pick up any women lately that you maybe put back down too fast?"
Dean pursed his lips and glanced heavenward. "Yeah," he said. "That's not a list we can really investigate with, um, due diligence." He dropped his gaze to the ground, clucking his tongue.
After a moment, Sam said, "Hey, Bobby, you think it might be a trickster?"
"Unlikely. We killed that one in Springfield. And I've never heard of another hunter meeting one. Two in two years? I doubt it." Bobby scrunched up his face. "Plus, why would it go after you? They tend to stay in one place, get to know a community. Unless you were," he coughed, "behaving in an ungentlemanly manner around one."
"What are you talking about? I'm a perfect gentleman."
Sam and Bobby shared a smile of amusement.
Dean rolled his eyes. "Okay, fine - keep trickster on the list," he said.
"In any case, it's most likely a spell," Bobby said, rising from his chair. "Come on."
They moved to Bobby's den to research metamorphosis spells and ways to undo spells cast by others, working in silence for almost an hour.
Once he'd finished examining a large manual, Dean stood and stretched his legs. He moved toward the giant bookcase behind Bobby's desk and, stepping up on his toes and lifting a leg for balance, he reached up to grab a book off the top shelf.
Sam caught Bobby's gaze roving over Dean's ass. He coughed.
"Shit, sorry," Bobby said softly, blushing.
Dean looked over his shoulder, perplexed. "What is it?"
This time it was Bobby who coughed. "Nothing, it's nothing," he mumbled, looking back at Sam.
Sam chuckled. "It's okay," he said. "This time."
Book in hand and back on both feet, Dean said, "What? What's going on?"
Bobby and Sam replied, "Nothing."
* * *
Another hour passed in deep silence, each man attending to his own research.
Dean lifted his head suddenly and scrutinized Sam. "Oh my god," he said.
Bobby glanced over and asked, "You got sumthin'?" as Sam looked up from his book and said, "What?"
"Oh my God," Dean bit out. He kept his gaze locked on Sam. "You did this."
When Sam responded only with a questioning look, Dean said, "Fuck! You did, didn't you?"
"Sam?" Bobby asked.
Sam's face caved in on itself as he exploded into laughter, tremors racking his entire body.
"Fucker!"
"Jesus, Sam," Bobby said.
Sam continued to cackle like a crazed maniac. Every time he caught his breath, he burst into riotous laughter again and again.
"Why the fuck would you do this, you fucking shit?"
Sam held himself still long enough to say, "Who's the girl now, asshole?"
"Oh, fuck you! I am so gonna cut you, bitch!"
"Oh, man, if you could just see your face right now, your cute, little, pixie face," Sam said, wiping away the tears from his cheeks.
"What if you can't break the spell?" Dean demanded. "What if I stay this way?"
"Well, it hardly seems like an issue now, Mister Cute Dyke." Sam's laughter subsided finally. "Oh, relax, I can end it whenever I want."
"How long were you planning on leaving me this way, fuckhead?"
"Till you got your period," Sam replied, bursting into a new fit of snickers.
At that, Bobby joined in with his own low chuckle.
Dean tried to maintain his righteousness but failed, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. "I'm still gonna kill you," he said.
After a long pause, he added, "You know, come to think of it, I already did kinda get my revenge, didn't I?"
Sam raised his eyebrows.
"Well, I was fine, but you were totally freaking out!"
Sam sighed. "Yeah, well, I hadn't considered what it'd be like to have a hot saucy little sister," he said. "Thanks for that, by the way. Fucker."
Dean snickered. "Yeah, I totally got you."
* * *
They left Bobby's a few days later, upon rumors of a real wampus cat in eastern Tennessee.
As they clambered into the Impala, Sam couldn't help but notice that Dean, now fully male, didn't exactly seem content.
"What is it?" Sam asked.
Dean shook his head in reply.
After several minutes on the road, he said, "I never got to wear anything frilly."
Sam grinned. "It's not too late."
"Shut up," Dean said, but he couldn't suppress his grin. He then looked off into the distance, one corner of his mouth rising.
Sam chuckled. "Okay then."
*