A mari usque ad mare - Part 2 (3/14)
A mari usque ad mare - Part 2 (3/14)
665/28,777 of R rated Gen(with an edge of subtext) crack!fic in which Dean revisits his past in unexpected ways. (Gender!swap for fun and almost no profit at all)
Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Epilogue
Part 2
Zero-level
Beds were good. Beds were great. Big beds with friendly occupants were awesome.
Dean rolled off his stomach and squinted at the retro alarm clock, thank goodness at least the time was in large numbers. Midnight, wasn’t that a cliché? Damned moonlight always waking him up. He turned over, wriggling in the unfamiliar bed and tugged the blankets closer around … Oops. God, he really must have had too much beer last night. But he was awake now, so - hey. He nestled a little closer to his companion and teasingly trailed a polished pink fingernail down the spine of the … What the?
Dean crashed backwards out of that bed faster than he’d ever moved on any hunt.
A low, muffled, and definitely masculine, ‘Wha?’ came from under the covers.
‘No, no, no.’ Dean backed against the wall swearing and praying to all the gods he didn’t believe in. He hadn’t just? Surely even he hadn’t gotten this drunk? While they were working a case? Sammy was going to kill him when he found out about this. Scratch that. There was no way in hell he was telling his brother about this night after. Ever.
Hang on. Why are my nails …? Dean didn’t close his eyes for a minute. No, he really didn’t. When he opened them again and looked down it shouldn’t have been such a shock. After all he was a hunter, a Winchester, and they’d dealt with some seriously fucked up stuff in their time, but … a woman?
He ignored the louder waking-up groans - guess he wasn’t the only one with a hangover - coming from the bed and gingerly raised both hands. Please let this just be some sort of glamour. Someone’s stupid, GODDAMN SICK, magical prank. Someone else’s boobs he was cupping in his hands. Now Dean might not have embraced higher education (apart from poker), but when he knew something he knew it to death. He’d majored in hunting, machinery - especially cars, and women. And these were real. Someone, something had turned him into a girl.
‘Shit.’ Dean wished he could remember the night before. Although, obviously, not all of it.
Without thinking about it he was out of the room - away from that bed and whoever the hell that was - through the thankfully open fourth door along the corridor and locking himself in the safety of the old-fashioned bathroom.
Something inside his head said ‘Big mistake. Tiny window. Only one exit. Get downstairs and out of this guy’s house now!’ Dean told the voice to taking a running leap into the nearest sewer.
Sticking his head under the tap seemed like the practical thing to do. Shock was doing weird things to his normally finely honed reactions. That didn’t work, and neither did the gallon of water he drank next. He could feel his long wet hair soaking right through to his spine under the flimsy nightgown he wore, and that was just wrong.
‘Drugs. Man’s got to have some drugs, somewhere.’ Dean cursed the darkness in his sanctuary as he rummaged through the cabinet over the sink. All he needed was some freakin’ light. He nudged the mirrored door shut with his free hand and blindly reached out to pull the cord of the light beside the washstand. Squinting in the brightness he held his collection up in front of him to get a clearer look at the labels. Wish my head didn’t feel like the inside of a washing …
Bottles shattered with obvious glee on the floor as a series of curses broke out. As Dean clutched the sides of the mirror in mute desperation all he could hear was that damn voice in his head cheerfully repeating ‘Dean Winchester isn’t in right now. Please leave a message after the beep.’
‘Holy shit.’ He hadn’t just felt his mother up, had he?
Dean huddled around the welcome coldness of the toilet and threw up. Forever.
♒
Part 3
665/28,777 of R rated Gen(with an edge of subtext) crack!fic in which Dean revisits his past in unexpected ways. (Gender!swap for fun and almost no profit at all)
Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Epilogue
Part 2
Zero-level
Beds were good. Beds were great. Big beds with friendly occupants were awesome.
Dean rolled off his stomach and squinted at the retro alarm clock, thank goodness at least the time was in large numbers. Midnight, wasn’t that a cliché? Damned moonlight always waking him up. He turned over, wriggling in the unfamiliar bed and tugged the blankets closer around … Oops. God, he really must have had too much beer last night. But he was awake now, so - hey. He nestled a little closer to his companion and teasingly trailed a polished pink fingernail down the spine of the … What the?
Dean crashed backwards out of that bed faster than he’d ever moved on any hunt.
A low, muffled, and definitely masculine, ‘Wha?’ came from under the covers.
‘No, no, no.’ Dean backed against the wall swearing and praying to all the gods he didn’t believe in. He hadn’t just? Surely even he hadn’t gotten this drunk? While they were working a case? Sammy was going to kill him when he found out about this. Scratch that. There was no way in hell he was telling his brother about this night after. Ever.
Hang on. Why are my nails …? Dean didn’t close his eyes for a minute. No, he really didn’t. When he opened them again and looked down it shouldn’t have been such a shock. After all he was a hunter, a Winchester, and they’d dealt with some seriously fucked up stuff in their time, but … a woman?
He ignored the louder waking-up groans - guess he wasn’t the only one with a hangover - coming from the bed and gingerly raised both hands. Please let this just be some sort of glamour. Someone’s stupid, GODDAMN SICK, magical prank. Someone else’s boobs he was cupping in his hands. Now Dean might not have embraced higher education (apart from poker), but when he knew something he knew it to death. He’d majored in hunting, machinery - especially cars, and women. And these were real. Someone, something had turned him into a girl.
‘Shit.’ Dean wished he could remember the night before. Although, obviously, not all of it.
Without thinking about it he was out of the room - away from that bed and whoever the hell that was - through the thankfully open fourth door along the corridor and locking himself in the safety of the old-fashioned bathroom.
Something inside his head said ‘Big mistake. Tiny window. Only one exit. Get downstairs and out of this guy’s house now!’ Dean told the voice to taking a running leap into the nearest sewer.
Sticking his head under the tap seemed like the practical thing to do. Shock was doing weird things to his normally finely honed reactions. That didn’t work, and neither did the gallon of water he drank next. He could feel his long wet hair soaking right through to his spine under the flimsy nightgown he wore, and that was just wrong.
‘Drugs. Man’s got to have some drugs, somewhere.’ Dean cursed the darkness in his sanctuary as he rummaged through the cabinet over the sink. All he needed was some freakin’ light. He nudged the mirrored door shut with his free hand and blindly reached out to pull the cord of the light beside the washstand. Squinting in the brightness he held his collection up in front of him to get a clearer look at the labels. Wish my head didn’t feel like the inside of a washing …
Bottles shattered with obvious glee on the floor as a series of curses broke out. As Dean clutched the sides of the mirror in mute desperation all he could hear was that damn voice in his head cheerfully repeating ‘Dean Winchester isn’t in right now. Please leave a message after the beep.’
‘Holy shit.’ He hadn’t just felt his mother up, had he?
Dean huddled around the welcome coldness of the toilet and threw up. Forever.
♒
Part 3