AN: God, I am such a fan of writing stories and OC's that no one understands. Quick rundown. I (Yes I, I'm not above an author insert) am married to Dr. Spencer Reid. My twin, Macaylah is married to Dean Winchester. They are Hunters. We are profilers. And Gus and Shawn are just visiting.
To twin: sorry that the kids aren't in this. I didn't want to confuse people EVEN MORE.
End Authors Note.

"I will punch you if you keep singing that fucking song." Dean snapped at me, referencing my constant singing of the Rent opening song, aptly titled…Rent.

"Bite me Winchester." I said sweetly. 'We're not gonna pay, we're not gonna pay…"

"Twin!" Macaylah fairly screamed at me. "Seriously knock it off!" she looked around for a heavy object, presumably to shut me up.

"But Twin, I am annoying your husband. Sam isn't here and if I can't fuck with him, I need to mess with someone and that someone is your husband."

Dean glared at me, clearly wishing for the Colt, the knife, hell, a rock. Mission accomplished.

"Maybe you could sing something else?" Spencer piped up from his little corner, not looking up from his book.

"Maybe you could not encourage her bullshit." Dean hissed at the armchair, not looking Spencer in the eyes.

"Maybe…ok I got nothing." Shawn Spencer, the 'psychic' 'detective' piped up, kicking open the front door to make his startling observation. Gus, aka Sonny Bono, aka Burton Guster aka Shawn's sidekick, in Psych only for the black guy humor, followed close behind, fumbling with something.

"Awwwwh, come on, why do you hate me god?" Dean groaned, banging his head on the coffee table, loudly and annoyingly.

"I do not hate you." Castiel the Angel proclaimed, fluttering in on his special angel-god powers. "I am merely amused by this."

Shawn held up his hands dramatically. "Shush! I have….a psychic announcement."

"By that he means he stole my thunder."

"Shush my dear Gus. My announcement is… we have a time machine! Well Lassie had the time machine, we borrowed it! Gus, press the button."

"No Shawn. You press the button."

"No button pressing!" Spence shrieked, pouncing on the small gadget in Gus' hands.

A flash of light reserved only for cheesy 80's movies involving time travel…well, flashed. It was blinding, to say the very least.

Opening my eyes, I realized I felt well…very very cold. More cold than should be possible. And I definetly wasn't in my house. There was brick and posters from CBGB's everyfrickingwhere.

And…I looked down and screamed. No, not screamed. Shrieked. Screeched. There isn't a WORD to describe what the fuck I did at that moment. Teal spandex…leggings, with a fishnet covering over my stomach. A silver cutoff sports bra. Latex bolero jacket. Tan boots with the tallest stilettos known to man. And my hair.

I grabbed at my hair. Gone was the ink black shaggy bob I'd come to adore. Instead, black curls reaching mid-back.

Feeling faint, I looked around, trying to find my friends. And more importantly my husband.

"Oh dear sweet LORD."

Well, that didn't take long.

Spencer stood, and I managed to not do the screamy thing again. Purple plaid skinny pants. A green fleece sweater. Doc Martens. And weirdest of all…guyliner.

"Spencer! Baby!"

"OH MY GOD KODY" he screamed, pointing at the damn. Spandex.

"I know! I know! I look like…god I look awful!" still, at the back of my mind was a twinge, a nagging something…

"I. Am in lesbian couture." A gruff gravvelly voice said calmly behind us. Whirling, we saw…it. Dean. In tan capri's and what can best be described as a patchwork gray vest.

"Dean! You look…great!" Spencer exclaimed, stifling his snickers.

"Just shut up, Spencer." Twin hissed from beside her hubby. Twin was wearing Black pants and a shirt that appeared to have been doused in glitter. Her normally straight hair had been curled into loose waves.

"Not a bad look twin." I said mildly.

"Not a BAD LOOK" came a voice from a corner of what I guessed was supposed to be a loft. We all whirled. Again.

And laughed.

Gus was in a santa outfit. Not just any santa outfit. A santa outfit clearly meant for women. A black bob wig perched on his head. Shawn, standing next to him was dressed in what I would describe as rough, anarchist wear, glasses, orange vest, denim blue work shirt, white cap, with a trenchcoat, one arm torn off.

And behind them both, Sam, Dean's baby brother, in nerdy type glasses, tan pants and a red-and-blue sweater.

Again, that familiar niggling.

"Sam, looking…normal." Shawn said cheerfully, smoothing his coat.

"Yeah…" Sam said, eyeing my ensemble.

"RENT!" I screamed, catching onto that niggling thought.

"DAMN YOU!" Dean yelled back, trying to grab me. "Stop SINGING!"

"I'm not, Dean! We are IN Rent! Something messed up!" I pointed at Gus's outfit. 'He's Angel! Shawn is Collins-"

"Excuse me? I am NOT getting gay with Shawn!"

"GUS SHUT UP! I'm Mimi, Spencer is Roger, You're Joanne, Twin is Maureen and Sam is Mark. Though I can't find a Benny.."

Silence as everyone stared at me.

"So. Why are you Mimi and why is your nerdy ass husband ROGER." Gus finally spat out.

"I am not sure. Love the costume ANGEL, gonna get all Today For You on us?"

"I'm going to go write a song then." Spence announced, walking cheerfully to an acoustic guitar.

But before he can pick up the instrument and charm me while killing everyone else with awful strumming, the door flies open.

Morgan. Derek Morgan. In some fabulous clothes, eyebrows all expressive.

Benny, I presume.