One month later, the agony began again. Dean could feel the dull twisting pangs in his lower abdomen begin. It was starting. Again. It had only been three weeks since the last one! He hadn't been sure, hadn't wanted to believe that it could happen again so soon, even when yesterday he had woken up as a woman once again.

What sort of sadistic person made a potion that only turned someone into a woman one week of the month? And what sort of sick person put that potion into a perfectly innocent looking bottle of Jack Daniels?

"It's starting again, Sammy. We're pulling over at the next town." Dean said, eyes grimly concentrated on the road in front of him, trying to ignore the aching in his knees, the aching in his breasts, even the aching in his back.

Sam didn't say a word. He had learned the hard way that it was safest to say as little as possible and bring as little attention to yourself when there was a wrathful, PMSing Dean next to you. He supposed there was some good in the situation; it was perfect training if he ever did settle down and get married. Though the appeal of women was rapidly declining in his eyes, as he spent more and more time in the company of one beautiful, petite, swearing, womanizing gender-flipped brother of his.

Soon, heading down Highway 76, Dean bitching over the loopy rollarcoster roads (they didn't call the Missouri hills the Ozark Mountains for nothing) they saw the sign for Branson. It was a real relief to Sam. He hadn't been sure this highway would ever lead to a town of a decent enough size to have a motel. A slight smile even began to touch his face as stores and businesses, billboards, began to once again pop up on the roadside in their side.

A slight smile, a slight hint of optimism, that was swiftly and brutally killed when they hit the Strip. Instant traffic stop. They crawled along at a pace slower than walking, trapped in the Impala with only cheap tourist traps and, outside of a theatre advertising a country music show (this SO wasn't Dean's kind of place) a dancing Elvis impersonator. He was very obnoxiously close to the Impala, waving his sign back and forth and shaking his booty. As the intensity of Dean's swears increased to near maximum level, Sam could only pray that a hotel would appear soon and be grateful, for the Elvis's own sake, that Dean was the one driving, so there was no risk of him rolling down the window and punching the guy.

Of course, at this rate of movement, Dean could very well get out of the car and go over and beat the guy down without so much as getting a honk of protest from the other drivers.

Soon, though it seemed like hours to Sam, a two-story blue motel appeared in their sights, ensuring that "Cute PMSing Woman Beats Elvis to Death" wasn't a headline that would be appearing in the local papers any time. . Sam pulled in. He wouldn't have cared if it was the ritziest hotel in the area, or the skankiest, most flea-ridden dump in the state. It turned out to be the sort of establishment they usually frequented, cheap but not disgusting.

He let Dean stay in the car while he did the checking in. Soon enough, they were in their room. Another prison for Sam, trapped with a wrathful, bitchy Dean, who immediately flopped down on the nearest bed and commandeered the remote.

"Go get beer."

Sam did so, thanking the obstinate 76 traffic that would make a beer-and-snacks run take hours.

Dean rolled around on the cheap motel bed, twisting and writhing, trying to contort his changed body into some position that would alleviate the pain, that wouldn't make him grit his teeth to keep from cursing God and every man on Earth.

No Midol was touching this sucker, not this time. He'd taken a double dose for good measure. He wasn't sure it had even dulled the pain at all.

Sam could only watch on with worried eyes. None of his girlfriends had ever had particularly bad cramps, except Ruby's, which apparently had been even worse than Dean's were, being what had necessitated her slide into witchcraft in the first place. (If you thought Midol and Aleve were ineffective against cramps, try having nothing but willow bark tea and guano).

Sam was refusing his request to go and find some OxyContin..

"It's called hillbilly heroin, after all, and they have everything else hillbilly here."

"You shouldn't use any more painkillers, Dean. The way the spell operates, Garth thinks it increases the intensity of the pain in proportion to any chemicals, herbs, or even alcohol you use to get through it.

"Damn it Sam, find me a way through this!"

"Why are you rolling around so much? How does that help?" Sam asked.

"It's better than sitting around doing nothing!"

Sam, stung at those words, silently headed out the door.

The parking lot was sunny, and full of families and old peope heading off to various tourist traps, or coming in from them. Nonetheless, they were in the Bible Belt. Sam felt he could get away with praying in a parking lot, despite all the company.

Getting on his knees, he rested his forehead against the Impala and adopted a submissive, humble expression. Hands clasped together, he began.

"Dear Castiel... it's me, Sam. I'm at my wits end. Dean is in a lot of pain. Please help."

Castiel did not barely heard the soft rustle of wings before he felt the hand on his shoulder. He looked up.

Cas was there, trenchcoat, determined expression, and Dean on his mind. Nothing new there.

"Where is he?"

Sam pointed to the motel room that currently sequestered his brother. Castiel headed that way. Sam wasn't sure if he should follow... he really did not want to follow. Surely the buck had been successfully passed here? Sam clambered into the Impala, deciding country music couldn't really be that bad at all, and headed out to see Branson's delights. He'd get Dean a T-shirt to make up for it.

Inside the motel room, Castiel looked down on Dean, who had given up trying to find any alleviating position, and was instead simply lying back drinking a beer, and saying some very naughty and pessimistic things about God and everything else in the universe.

"Dean." Castiel said, getting his attention.

He looked up.

It was funny, but Dean didn't really look all that different as a woman. Maybe it was because Castiel could see more than simply the meat shell that humans did, or maybe it was just because Dean would always look like Dean to him, no matter what body he was in. Whether smiling or pained, relieved or angry, each look was unmistakeably Dean's. He could have recognized Dean as a cat. As it was, Dean's hair was still short and spiky, he still wore men's jeans and a plain white t-shirt (which very much showed that Dean hadn't adopted a bra, that most feminine of clothing articles. Dean made a rather voluptuous lady.) His eyes were slightly larger and his jaw softer.

But although he was probably over half a foot shorter than usual, that was one difference that Castiel did not note. All humans seemed so impossibly tiny to him.

"Can you help me, Cas?" Dean asked him. His voice was soft, higher-pitched than usual but Castiel knew him well enough to hear the husk of pain in it.

"I couldn't not help you." Castiel answered honestly.

He reached out his hand for Dean, and reached for that power which seemed to feel so different these days, and poured that power into Dean. He could feel the wrongness of the spell over Dean, the negative and twisted intent over it, designed to give men only the experience of the most painful parts of being female. He did not think Dean would be pleased to hear that he could have gotten pregnant as well.

And still the spell resisted. He was not as strong as he had been before. Still, he loathed this spell. It offended him just to see it in action. Finally, it was destroyed.

And when it went down, he did as well.

"Cas? CAS!" Dean grabbed for him, pulling him up and rolling him onto his back on the bed next to him.

Cas felt so tired he could barely manage to open his eyes to look up at Dean. He did, briefly, relieved to see that Dean was back to his normal form.

"I'm fine Dean. That just... took a lot out of me." he said.

Dean, cheerful once again now that he was pain-free and in his regular, lady-killing bod, grinned and gave him a hearty slap on the back, the intensity of it matching his gratitude to Cas. It of course, knocked the wind out of the exhausted angel.

"Thanks... Dean." he gasped out.

"Hey... you know Sam's gonna be so scared he'll be out there for hours." Dean said, grinning.

He put his arm around Castiel's shoulders.

"What a shame. Now that I won't get to try out your female form." Castiel said, wryly.

Dean instantly lost his grin. "Hey, that's not funny. Do you know how much of a pain in the ass a female body is?"

[A/N] liked? loved? loathed? review!