Nicholas: Part one of two. An apology to Becki because I was a bitchy person for a while there. Anyway, this is my first fic in this fandom. AMAZING!!! GOtta love it. This takes place sometime in season one and it's slightly AU.

Disclaimer: It's Becki's fault. Don't sue me. I just love the series.

Rating: M...language...twisted-ness...future wincest...future sex...maybe slash, but fo sho het.

I had no idea why we were there. Sam claimed that it was necessary as far as the car problem goes, but I knew that whatever could be wrong with the Impala, I could fix it. What the hell could a bunch of gypsies do that I wasn't able to? Of course, I went along with Sam's antics for his sake, even though these people scared all living hell out of me. Especially that lady sitting at a table on the edge of camp; she kept looking at me weird. I wanted out of here, this eerie place. These people lived on the edge of natural and supernatural. There are too many things chilling my spine with the breeze and the quiet moans of what may be and what shouldn't exist. Fuck this, I needed out.

Sam knew it. That's why he put his hand on my knee like that. It's slightly embarrassing, but hey, he cares. Still…I shoved him away and continued to glare angrily at the rundown, harshly taken care of caravan in front of me. "Calm down," he muttered, "They're almost done."

"Yeah, with something completely unnecessary. Man, I can't stand the thought of them messing with my car."

"Dude, let it go."

Hah, nice try. "It's killing me!"

His hand knocked against my skull to shut me up and I let it go. I knew that his intentions were good but…my car! "It's okay. They won't do anything horrible. All they're doing is getting rid of the curse that you instigated."

"Don't you dare blame me for this." I scratched a stubborn itch on the back of my head and continued to sneer at the ground as if it were the dirt's fault. "I'm not the one who decided to go poking around everywhere and Denmark in the first place, so don't give me your shit."

"You," called a soft, low-pitched voice. For a woman, she sure had a strange tone. I looked up to see that odd lady at the edge of the camp with her hand raised towards me. "Come here." No way, nu-uh. If there was one thing that I learned from Dad, it was "don't go near the creepy lady that everyone else is avoiding and who flat out tells you to go near her."

After a moment of defiant staring, I felt Sam elbow me in the side just sharply enough to make me mad. I reached up to smack him, but he grabbed my wrist and pushed it away. This was just horribly infuriating and…that damn breeze was making me shiver again! "Knock it off!" I snapped. That smirk on his face was having a field day on my temper. "Don't you even try to tell me to go over there."

"Go over there and see what she wants."

"You go and see. I'll be fine here not having my brain molested by a psychic with tarot cards."

"You'd rather be bugged by your car being molested then?"

I raised my eyes to be level with his and tried to eject beams of how much disdain was bubbling up to my throat. I needed sleep like three weeks ago and this damper on my mood couldn't possibly do more to piss me off. "Really? Go over to the creepy old lady so that she can tell I'm going to die a horrible, fucking, death with a chain around my neck and hot, burning embers shoved up my ass."

"Shut up, jerk."

"Bitch."

He shoved me with what felt like all of his strength until I actually fell off the metal chair into the dirt. For the first time in a long time, I didn't want to fight him about it. I was too tired…and there was this rock in my shoe. I wanted it out, but there was no way I was getting tetanus by taking my shoes of out here. "Fine, but you owe me."

The creepy woman beckoned me forward again and I pushed myself up with this eerie sense that I wasn't doing it myself. With a few short steps—a lot less than it seemed like it would take—I was right in front of the table, staring into dull gray eyes of an old, haggard woman. "Sit," she demanded softly. I found myself falling into a wicker chair that I didn't know was there until I hit it.

"What are you doing to me?" I knew something was up before I actually registered it. In this line of work, strange sensations are never ignored.

"I'm not doing an'thing. You want t'be 'ere, but you won't tell y'self that."

That creepy little voice…I realized that this wasn't air that chilled me like this. That shiver in my spine was because of her. She had this aura of something dark and menacing and I wanted to leave. "You have no idea what you're talking about, lady. There are a million places that I'd rather be."

"But y'are curious 'nuff to want t'be 'ere. I need some o'your skin."

I was sure I didn't hear her right, so out of impulse I leaned forward. "I beg your pardon?" my tone may have been a little snappy. My bad…

Suddenly, her hand flashed across my face and this stinging gash opened up on my neck. It didn't seem like it happened for a moment; until I reached up and touched it and felt it bleeding, I was convinced I hadn't seen anything like that. "What the fu--?"

"Watch y'language." As she brought her hand down to the table, she never took her eyes of her long nails were there were sizeable clumps of his flesh stuck between white and pink. "I can tell y'what yer mind cannot."

Who the hell was she to assume something like that? some supernatural freak with too long finger nails and mismatched eyes? They are mismatched eyes; they are brown and gray. Wiggy…but this bleeding sore on my neck was more important. "Listen up here, Madame DuBois, I don't buy this mystical bullshit. And don't take this the wrong way, but that last thing I want is a woman to tell me what I'm thinking." I muttered something resembling that I don't even know what I'm thinking half the time, but I didn't want her to hear it.

"Which is why I will tell ya, boy."

"Don't call me boy, bitch."

Her hand—the one not covered in Dean DNA—slammed down on the table and gripped tightly to his wrist. "Have some respect. Y'respect yer father and y'find yer manners among da pretty little creatures in diners and road stops. Y'are not a bad man, Dean Winchester, jus' misguided."

"Don't look at me like that. It scares me…" Why did I just say that? I glanced down at her hand on my arm. The grip was getting very cold. "How do you know who I am?"

"E'en yer darkest secrets, you cannot hide. I 'ave dee truth in mine eyes."

That sting on my throat was getting worse and her nails dug into my arm like a bear trap. Believe me, I got my shoulder caught in a bear trap when I was fifteen. Dad flipped clear off his rocker. Wait! Stay focused! "Let me go."

"No. I will fix these things."

"Let me go, or I will fix you."

She gripped tighter and my heartbeat slammed in my eardrums. My lungs wanted to stop working as though something big and hard slammed into me at twenty miles an hour. The brown eye had switched with the gray eye, but why did I notice? "Get off me, you fucking PMSing psycho."

Another grasp fell on me from behind, claws digging into my shoulder; I freaked out a little. My heart pounded against my skull and I swatted away whatever grabbed me. My mind was so messed up with the feeling I got being around this gypsy that I barely realized that it was Sammy behind me. "You alright?" he asked skeptically.

I took a deep breath and turned to glare at the lady again, but she was already gone. My arm was still on the table where she'd held it, but she was limping away from the table on a walking stick tucked somewhere underneath her tattered, old dress. I was fine; the chill was gone, my breath came back and my heart started to settle down. Abruptly, I reached up and felt my neck, but the cut was gone. I cleared my tight throat before speaking. "I'm fine."

It was a nice night for sleeping. Most nights are good nights for sleeping unless you happen to be nocturnal, but that night was particularly restful. I didn't know why until I woke up, but at the time that was the last thing I wanted to do. Even after I'd gone from sleep to just dozing in the light of morning, I did my best to stay unconscious. I hadn't felt that good for a long time. Pulling the motel pillow against me, I buried my face in it to block out the light coming in through the curtains.

Then, Sam had to start shaking my shoulder, trying to get me up. Why did it have to end? Why does it always come to an end? "Come on, dude, get up." No…I didn't bother answering. I just groaned and turned onto my other side. "Dean, what the hell?" That didn't sound like frustration with my stubbornness. That was surprise. I didn't care, I wanted to go back to sleep. "Did you shrink, or something?"

"The hell, you say?" I still kept the pillow against my face in case he was bullshitting me.

"And you've been sucking helium…?"

Now I cared. He was right, that didn't sound like me. "That isn't my voice," I stated obviously. Turning onto my back, I pushed the pillow away and looked up at Sam. "What's going on?" That was too high-pitched to be me.

Sammy's eyes went wide and an eerie smile spread across his face. "Holy shit," he muttered.

"What?"

"I'm going to guess it's you, Dean. That's your necklace, but…" He was looking at me weird and I didn't like it. Add to that, he wasn't making any sense.

"Sammy, you better start telling me what's going on here or shots will be fired."

"Should I start calling you Deana now?" Why was he laughing? What the hell was going on? I shoved him slightly and started to get out of bed. "Where's your dick, dude?" That's about when I stopped. My body went rigid and I stared wide-eyed at him.

Where's my…? I looked down; that was the biggest mistake I ever made. No way, no way, no fucking way! Abruptly, I grabbed the crotch of my boxers and heard the most embarrassing, alarmed squeak come out of my throat. There was nothing there. "Holy shit." I wasn't sure if I was breathing or gasping for air. "I've been neutered."

Sammy was still snickering and staring at me. "This isn't funny! What the hell happened to me!?" When he just shrugged and grinned wildly, I wanted so badly to hit him. "Bitch!"

"Jerk." Finally, he turned away and tried to smother his laughter. "Just calm down."

"No I won't calm down!" I got up and ran to the mirror on the bathroom door. This was just wiggy. Fucking freaky. I was short, my shirt and shorts were way too big for me. My face was a lot thinner than I remember, I had full lips…wait a tic…I pulled my shirt off and my heart almost stopped. "Sammy…"

From behind me, I heard him clear his throat. "I can see, Dean…"

"I have tits."

"I noticed…can you put your shirt back on now?"

"You know what? That fucking gypsy did this to me. 'I will fix dese tings,' yeah right you fucking whore! She turned me into a chick!" I stopped abruptly and gazed into the mirror. Firm, round breasts with perky nipples stared back at me. "She did a pretty good job, though." I had to admit, I looked good for a woman.

"Dean!" Sam snapped, "that's just weird."

"What? Now I can look at myself naked." Hesitantly, I touched them, a little unsure that I wasn't going to get smacked for it. "Still…I'm a chick…This is freaky…"

"Understatement," Sam giggled from his bed across the room.

"Dude…does this mean I have to wear a bra now?" I didn't need him to answer and he didn't bother anyway, but…Damn it, I was fine. That was the scary part. I was a chick…I was a chick! "Fuck…I have boobs and it sucks."

Once more, Sam cleared his throat from behind me and I knew he was still trying not to crack up…that asshole. "Holy shit, I have a sister." I didn't grace that with a response. "Well...look, if you think it was that psychic lady and this is some curse, I can look into curses to fix this. Or maybe we can go back and find her."

"Don't be stupid Sam, gypsies don't hang around anywhere long. We'd be looking for the next five years for these people." I bounced a little and my breasts jiggled. It was one of the weirdest things I've ever felt, I think, but it looked cool in the mirror.

"Can you stop molesting yourself for three seconds?" Shut up, Sam. I couldn't help it, it was fun. "Until we figure this out, I guess I can get you some clothes. Yeah, you'll need a bra and…smaller…underwear." He laughed. I guess he couldn't contain it, but he started shrieking with laughter and I was so close to kicking his ass, female or not.

"Ha, ha, ha. Yeah, laugh it up, chuckles." I went into the bathroom to get away from his loud, piercing laughing.

"You know you'll have to shave your legs now!" he called. Hilarious, isn't he? Mother fucker…

I was staring in the mirror for maybe an hour before I realized for the fifth time that I was looking at myself. This face looked so different than me, yet startlingly the same. Just as easily, I could have believed I was looking through a window at my long-lost twin sister. Still, that would be weird being that I still wasn't wearing a shirt. Don't say anything. I've never got to flat out stare at a pair boobs this nice before.

I'm a bit vulgar, I admit that. I'm also a bit pissed off, which is not hard to express at all. Last night I was freaked out and tired and just plain unhappy. Now I get more freaked out by losing my dick and gaining large, soft, firm breasts…To tell the truth, I actually thought for a moment that it was an even trade. Then I wanted to smack myself in the face for being an idiot.

At first, I was completely comfortable with sitting on the floor of this dingy motel room almost completely naked; I started to feel awkward after a while. Goosebumps rose on my shoulders, my unusually soft skin quivered and I wanted Sam to hurry his ass up. "SAM!"

"What?" I heard his key in the lock and turned myself around without standing up.

"Did you get me clothes?"

I tried not to snicker when he came in. As soon as he saw me, he looked away and I saw him blush. "Come on, man. It isn't like you've never seen a naked woman before." Only when I saw the paper sack in his hand did I move to stand.

"I have never seen my brother as a naked woman before," he clarified, tossing me the bag. It said "thrift mart" on it. I think I made a sour face—I meant to—from the thought of wearing underwear bought at a thrift store. "Don't complain, please. I didn't have a lot of cash on hand, and I forgot to bring a fake credit card so—"

Tossing the bag on my bed, I dumped it out. A few shirts, both a sports bra and a regular one, two pairs of jeans, a skirt and some pairs of women's boy-shorts. I picked up the skirt and tossed it at Sam's head. "That's not funny." All I heard was his quiet snickering. "And what the hell were you thinking getting underwear at a thrift store? That's a yeast infection waiting to happen."

He stopped in the middle of opening his laptop and struggled for a moment to control his twisted sense of humor. "Yeast infection?" he asked after a moment.

Really? It is a cold day in hell when I find something that I know that my brother doesn't. All I did was roll my eyes and look away. "You know, you're knowledge of the female body is alarmingly little, Sam." Sitting down on the edge of the mattress, I picked up a pair of underwear and it occurred to me that some woman probably wore these at least once. Cool…

Sam started up his computer and for a while he just typed and clicked and such. Then he made a face and looked at me. "God Dean, your knowledge of the female body is disgusting."

With a smile, I pulled my boxers off—they were way too big for me now—and pulled on a pair of those shorts. "You looked it up, didn't you?" I laughed blatantly at him. "Bitch."

"Jerk." Sam typed away and clicked on his laptop while I dressed myself. "Dean, this is like the biggest mess you've gotten us into since that 'Journey' incident."

"Hey, I love that song."

"'Don't Stop Believing' may be a great song, but that was almost as strange as this. Karaoke never ends well, anyway."

"Hey, it was fun," I snapped, "And don't bitch to me, I woke up a woman." The shirts he got me may have fit, but they weren't worth getting dirty in. I went to my duffle bag and pulled out an undershirt. The thing was huge on me. "Why do I have to be so little now? Not all women are this tiny." I reached around and tied a knot in the back of the fabric so that it was tight around my stomach.

The chuckling that emitted from Sam's general direction, I tried to ignore. "Maybe this is the female version of you and since women, on average, have a smaller build than men, you end up…miniscule." I mimicked his giggle and shook the bag out once more for the pair of sneakers that tumbled onto the floor. "Hope those are the right size. I had to guess."

They looked too small, but they fit just fine over socks that were too big. "Ah jeez, I have small feet now, too."

"And you know what they say about small feet, don't you Deana?"

"Shut up, you prick."

I was going to check on my car, just in case the fucking gypsies pulled something weird with my baby. Before I even popped the hood, I opened the trunk and checked the hidden compartment. At a glance, I took inventory and everything was there, but I double checked a few times just to be sure. One can never too careful, especially with folk like gypsies. Next, I checked the seats for any unwelcome surprises. The dash board was in order and my glove box hadn't been opened. I could tell because they wouldn't have gotten it closed again if they tried. Everything looked good that far. With a pause just to add suspense, I popped the hood and went around to lift it. That was about when I heard that whistle behind me.

"Hey, sweetheart." I turned around to see some shmuck with a bottle of who knows what wrapped in a paper bag in his hand. He was talking to me. "Car trouble?"

Trying to control myself, I remembered over and over again that I looked like a woman and that he didn't know I wasn't so it wasn't his fault. Even if he did, judging by the bottle and the slight swagger in his stance, he wouldn't have cared. "Does it look like car trouble? I'm in a parking lot." I ignored him further and turned my back.

"Pretty girl like you shouldn't get your hands dirty." Okay, prick, shut up if you know what's good for you. "You don't have to be so rude, either."

He was getting closer, and I realized that being that I was so much smaller, I was probably a lot weaker than usual as well. Now wouldn't be a good time to be caught off guard, and I'll tell you, being hit on is one step off guard. I glanced over my shoulder and tried to muster a smile. "I'm just fine with getting my hands dirty, thanks." That guy was too close for comfort. My teeth gritted beyond my control. "Come any closer and I might have to tear your throat out."

With a blink, he stumbled back a step and I felt slightly better about myself than I had when I woke up this morning. "God, you're a bitch." I wished I had a knife or some sort of threatening object to make his run away pissing himself.

"You have no idea. Now, get the fuck away from my car."

"Can't help it, it is a nice ride." He reached out to touch and I respectfully reached out to break his hand. I was surprised when I was able to overpower him and kick him to the ground so easily. Maybe I didn't lose my strength after all. I stuck my heel in his back and twisted his arm behind him.

"This Impala is mine. Touch it, I'll kill you in the most gruesome way I can think of."

Out of impulse, I looked up and saw Sammy in the window of our room, looking at me with raised eyebrows. There was something strange in his gaze that I didn't quite understand. I hadn't seen it there before and it gave me chills. Then the curtain fell back across the glass and I couldn't see him anymore, but the feeling was there. I felt almost as though I had been caught doing something bad and the teacher was just giving me that leering glare that meant I was in for a beating. I let the shmuck go and slammed my trunk shut.