"Drink," he laughed loudly, causing the purple liquid to slosh in the glass, spilling over the sides.

Blood oozed from the open hole on the freshly wounded animal. She brought it to her lips, sucking wildly. The thick liquid trickled down from the sides of her mouth as she bit into its flesh. It screamed as she sank her teeth into it and she chuckled, relishing the sound of the defeated, the taste of victory—even if it was a small one.

"That's it, baby, drink," her master encouraged her.

"So fucking good...but I need more."

"We need more," chanted a chorus of woman behind her.

Warm, naked breasts pressed up against her back. A set of teeth dragged across her bare flesh, sending a shiver through her. Suddenly the weight of another body was on her from the front. A wet tongue danced over her stomach, licking up the trail of blood that was flowing from her mouth to her waist.

"That's why we're here."

A horn honked loudly, and the motel window did little to keep the sound from penetrating the small room. Sam slid his head under the pillow, trying, and failing, to block out the intrusion. Sirens squealed immediately after. His head was throbbing. He squeezed his eyes shut, wiggling his body deep beneath the covers.

He wasn't ready for this—wasn't ready to start the day yet. He couldn't have been asleep for more than four hours, and after last night, he needed more like ten hours. He silently prayed that Dean was still asleep, or gone, or too stubborn to let go of this tiny escape, the small paradise of a warm blanket and a dirty mattress. Sam held his breath, waiting, counting the seconds. Nothing. The room was quiet. He exhaled slowly and his muscles relaxed, his limbs melting into the bed. Just one more hour, he thought.

"Just one more hour, Sammy. I can't lose." Dean looked up at the dealer. "Hit me."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Dean, we'll have plenty of time for this later. Right now we've got work to do. We're probably not in the right place and you know it."

He looked past his brother's shoulder, trying to find any indicator that this was the joint. The room was lit up like a carnival. Bright red, yellow, and green lights flickered sporadically, painting a mural of dancing shadows along a cream colored canvas.

Columns flecked with a light golden trim stretched high above the crowd, the weight of the ceiling resting heavily on their shoulders. There were so many suits it looked like a reaper family reunion, and if it weren't for the barrage of beautiful women in cocktail dresses sprinkled across the room indicating that no, he wasn't standing at the precipice of oncoming doom, Sam might have had a panic attack just from the resemblance.

"Bust. Dammit Sam, you're bad luck you know that?"

Dean's voice was cheerful despite his words. He slid out of his seat like melted butter, his lips curled into a familiar smirk. Sam's heart beat a quick thud into his chest. His brother looked good like that; his hair gelled up, a fresh patch of light stubble spreading across his face. He wore his confidence around his shoulders; it was perfectly tailored, like his new suit jacket, and Sam smiled back at him despite his earlier annoyance.

"We'll find what we're looking for. We always do." Dean slapped him on the back a couple times. "Why don't we take one night and enjoy ourselves? We deserve a..."

Dean trailed off and Sam followed his eyes across the room. A woman draped in black satin was slinking toward them, a jaguar on the prowl, and his brother stood there, like a self-sacrificing slab of meat. Sam thought about trying to grab Dean and make a quick exit, but it was clear she already had him in her sights. And from the looks of it, she was a master hunter.

Click.

The air around Sam suddenly became cooler as a breeze forced its way inside. The door shut but he shivered anyway, the chill still fresh in the air. Shit, he thought. He lay there like a corpse, his body a motionless heap of flesh. Sam breathed in slowly, rhythmically, trying to throw off the offender. Maybe they would go away. Maybe they would sense how desperately he needed this and leave him alone.

"Hey Sammy! You awake?"

Or maybe not. How the hell was he so chipper? Sam had a lumberjack was inside his head, sawing his brain in half. Dean's voice was like the axe, just pounding away. He ignored his brother, shifting his body slightly.

Stale pastries and cheap coffee filled his senses. His stomach rumbled involuntarily, but he disregarded it. Paper rustled and crunched as his brother no doubt sank his hand into the bag to grab a donut for himself. Sam heard the heavy clomp of Dean's shoes progressively getting louder and louder, until they stopped, right beside his bed.

"Rise and shine, princess, we need to get started on this case."

He said it with a mouthful of fried food. Sam groaned and fought the urge to hit his brother with a pillow, and instead he rolled over. A firm hand caught him, gripping his shoulder, shaking him forcefully until he was fully awake.

Sam sighed, sat up slowly and watched as Dean's eyes morphed from small orbs to giant saucers and he stopped chewing, his mouth hanging open in disbelief. Remnants of his donut were easily visible on his tongue. Sam grimaced at his brother. Dean ignored him.

"Okay Sammy," he yelled it. But he wasn't looking at Sam. He was looking toward the bathroom. "How did you sneak her in here?"

He gestured to Sam with his thumb. Dean was now grinning. He gave Sam a cocky, knowing smile, and edged his way toward the bathroom. Dean took another look at him, one eyebrow raised.

"What the hell are you..."

Sam stopped short. He brought a hand up to his throat, running his fingers cautiously over the flesh on his neck, like he was feeling it for the first time. The skin was smooth, soft even. Where was his morning stubble? He jerked his hand back as if he'd pricked himself on a thorn and stuck his palm out in front of his face, just looking. He wiggled his fingers, one by one, turning his hand around slowly from side to side. His calluses were gone. The dirt beneath his nails was gone. His entire hand had shrunken to at least a third its normal size. He squeezed his fist together tightly, one, two, three.

"Hey, sweetheart?"

"Hey, sweetheart."

"Hey yourself," she purred. Her eyes shifted from Dean to Sam and then back again. Her lips spread across her face, slowly exposing her teeth. She arched her back slightly, her shoulder blades caressing the fabric of her dress. Her muscles tensed. She was almost ready to pounce.

"What do you say I buy you a drink?"

"What do you say we get out of here?" she countered.

Sam took a step back. He looked over at Dean, but knew it was too late; she already had him. The leftovers in his stomach churned and bubbled the way the always did when a woman showed interest in his brother. Sam swallowed, willing his dinner to stay inside his body. He knew Dean would do whatever he wanted and that, as a grown man, he had that right. But something inside Sam always screamed when someone looked at Dean that way, with a hunger. Sam had stopped trying to figure out what that meant a long time ago.

"I'll see you at the hotel later."

"Wait a minute, big guy," she took one long finger and dragged it down Sam's chest, all the while keeping an eye on Dean. "I was hoping you boys were a package deal."

She licked her lips and smiled coyly, her gaze shifting between the men. A pair of green eyes roamed their figures shamelessly as she took a step forward, looping a finger in the waistband of their slacks. She tugged them both toward her body. Sam could smell her, warm and sweet, like a finely aged wine.

He stood where he was, feet planted firmly on the ground, like a tall oak tree in the middle of a tornado. She had violated their territory, popping the bubble they tended to share. On the inside his chest was pounding, pumping fresh blood to his cheeks and turning them a slight shade of pink. He was too anxious to look over at Dean, who had yet to make a sound.

This had never happened before. In all these years, not one woman had ever suggested such a thing—at least, not that Sam could remember. It was like she had taken the bottle of secrets he kept stored safely in the back of his mind and cracked it, spilling the contents, swirling together his fantasies and nightmares until they were an opaque puddle of images behind his eyes.

There was his brother's hand again, only this time it touched down more gently, resting easily atop his shoulder. Dean had undoubtedly noticed that Sam wasn't in the bathroom and was probably trying to figure out where he was.

He could look up into Dean's eyes. He should look up. He should open his mouth, say something. Sam tried, but before he could manage a sound another hand gripped his other side, a little tighter.

"Hey, are you okay?"

Dean was genuinely concerned. His voice softened and he uncurled his hand, his palm softly rubbing Sam's bicep. He finally got the courage to look up at his brother. Dean's forehead was wrinkled and his eyes were squinted slightly, his head tilted to the right.

Sam sucked in another breath and held it. Something was wrong—really, really wrong. He jumped off the bed, freeing himself from Dean's scrutiny and ran to the bathroom, slamming the door. Hazel eyes met his gaze and he put his hand to the glass.

It was like looking into a funhouse mirror; all his features seemed similar, but incredibly different at the same time. Sam recognized his eyes; they were identical in color, and the same shape, but the lashes were longer.

He still had chestnut hair framing his face, but instead of stopping at his chin it cascaded down past his shoulders, not stopping until it reached the middle of his back. He stuck his hand in it, trying to run his fingers through it, but it was matted from sleep. He licked his soft, pink lips, blinking twice. His stomach rolled as he watched the person in the glass mimic him flawlessly.

He couldn't help it. He screamed. It was loud and it was shrill, a foreign sound purging itself from Sam's body. He thought of all those poor people he had exorcised, and to be honest he was waiting for something to come pouring out of his mouth, but there was nothing. No black smoke. Nothing. He stood there, staring at the reflection, helpless. There were approximately five quick thuds before he heard Dean yell out a warning.

"Stand back!"A quick crash and the door swung open. Dean grabbed Sam by the shoulders, shaking him fervently. "What the hell happened?" He was surveying the room. "Are you okay?"

Dean was eyeing him with a mix of suspicion and concern. Sam opened his mouth slowly, willing his words to come out, but his mind betrayed him and he stood there in silence. He knew if he didn't get an explanation out fast that Dean would assume the worst, that he would try to make sure that Sam was in fact a human being.

As if on cue Dean tightened his grip around Sam's shoulder and began pulling him into the main part of the room. He flung Sam roughly onto the nearest chair. "Don't move. You need to start talkin. I need some answers here, fast."

"Dean," Sam managed to choke it out. He swallowed. "It's me. It's Sam."

"Last I checked, Sammy didn't have a nice set of tits."

Dean turned around quickly; his movements long ago practiced to perfection. He reached into his duffle bag and pulled out a jar of holy water. Sam closed his eyes and mouth tightly, jumping slightly when the lukewarm liquid coated his face. It dripped down his chin and seeped onto his shirt. He opened his eyes, bracing himself for the next assault.

Ten seconds later he had a lap full of salt. Sam rolled his eyes but didn't say anything, knowing that Dean needed to try everything before he even began to listen to reason. The silver was cool and smooth against his skin and he sat there, wincing when his brother made a small, superficial slice into his forearm.

Sam brought his hand up to his arm and squeezed tightly. Blood seeped between his fingers, a small trickle making its way down his unfamiliar flesh. He looked over at his brother. There was that face again—that look that meant that Dean wasn't one hundred percent sure of himself. He grabbed his gun from the nightstand and pointed it at Sam.

"I mean it, lady. I don't want to hurt you. I'm gonna ask you again. What the hell is going on here? Who the fuck are you?"

Dean moved closer, his pistol never wavering. Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat. This wasn't going to be easy. Dean would never trust him like this. He'd have to prove himself. He'd have to prove who he was without giving Dean the impression that there was something supernatural about him. Sam almost laughed at the irony.

"Where's Sammy? If you hurt him, I swear I'll..."

"Dean, I know how this looks. It's completely fucked up—even to me...well, especially to me. You gotta believe me, man."

"Why should I believe you?"

"Because I'm your brother." Dean's eyes softened. "And we've seen some crazy shit together. This is just something else, right? I mean, it has to be like a curse or something." Sam paused.

Dean lowered the gun and dropped it on the bed. His footsteps toward Sam were cautious but deliberate. He grabbed the rope from Sam's duffle bag on the desk and began winding it methodically around his brother's wrists, securing them tightly to the chair. Sam fought hard against his instinct to resist, but succumbed to his brother's need to take control of this situation. In reversed circumstances he would more than likely do the same. Sam groaned. It didn't mean he had to like it.

His brother locked eyes with him while he was kneeling there. Sam looked into them, trying to convey the truth that he was in fact himself, Dean's little brother, who had somehow gotten himself into a mess and needed Dean to help him fix it. He hadn't felt so vulnerable in years, not since he was a kid. He was almost ashamed.

A sigh escaped Dean's lips, and he shook his head. Sam knew instantly the moment his brother believed him. Dean's face lost its rough edge, the lines in his forehead smoothed, and his eyes swelled with worry. Sam allowed himself to relax a little; his big brother was here.

"Shit, Sammy."

He stood up, leaving Sam tied to the chair. Dean grabbed his phone and sat down on the bed. He had his back to Sam as he dialed. Sam waited quietly, unable to take his eyes off his new body.

"Well what the hell am I supposed to do?" A pause. "Yeah, I do think it's him, but that doesn't tell me what's going on or how to fix it." Dean paused again. "Fine. Okay. Yeah."

"Dean?"

Dean groaned. "What?"

"What did he say? Has he ever heard of this before?"

"He doesn't know yet. He's going to try and figure it out and call me back."

"Will you please untie me?"

"No."

"Look, I'm not gonna run. I know you know it's really me, I heard you talking to Bobby."

"If I let you go, what the hell am I supposed to do with you?"

"Let me take a piss for starters."

His brother actually grinned. Sam found himself mirroring Dean's face. It was a dirty little secret, but Sam had never been able to resist his brother's smile—especially if he had been the one to put it on Dean's face.

Dean didn't say anything else, just stood up from the bed and knelt down beside Sam. He stayed like that for at least thirty seconds, just looking at the floor, taking soft, even breaths. It wasn't doubt this time. Sam could tell. This time it was worry.

Green eyes caught his hazel ones and held them. Dean squinted, searching Sam's eyes for something, answers maybe, but he came up short. Sam shivered. They were almost nose to nose and he could feel his brother's breath, warm on his lips. It wasn't as if they'd never been this close to each other before. They had, more than once, but Sam never got used to it.

His brother's eyes were piercing. Sam was always afraid if his brother looked at him long enough, he would figure out all of his secrets—that he would learn things about Sam that even Sam himself refused to believe. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

Dean leaned back, putting a slight distance between the two of them, but he was still looking at Sam. Sam sucked in his bottom lip nervously, grazing his teeth over the sensitive flesh. It felt foreign in his mouth. His brother smirked.

Dean's fingers were nimble, undoing the knots with ease. He let the rope fall to the floor beside the chair and took a step back. Sam was thankful for the space, still a little confused and humiliated for reasons he couldn't quite explain. Or reasons that he didn't want to think about.

"Do you remember anything about last night?"

"No, not really."

"Well, doesn't that bother you?"

"No, not really."

"Dean. I'm being serious."

"Me too, Sam. It's not like it's the first time this has happened to me before. Granted, it's been a long time."

"Well did you stop to think that maybe it has something to do with why I'm like this?" Sam gestured toward his new body in disgust.

He paused to think about it. "Yeah, probably."

Dean sat down on the bed again and put his head in his hands. Sam knew he was thinking about last night, or trying to. Sam himself couldn't conjure up even a flash of what happened. It hurt to even try.

"I dunno, man. All I remember is going out and waking up here. I feel fine though, no headache or anything."

"Damn it. How long am I gonna be stuck like this?"

"We'll figure it out. But Sammy, just so you know, you make a pretty hot chick."

"Fuck off."

Dean actually laughed out loud. Sam gave him the finger and walked as calmly as he could manage to the bathroom, knowing instinctively that this conversation was over for now. Once he was inside and satisfied by the privacy he had in the small room, he looked himself over again.

His t-shirt hung low, the fabric flowing freely just below his knees. He ran a hand over his chest. The hard, toned skin that had just been there last night was gone, replaced by a set of soft, supple breasts. Normally his hand would have lingered there, but at this point, he was completely turned off.

He lifted his shirt up. His boxers were just gone, probably lying on the bed or the floor. It was obvious he was too slim to keep them around his waist. He placed his hand between his legs and was groped desperately, but there was nothing. His dick was just gone. He wanted to scream again, but knew with Dean in the other room and Sam was less than eager for Rambo to make another appearance.

Sam sucked in a breath, inwardly willing himself to calm down. They would figure this out. He and Dean always figured this shit out. But what would he do until then? He looked at the toilet. This was going to be an adjustment.

Dean was sitting on the bed when he came out. He was talking on the phone, but Sam wasn't sure yet who it was. He purposely avoided his brother's gaze. Instead, he walked over to the small table in the corner of the room and stuck in hand into the brown paper bag, pulling out a donut. Scratch that—a half of a donut. Sam shot his brother a glare.

"Really dude?"

He shrugged and gave Sam a small smile, then mouthed the words 'what, I was hungry?' Sam rolled his eyes but stuffed the remainder of the donut into his mouth. His stomach was too empty to hold a grudge.

"Okay. Well hurry up." Dean paused. "Yes mam. Sorry."

Ellen. Sam knew instantly that his brother was talking to Ellen. Dean hung up the phone but remained where he was, eyeing Sam curiously from his spot on the bed. Sam ignored him.

"Why were you talking to Ellen?"

"Well I figured you'd want some new clothes, princess. Unless you wanna go strolling around looking like it's that awkward morning after."

"What? You told Ellen, too? Seriously Dean, do we have to tell everyone we know? This is embarrassing."

"Well what else was I supposed to do? You can't go anywhere looking like that and I don't know a damn thing about buying women's clothing." He waited, probably to see if Sam was going to continue whining. "Besides, I can't take looking at you like that."

Dean's eyes were like knives in his back, slowly apply a steady pressure. Sam took a well-groomed fingernail and started scratching at a splinter on the table. The stain on the wood was bubbled up around the nick, and there were water rings dotting the surface. He suddenly wished he was anywhere but here, in a seedy motel room with a less than tactful older sibling staring him down.

Sam didn't know exactly what he heard in Dean's voice, or if he'd heard anything at all. He wished he was back at the bar, drinking a beer and interviewing potential witnesses. He kept his back to Dean, sipping the cold, gas station coffee. He grimaced as the bitter liquid touched his tongue.

"Dude, I can feel you staring at me. It's weird."

"You're weird."

"Really mature, Dean."

"Nice ass, Sam."

Sam turned around, just in time to see his brother let out a small laugh. Crossing his arms, Sam glared at Dean, who continued to sit there, smiling. The tension seemed to lift a little with the sound.

"I'm glad this is so funny to you." He almost stuck his tongue out. "So when will Ellen be here?" He needed to change the subject, fast.

"She's catching the next flight, should be here by dinner time."

"Great. You know, I figured you might be a little more eager get to the bottom of what's going on here. You seem fine with this."

Dean continued to smile and stood up. "Sam, come on," he said, making his way across the room. "It's not like you're in any sort of danger here. You're a girl. Not a monster."He placed his hand on Sam's shoulder, looking down at him, catching his gaze for a second time. It was strange to have to look up to Dean again. "It's gonna be okay, Sammy. We'll figure this out."