Hey! This idea popped into my head, and I couldn't shake it. So, I decided to write my first Supernatural fanfic. Woo! Here it goes. I hope ya'll enjoy! Please review! Critiques and compliments are always welcomed!
Dean flipped onto his side with a groan. His lids blinked open, stretching over sleep stiffened eyes. 5:34 blared in neon green light from a small digital clock. A deep breath assailed his nostrils with lingering smoke and stale sweat; his skin smelt like cheap beer. He flashed back briefly to the night before. The anger boiled anew in his belly at what his life had come to lack: normalcy. Well, the normalcy he knew. He didn't even want a beer or damn cheeseburger anymore. He had just wanted to try to ease back into that. Demons could eat food, right? Ruby had enjoyed her fries. He couldn't except that he'd never to be able to enjoy a meal again. But, perhaps forcing it wasn't the best idea. He couldn't remember anything.
Sighing, he sat up in bed and looked around. Some crappy motel room. A quiet flutter of breath caught his ear, and the mattress underneath him shifted. He felt a pang of guilt at not remembering who was in the bed with him; Dean couldn't even recall a face, name, anything. Dragging a hand across his face, he stood up and made his way to the bathroom. A slight agitation of a troubled thought vibrated at the back of his mind, but he pushed it off on the alcohol that was probably still in his system. Quietly shutting the door behind him, he flipped on the lights and turned on the faucet. He shut his eyes and leaned over the sink, cupping his hands under the steady stream of cool water. After he'd splashed a few handfuls on his face, once again shoving away the feeling that something wasn't right, he blindly groped around for a towel. His fingers brushed against the rough fabric and snatched it. Rubbing it across his face in a quick motion, Dean finally glanced up at the dingy mirror that hung over the sink.
"Son of a bitch!" he shouted before clamping his mouth shut. His fingers clawed at the smooth, dark skin that covered his face and arms.
"Crap. What the hell? What the-" His hands brushed against two definitely not normal protrusions on his chest. Dean squeezed them briefly before his touch drifted down to a curved waist and hips. He stopped at that.
"Shit," he hissed as he pushed long, dark hair from his eyes.
Flipping the lights off, he creaked the bathroom door open. Shuffling across the carpet floor, Dean searched for his-her-whoever's clothes. He just needed clothes, a phone; he needed to call Sam and get this sorted out. His eyes skirted to a now obvious male form sleeping in the bed. Well, he thought briefly, there's an interesting story here.
After a moment he stumbled on a shirt and slipped it on.
"Now-"
There. Jeans. "Please let there be -"
A phone was nudged deep into a back pocket. He pulled it out. Thanking whoever was out there that it was a simple phone with no password needed, he pulled the jeans on and dialed his brother. The line rang as he opened the motel door and stepped out. Chilled water drizzled down and puddled on the ground. Hopping about, he searched around the parking lot for his baby with no luck.
"Sammy? Dammit, Sammy, pick up," he grumbled into the phone speaker.
The other line clicked on. "Hello?" came Sam's weary answer.
"Sammy! Thank God."
"Sorry, who's this?"
"Dammit, Sam. It's me. Dude, I got turned into a chick."
"Dean?" Sam asked incredulously.
"Yes! Have you not been listening?"
"Yeah, you don't sound like yourself."
His halfhearted attempt to get a chuckle resulted in a silent reply from Dean. "What the hell happened to you?"
"Oh, well, let's see - I don't know!"
"I thought you - All right, man. Calm down. Where are you?"
"Some crappy motel - Linsfield."
"That the city or name?"
"Name."
"Okay, well - shit!"
"Sam? Sam, what's going on?"
"Dean, you - uh - you didn't get turned into a girl."
"Sam, I'm pretty sure I can tell I am. I lost one very important thing and gained a couple others."
"Okay, look, I'm not saying you aren't currently...in a female body. But, you aren't you as one."
"What the hell are you trying to say?"
"Dean, I'm looking at you right now. You fell asleep at the table."
"Then how the hell am I here in a different body?"
"Maybe you possessed someone?" Sam offered as a door slammed over the line.
"Well, that's just great! How do I un-possess someone?"
"I don't know. How would I?"
"You were the one who fell in love with the Dark Side, not me," Dean taunted.
"Have you looked yourself in the eye recently?" Sam retorted.
"Yes, I have. And they AREN'T MY DAMN EYES!"
"Okay, chill. I'm on my way."
Dean poked his knocked out body's cheek. A grimace pulled at his lips as he walked over to the other table and plopped down across from Sam.
"Let's hurry up and try to figure out how to get me back - into, well, me. I can think of something I don't want to be dealing with."
"What?"
Dean arched a penciled eyebrow.
"Ah."
"Dealt enough with my own blood coming out me. I don't need that on a monthly basis."
"Yeah, Dean. I got it," the younger hunter rushed out. He took a deep breath and raked his fingers through his hair. "Have you tried talking with Crowley yet?"
"Hmph. Bastard won't talk to me," Dean huffed. "I've summoned him - hell, I lost how many times."
"Must not be concerned with his special pet."
"Hey, I'm not that son of a bitch's pet," he growled, pointing a manicured finger at his younger brother. "I'm no one's God damn pet, especially not his. He saw this coming and he left me high and dry. I wake up to a short little spiel about what's happened, and then he vanishes. Poof. That was two months ago, Sam. 'Sides, I don't need that bastard's help."
"Oh Dean, come now. Don't be so harsh. I'm fragile," came a smooth British lilt.
"Crowley," Sam greeted.
"You son of a bitch. Now you decide to pop by for a visit," Dean shouted, jumping up and charging towards the King of Hell.
"I'm touch you've missed me."
"Cut the crap." The possessed woman grabbed a hold of Crowley's coat and dragged him closer. "How do I fix this?"
"Fix what, my dear? Honestly, you look ravishing. Much more pleasing to the eyes. You're not as harsh and ragged now," he crooned.
Dean growled and shoved him away. "Forget it. I don't need your help."
"Dean. Dean."
"What?"
"This is your first possession. Even for your typical demon the first can be a bit tricky. You aren't your average demon, are you Dean. No, you aren't. I don't know what that means yet. But, I do know that it means this situation could be easier for you to get out or more difficult. My instructions may not conform to, well, your special case."
"All right, well, we gonna start? We can't find out if it works if you don't..." Dean trailed off as he gestured vaguely between himself and Crowley.
The demon sighed. "So articulate today. Now, keep in mind that this is more of a refined instinct than a taught skill."
"Stop yakking and just tell me what to do!"
"Patience," Crowley snapped. "Moose, it might be best for you to leave, cut down on the possibility of him rebounding into you."
"Sam's staying."
"Moose, go."
After a moment of thought, his eyes flickering back and forth between the two figures, Sam pushed out from the table and stood. "We haven't heard from Cas in a while. I'l check in with him, see if I can get through."
"Sam!" Dean called out after his brother's retreating form.
"Your brother knows whose in charge here. Perhaps you should learn, too."
"Shut it and tell me what to do."
"Fine. Don't say I've never helped you."
"You kinda need to help me out first."
"If you'd let me get more than one sentence out, I'd be more than happy to," Crowley growled. "Now," he continued, straightening out his coat, "as I was saying, possession is a refined instinct. It can't be taught like throwing a ball or playing an instrument. It's like your refreshing sarcasm, but a bit more tasteful."
The King of Hell ignored Dean's glare as he pushed the woman into the chair next to the hunter's empty body. "Now, some find it easier to have a physical connection when transferring hosts. However, you aren't; you're returning to your body - quite the exception. Keep in mind that I've never had such a connection, so my advice might be a bit skewed from what works. I would have preferred a nice chat with Cain first, but...we know how that is."
"Crowley."
"Yes, my dear."
"One," Dean said, holding up a finger, "don't call me that. I'll not hold back from kicking your demonic ass like this."
"But you might damage those pretty nails. I'm not sure your host will like that."
"Oh, if I told her why, I don't think she'd care. Two, move on. I'd like my own body back."
"But, Dean, aren't you enjoying this in informative experience."
"So help me, Crowley, this is your last warning."
"All right, all right. Retract the claws, Lady Deathstrike. Now, instinct led to this possession; let it lead you back to your body. Relax. Lose the ties you have to that body. Pull yourself from it and push yourself out and into your own body."
"That's it?"
"That's it."
"Well, thanks for that brilliant insight."
"Refined now."
Dean grumbled as he reached to yank down on his jacket only to realize that it wasn't on this body. Licking his lips, he closed his eyes.
"Feel the tendrils of yourself connected into her consciousness. Pull it out, gently. We don't want to damage her."
"What do you care about that?"
"Leave it better than you find it. Isn't that the saying?"
"Hmph." Letting out his breath, Dean scrounged around to find the bits of him connected to an unconscious her. Carefully, he pulled himself from her and allowed himself to let go. His conscious spiraled out, searching for an anchor. A tug brought him spilling back into his own body. His eyes popped open, and he took a shaky breath.
"Well, the Squirrel's back. Not bad for your first time. Remember, refined instinct. Have fun dealing with the girl. Downside of bringing your possession home." With a snap of his fingers, the King of Hell disappeared.
"Where am I?"
"Son of a bitch," Dean hissed as he turned to the waking woman draped over the chair next to him.