SWITCHED

CHAPTER ONE

He really knew better than to mock witches, but damn, he hated those fugly bitches with a passion. What had the damn rabbit done, huh? Perhaps the reason why he hated witches so much was because they were humans...humans that had willingly chosen to ruin their lives and become monsters. Whatever the reason, Dean hated the woman in front of him as soon as he laid eyes on her.

"The famous Winchester brothers," the witch smiled. She was beautiful, and Dean would've probably tried to bag her if she wasn't a fucking witch. "In my little house. You guys make my heart flutter."

"That's us, charming as ever," Dean grinned. "All you have to do to catch a guy's attention is to kill a couple of people, throw a chewed heart in for good meature, and we're all yours, baby."

The witch's eyes flashed. Sam had dugged into her past and discovered that the witch was killing all of the closest females to her crush, all so that he would look at her. Mocking her romance prowess was probably not a good idea, but what the hell.

"Dean," Sam warned, but Dean ignored him.

"I mean, your Romeo probably doens't fancy dead bodies too much, but I make a living out of it, sweetie," Dean grinned. "Tickles me just right."

"Shut up," she hissed. "Like you're so much better than me, Dean Winchester. At least I'm open about my feelings, instead of hiding me behind mountains of pie and beer. I love my angel, and I'm not afraid to admit it."

Sam glanced at him, and Dean knew he understood the reference. "Watch your mouth," he warned, all jokes aside.

She smiled sickly sweet. "What? Too pure for your taste?"

If she wanted a fight, Dean could give her a fight easily. "Pretty ironic, huh? I got more of a chance with an Angel of the Lord than you with a banker," Dean sneered at her. "And I don't even have to kill any good samaritans."

"You bastard!" she brought her hand up, a tangle of words spilling from her mouth, and a green light flashed over the room.

"Dean!" Sam yelled, but Dean was knocked back, and was quickly enveloped by sweet, sweet, darkness.

Dean had been trained in every aspect of his life by his father. And that included sleep. He had been trained to hear everything, even while his mind rested, shifting through the noises to recognize those that were familiar, and those that were unwelcome. So when Dean heard the sudden alarm go off, he was on his feet before the alarm had gotten too loud.

Dean glanced at his empty hand, frowning. He had expected a gun to be there...he never felt asleep without his gun close by. He looked up at the room and realized he didn't recognize it. He wasn't in the motel he and Sam had rented. He was in someone's room.

The room was large, larger than the hotel room, with a comfortable king sized bed. There were picture frames all around the room, a stereo system, a large plasma TV, and a flat screen desktop on the far wall.

"What the fuck?" Dean wondered. "Did I bag a rich chick?"

He heard a phone ring, but he didn't recognize the ringtone. It certainly wasn't Smoke On The Water. But the ringing didn't stop, so Dean curiously followed the sound, noticing that the rest of the house seemed to be as large as the bedroom, and that it obviously belonged to someone loaded with cash.

The ringing was coming from a land-line, the phone hanging from the kitchen wall. Dean stared at it for a quiet second, then picked up when the noise became annoying.

"Dean?"

Relief flooded his body as he recognized Sammy's voice. "Sam? Man, it's good to hear your voice."

"I...what?"

"Dude, I'm in some stranger's house," Dean muttered into the phone. "I don't remember anything after that fucking witch mojo-ed me. What happened to you, man?"

"Dean, are you drunk?" Sam asked, his voice layered with annoyance.

"No, why would you ask that?" Dean asked defensively. "It's like ten in the morning."

"Exactly," Sam said. "I know you're in your house; I'm calling the land line, remember? And I haven't seen you in like three months, so I don't know what the hell happened to you yesterday. If you didn't wanna show up to my party, you should've said so sooner, instead of blowing me off. Would've saved you a plane ticket, you cheap bastard. But what did I expect, right?"`

Before Dean could say anything the land went dead. Dean stared at the phone, shocked. What the hell? A dark feeling settled in his stomach, remembering the words the witch had uttered. They sounded strangely familiar.

"Fuck," Dean muttered. He ran to the bathroom, stopping dead in front of the mirror.

The face that was staring back at him was his...in some twisted kind of way. He was thicker than before, but not with muscle. Flab had replaced the wiry six pack he had worked hard to maintain, and a beer belly hung over his belt. He was paler, none of the tan he had gained in his travels on his skin. His eyes were still green, but they were a bit duller, the color rather flat. His hair was also lighter, the sun never having blackened it. There were none of the roughness and jagged scars Dean remembered. This face was soft and pretty, that of a spoiled brat who had never done any hard work. But the worst part was his hair. Not the color of it...but the freaking length.

"I have a damn ponytail?" he shouted, grabbign a fistful of his hair. "Hell to the fucking no!" he growled and hurriedly searched for some scissors, cutting the soft hair when he found them. Dean had often give himself and Sam haircuts when they were younger, and often he had had to do it with something less comfortable than scissors,so by the time he was over hacking at his hair, he was back to his familiar short haircut

Dean stared at the mirror, still freaked out by the softness of his appearance, but a little more happy now that his hair was back to normal.

Now back to the situation at hand. Dean was pretty sure he had been zapped to a new dimension, much like Balthazar had done before. But this was different. Instead of traveling with his body, Dean seemed to have only traveled in mind. So this body belonged to the Dean in this dimension.

"Dude, you need to excersice," he muttered at the mirror, touching his round stomach. "I never thougt I would say it, but I need to lay off the pie."

It probably wasn't a good idea to go out for now. Hell knew what this world was like, and Dean didn't want to be unprepared. So instead, he went back to the (his) room and turned on the desktop.

He googled recent knews and found out that this was a relatively normal world. It was kind of like the normal world he had visited with Sam, except that in this one, he was a douchebag brother instead of a damn actor. There had never been an apocalypse in this world before, nor demons.

But then he came upon knews that had him reeling. It was an old story, perhaps ten years old. The headline read JOHN AND MARY WINCHESTER DEAD. It was a story about a car crash that had taken his parents lives when he was eighteen. John had been CEO of some kind of uppity company, and he had left all of his money to Dean and Sam. There was another story, this one focusing on the fact that Dean and Sam were, apparently, not very close. Dean had even sued Sam for his share of the inheritance, which Sam had given to him after Dean had promised just enough money to put him through law school.

Feeling sick to his stomach, Dean turned off the computer. He was a damn bastard in this world. He was surprised Sam even talked to him, let alone invite him over to a party. But Dean could fix it. He hadn't found any signs of something supernatural going on in this world, so his only hope was that his Sam was scouring the world for a way to bring him back. He glanced at the clock, noticing that it was already four in the morning. Shit, time had gone by fast.

He walked down to the kitchen, cursing when he found nothing but rabbit food in the fridge.

"I'm a freaking princess," Dean muttered, grabbing the jug of juice of drinking from it. "How can I be fat with all of this hippie food?"

The phone rang again and Dean quickly answered, hoping it was Sammy.

"Mr. Winchester?"

"Who's this?" Dean sighed, disappointed.

"Um, it's Castiel, you're assistant?"

Dean immidieatly perked up. "Cas? Man, it's good to hear from you."

He heard a cough from the other line, then Cas's deep voice replied. "Um, thank you?"

"Why are you calling?" Dean asked, suddenly curious.

"Well, sir, you didn't show up at the office," Cas replied. "And you won't answer your phone."

"Oh yeah," Dean murmured, a different idea forming in his mind. "Hey, Cas...do you know where Sammy lives?"

"Sam, you're brother?" Cas asked, confusion clear in his voice.

"Yeah."

"He lives in California. I believe he still hasn't graduated from Stanford," Cas replied.

"And do you know about this party he's having?"

"Yes sir. I already wrote an apology letter and sent it to him," Cas said quickly, clearly thinking Dean was going to chide him.

"Scratch that," Dean said. "Clear my schedule for whatever time, dude. I'm going to California."

"I...sir, you have a meeting-."

"Cas, I'm going to Sam's party," Dean replied. "Oh, and so are you, mister. You're my assistant, right?"

"Yes, sir," Cas sighed into the phone, clearly disappointed over something. "Do you want me to get a plane ticket for tonight?"

"Hell no, I hate fucking airplanes," Dean replied. "I'm driving baby."

"Baby?"

"My Impala," Dean replied, his voice dangerously low. He better fucking own the Impala in this fucking universe.

"Sir, you don't own a car."

"FUCK IT," Dean yelled, punching the wall hard enough to draw blood. "Damn it, Cas! What about my dad? Didn't he drive a '67 Chevy Impala?"

"I wouldn't know, sir," Cas replied, his voice soft.

"Alright, alright," Dean sighed. "Just get your hands on a fucking car and pick me up. How long until we get to Stanford, anyway?"

"About seventeen hours," Castiel replied.

"Well, you better hurry your ass up," Dean said and hung up. He sighed. He was going to make things better. This might not be his real life, but he couldn't imagine living in any world where Sam wasn't his baby brother, his Impala wasn't parked outside, and Cas wasn't his friend.

He walked to his bedroom again, and searched for a duffel bag. He found a set of suitcases, and finding nothing better, grabbed the smallest one and started packing.

"Hell no," he muttered, opening the door to his closet. It was all suits. Armani suits, Gucci suits...blue, black, grey...what the fuck? He searched through his clothes, finally finding two old pair of jeans and three plain black t-shirts. He could wear those until he found time to buy some proper clothes in California. He couldn't believe this man had all this money and wasted it on the wrong clothes.

He grabbed some briefs, black slacks, and a plain blue t-shirt before heading to the shower, realizing he smelled. He took a quick shower, feeling like he shouldn't take too much time with this body in the shower.

But when he stepped out of the shower and looked at himself once again in the mirror, he was surprised to see that he had changed yet again. He looked more like himself now, though there were still somethings off. His skin still wasn't tanned, though it was no longer pale and pasty. His eyes were brighter, his hair darker, and lithe mucles had replaced his baby fat. He still wasn't in the perfect hunter condition he had trained so hard to achieve, but now he looked like a normal twenty-six year old.

So maybe his body was changing with time. Maybe the witch hadn't been that powerful and could only manage to send him in time intervals. That would explain why he was changing. He wondered in he was changing back in his dimension, growing paler, weaker, and with more hair. He closed his eyes, horrified at the thought of Sam mocking him for his long hair, but a knock on his door startled him out of that pit of hell.

Cas was here.