Hell Hath No Fury Like A Woman Spurned. Or like a woman who's been newly turned for that matter. When Dean rejects the advances of an oversexed girl in a bar, it has consequences he could not have possibly forseen, both for himself and those around him. Not only will his outlook on feminine life be forever altered, but the fates of others become tied to his own. Can Dean and Sam reverse the "curse", or will they have to adapt and move on with their new lives?
Hell Hath No Fury
Chapter One
Deanne dropped down unto the cold stairs with a heavy sigh, straightening her hair and fumbling in her purse for a cigarette. At twenty-seven and stuck in a dead end job, it was safe to say that life had not been kind to Deanne, nor did it turn out as she had expected. As a child, she somehow had the feeling that her life would be dynamic and full of adventure. And for a time, it was. It was such a pity that it didn't last.
"Deanne! Girl, get your behind in the kitchen. I need help with the dishes. Me and Sam weren't the only ones who ate on 'em," came the piercing, Southern-accented shout of Missouri.
Twisting her face bitterly, Deanne slowly got up and walked towards the front door, pausing only to remark to herself, "God, I wish I was a man again."
Five Months Earlier…
"Gimme a beer. Best draft ya got," Dean tiredly ordered the bartender. It had been a rough hunt. And in the end - completely fruitless. Silently cursing Sam, Dean made a mental promise to himself to not trust his little brother's instincts so unwaveringly again.
They had been searching the town for vampires to slay for two weeks non-stop, just because Sam had read that the town's major blood bank was reporting mysterious disappearances in its blood supply. It all turned out to be nothing more than a corrupt medical board selling off rare blood type donations to the highest bidders.
Now, after all that intensive effort - staking out the blood bank at night, whilst searching around for the supposed vampire's hiding place by day - Dean was dead-assed beat. But before he took to hibernation, he needed a beer. It had been two weeks since he'd last had one - Sam had forbidden the imbibing of alcoholic beverages on hunts. Something about them ruining decision making, concentration and response time. All Dean's desperate excuses(that beer was much-needed courage in liquid form) were to no avail.
"Here ya go, man." The bartender extended his hand. "You sure look like you could use it."
Dean nodded in acknowledgment and accepted the beer with the expression of a starving man. Little did he suspect that someone just across the room was regarding him in a similar, hungry manner.
Five beers later, Dean decided that it was time to go back to the cheap - no, not cheap...affordable, he reminded himself. It was time to go back to the affordable motel room that he currently called "home". It wasn't often that he left Sam alone. It was high time he got back. Getting off the bar stool, Dean made to turn towards the door. The sensation of someone's hands grabbing his left arm, and giving his well-muscled biceps a squeeze in the process, caught him off guard.
"Buy me a drink?" came the deceptively sweet voice of the young woman.
Normally, Dean offered to buy a girl a drink to get the opportunity to hit on her. This chick was forward and asking for it. Dean had gotten used to the bolder women falling all over him in sleazy bars like this one. And truth be told, if it were any other time, he'd have taken her up on the poorly disguised, seductive offer. But two weeks of interrupted sleep had his tortured brain screaming one thing - and it wasn't sex.
Even though she was a smoking hot blonde with an ample bust, well-rounded posterior and nice, full pouty lips that seemed only too eager to...Dean broke off his sex-starved-induced gawking.
"Caught me at a bad time, babe," Dean tried to excuse himself. "But hey - "
Dean reached into his jacket for a pen and a scrap of paper (he was in the habit of writing down clues since he had poor memory) with which to write his cell phone number down for the hot chick.
"- gimme a call in the morning and we can work something out."
He gave her his winning smile as he handed over the slip of paper. He'd just have to figure out a way to get Sam out of the motel room. Or he could just throw him out. Sam letting him have the room to himself for an hour was the least he could do after dragging them out here on this worthless excuse for a hunt.
"Aww, but I gotta work tomorrow," the girl pouted. "Can't we have a little fun tonight? You look like you could use a little cheering up. You've got the down in the dumps look about you."
My, but she did seem a little...brazen. They hadn't so much as gotten around to exchanging names yet. While he liked the way women viewed him as a sex object, Dean still had some values. Blondie didn't seem to have any. Dean glanced at his watch.
"I really, really want to - would like to. But uh..." Dean trailed off.
The blonde looked at him curiously. Then, with a look of wicked realization she said, "Worried about the girlfriend finding out, huh? Don't worry, I'm not looking for a relationship. Just a good hard fuck."
Dean's eyebrows shot up. This bitch was dirrrty! Dean's restrained cock lurched in his pants at the sound of her crudity. And again, he mentally cursed Sam for his tiredness. It didn't occur to him that if he wasn't in the bar cooling down from the stress of Sam's pseudo-hunt, he'd never have met Blondie in the first place. Most of the blood had been diverted from his brain to his penis.
"Gimme a call first thing in the morning," Dean eagerly repeated and managed to make his way outside the door. But no sooner had he done so than he found himself accosted once more in the deserted alleyway.
"It has to be now. I need it NOW," she said wantonly, whilst rubbing herself against his crotch in a disturbingly obscene manner.
Dean would never admit it, but he seriously doubted his ability to maintain an erection in his current state.
"I am really, really tired," he explained.
"No problem. I'll do all the work," was the confident and slutty response to Dean's paltry excuse.
Dean was always cranky when he was sleepy, a trait all of the Winchester men had. And as tempting as this hot little number was, he was starting to get irritated. Just a little.
"Look, it's either tomorrow or nothing at all," replied Dean as he put his foot down.
"It'll only take a few minutes. Here lemme help you outta that," Blondie crooned, whilst deftly unzipping Dean's jeans. She was acting as if she had not heard Dean say no.
Dean decided that he'd had enough. In fucking (he never called it lovemaking), Dean liked to be the aggressive one. But this chick seemed to want the role on a permanent basis.
"Hey hey, none of that," Dean irritatingly mumbled while shaking her hands off his crotch.
And it was here that things took a turn for the worse. Blondie's sexy pout became an angry scowl, the scowl of a woman who felt spurned. The sudden transition was shocking and not very pretty to behold. Dean grimaced, not knowing a scowling woman could look so ugly, especially as she was so pretty when she smiled. For a few seconds, he thought she looked prematurely aged in the midst of that glower, but Dean passed it off as sleep deprivation and alcohol on an empty stomach working havoc with his senses.
"Fine, then. I don't need a sexually confused prick like you anyway!" Blondie screamed loudly.
That outburst was sufficient to extinguish whatever few smoldering embers of desire Dean had held on to for her. Sexually confused! Sam was the sexually confused Winchester - gay today, bi tomorrow. Dean knew what he wanted. And right about then, he knew it wasn't her, so he pushed her off a tad bit roughly and made to go about his way.
Blondie apparently was not through with him. "I see your type all the damned time. You're probably a repressed faggot anyway!" the pissed-off girl spat. Rejection rears its ugly head once more. Dean didn't understand her logic at all. He'd rejected quite a few girls over the years, due to the dangers of his job, and never yet had any made such an outrageous accusation. Perhaps Blondie was too much of a narcissist to see her faults and looked for any half-assed excuse to pass off her rejection, or held a secret hatred for gay guys and lashed out at any man her twisted head suspected. And apparently in her book, a man rejecting her sexual advances was reason enough for suspicion.
"Did you just call me a faggot?" Dean asked as he turned around to face the young woman who his mind now referred to as The Bitch.
Dean may not have understood why Sam preferred guys, but he was a very far cry from homophobic. Half the bullies he had to help Sam deal with were of the homophobic kind (though he never thought back then that their accusations concerning Sam might be true). Dean had never called anyone a fag and took offense when someone called his brother that. Never in his wildest imaginings did he think anyone - least of all a girl - would call him one.
She didn't say yes or no to Dean's question but merely replied, "Just another one living in denial."
"So you think I'm a fa - uh gay? Bitch, don't be bitter cuz you want me and can't have me. You ain't all that hot anyway. I should go in there, get any woman I want, then fuck her senseless right before your eyes. Then we'll see who's gay and who's bitter at not having her way," ranted Dean in an effort to reassert his heterosexuality.
Unfortunately, it just added fuel to the fire.
"Typical. Now you want to prove to me how much of a man you are. I don't know what I was thinking picking you. You're just a girl trapped in a man's body. Repressed and confused. Poor thing," The Bitch retorted.
Dean was about the give her the cussing out of a lifetime, but he was spared from sullying his tongue. The Bitch was backing off.
"I know when I'm not wanted. I know what you want - and it ain't someone like me."
"Damned right," muttered Dean. Little did he suspect the turn their exchange would take next.
The Bitch continued, "It's to be someone like me."
She obviously didn't have much for brains if she thought being gay meant, "girl trapped in a guy's body", Dean thought. That was enough. He wouldn't hit a female unless she were possessed or of the non-human variety or posed a genuine physical threat. In situations like this, he had but one defense, and it lay in the adept usage of invective and obscenity, two skills that Dean had perfected over his lifetime.
"You fucked-up cu - " Dean was cut off then by The Bitch, who didn't even have the decency to let a man finish talking. Although in all fairness - neither did most other bitches Dean had ever had the displeasure of interacting with.
"All right. I'm going," The Bitch conceded and went about her way. She stopped once and made a funny pass in the air with her left hand. Dean assumed that she was flipping him the finger. Finally, she turned the corner and disappeared into the night. Dean made his way to the Impala wondering, damn Sammy, did a bitch like that turn you gay?...
Dean had made it back to their motel with a little difficulty. He'd only had five beers. Or maybe six. Definitely not more. He could drink with the best of them. So why was it that he seemed to have trouble navigating his way through the well-lit streets, streets that were very liberally provided with guiding signs?
Dean never had trouble finding his way about before. Especially when there were street signs. Sam was the one who always had to use a map. Or worse - stop to ask directions like a girl. In the end though, Dean managed to find his way back to their motel. It was in the process of parking his baby that the worst event of the night occurred.
There was first a thud, then an alarmingly metallic, scraping sound. With haste born of horror, Dean dashed out of the Impala and almost screamed when he saw the foot-long scratch on the side of the classic car. How on God's Earth had he missed seeing that sign to the left of the parking space? Dean had been far drunker before and yet still managed to successfully park in tighter spaces. Sam was never going to let him live it down. Dean always tried to deny Sam the privilege of driving the Impala, citing the possibility of such disasters as justification enough. Now if he denied Sam, he'd be called a hypocrite. Cursing audibly, Dean made his way back to their room.
Thankfully, he managed to enter the door easily. Inspecting the ground and windows, Dean was pleased to see that Sam had remembered to lay the protective salt lines. In addition, he had drawn the defensive sigils in chalk very neatly, far better than Dean himself usually did. His little brother was learning quickly. Another salvo of swearing - this time self-directed - ensued. Dean should have checked to see those were done properly before he left Sam alone (who was fast asleep), not when he came back in. The thirst for beer had been just too damned strong. But all the same, it shouldn't have gotten in the way of keeping Sam safe.
Speaking of the not-so-little devil, Dean peered closely in the dark to make sure that Sam was asleep. He so was not in the mood for an argument right about then concerning his disappearance. It was bound to happen if Sam saw him entering the room fully dressed in the dead of night. Dean preferred to sleep in the Impala - IF she would accommodate him for the night after what he did to her. The slow rise and fall of Sam's chest assuaged those fears though.
Dean was so tired that he simply decided to forgo the customary bath and teeth brushing and just be a slob. Instead, he merely changed his clothes. Lying on the bed as quietly as possible, Dean hoped that Sam had not woken up in the hour and a half that he was gone, or then he'd really be in for it in the morning. As it turned out, Sam had not woken up while Dean was gone. Regardless, Dean was still in for something in the morning -the rudest awakening of his young life...
Dean woke up the next morning dazed and confused. The sun had not risen strongly yet and the motel room was still cloaked in a fair measure of darkness. Truth be told, he wasn't sure that he was completely up, but rather half in the land of the waking and half in the land of Nod. It was only when his blurry vision beheld Sam staring at him in an alarmed manner that he truly snapped himself out of his stupor. Dean opened his mouth to say something but was rudely interrupted before he could form even a single syllable.
"Who the hell are you? What have you done with Dean?" Sam demanded roughly. To Dean's surprise, Sam reached for the canister of salt that stood on the bedside. Once more, Dean opened his mouth, intending to ask what the hell was going on. Once more, he was cut short of uttering a word.
Sam went off on a rant. "You ain't human. I'm pretty sure of that. Dean's never been so desperate that he'd fuck a girl in the room with me sleeping on the next bed. Where did you take him?! Answer me now, you fuckin' bitch!"
Opening his mouth once more to say something, Dean found himself attacked by handfuls of thrown salt. He managed to close his eyes in time. But his mouth was assaulted by the dust-like particles. They worked their way down his throat and he began to cough. Sam must be going mad! Yeah, that was it. Six months of visions must have finally addled his brain. Maybe he was having one of them visions and got like, trapped in it or something, Dean theorized. He continued to cough, trying to clear his airway.
"Don't make me get the holy water, bitch!" Sam roared in a manner that truly scared Dean. Maybe if he could pull something off like that tone more often people wouldn't hassle him so much.
"W-wait! No, Sam don't," Dean spluttered. Wait a second, Dean thought, since when do I sound like that? Almost like a.... Sam had not listened to him. Dean chalked up his weird voice to the salt attack on his throat and vocal cords and made to get up.
"Don't you move, bitch!" Sam threatened. Then he began muttering, "Christo, christo, christo!"
He must think I'm possessed! No wait - he keeps calling me BITCH. He must be seeing me as a possessed girl, Dean thought.
"Fucking hell. It's not working," Sam mumbled, before reaching for the shotgun under the bed. Dean had by then arrived at his limit.
"Sam, don't you dare pick up that gun!" Dean shouted. Hearing the sound of his voice made him twist his face in confusion. No, no, no. It couldn't be. And yet there was no denying it. He sounded like a -
"Bitch! Tell me where he is or I'll blow your fucking brains out!" came Sam's scream. Honestly, Dean had never seen Sam act so…riled up before. Lose his temper, sure, but never had he seen Sam display such irate aggression. And all that due to finding a strange girl in their room? Dean could more easily see Sam asking for answers decently, before going all medieval.
Maybe it has something to do with two weeks of sleeplessness., Dean thought to himself. That compounded with the already chaotic sleep schedule Sam suffered through due to his clairvoyant dreams. Sam was always a cranky kid when sleepy. Dean knew that despite his tone, Sam was bluffing about blowing his brains out though. Sam surely wouldn't do such a thing because that would kill the victim of the possession. Sam would attempt an exorcism - but only after he got the information he needed from the demoness.
Dean, calling Sam's bluff, got up slowly and raised his arms in mock surrender. The very act of performing that motion brought on fresh confusion. Why was his tee shirt hanging so loosely from his frame? And what was...no...no... Dean felt the two protuberances on his chest and let out an ear-piercing scream. Sam was sufficiently shocked. So much so that he didn't say or do anything when Dean reached for the light switch, turned it on and went over to the mirror. Upon looking into the mirror, Dean screamed once more. This time Sam did act. He lunged and restrained Dean (who was too much in shock to offer much of a fight).
"I want some answers. And you're gonna give 'em to me! Where the hell is my brother?!" demanded Sam.
Stuttering through tears - it amazed him that he could cry so easily, even in this new form - Dean replied, "I'm under you! You asshole! Now get the fucking hell offa me before I make you eat that shotgun!"
Sam regarded the young woman before him dubiously. After half an hour of an attempted exorcism, he was beginning to suspect that he might not be dealing with something demonic in nature after all. But he was not yet fully convinced. It was best to take no chances, especially since Dean's safety was on the line.
Sam had liberally salted the bound woman sitting in the chair before him until she looked like a snowman. Or a snowgirl rather. It had absolutely no effect but to elicit a stream of swear words that flowed like dirty water down a gutter.
And speaking of water, the holy water had no effect either. Other than washing away the salt and provoking more violent swearing amidst claims of, "I'm Dean you dumb fuck! Lemme outta these ropes!"
Sam walked up to the struggling girl and pointed to her heaving breasts, "Last time I checked, Dean didn't have puppies this size."
"Yeah, about that," Dean tried to explain...
Sam then pointed to the long blonde hair that was held back in a pony tail. Dean wasn't quite sure how that hairstyle got arranged. Until he felt around to the back his head and discovered a scrunchie. It must have been magically conjured into existence while he slept no doubt. Pointing to Dean's remarkably flat crotch, Sam then made a cold, unfeeling remark. Something about Dean having too much on top, and too little on the bottom to possibly be his brother.
"Rub salt in the wound why dontcha," Dean muttered bitterly. Upon seeing Sam eying the salt canister, Dean was quick to add, "It was a figure of speech!"
The holy water didn't work. Neither had the consecrated salt. To Sam, that didn't rule out with one hundred percent certainty that the creature before him was not demonically corrupted. The woman could be possessed by an extremely powerful demon, he reasoned. There was but one thing left to do to rule out demonic corruption. Recite from The Ritual Romanum in Latin. No matter how powerful the possessor, they would at least flinch when hearing those sacred words.
"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio," Sam continued to chant whilst the seated woman looked on at him with hate in her eyes. She, however, did not writhe in pain as Sam thought she would. After a further fifteen minutes of chanting with no adverse effects - like sores appearing on the girl's skin, or violent, painful convulsions - Sam was ready to definitely accept that the girl was fully human.
"Are you convinced now?" Dean asked roughly.
"That you're human, yes," Sam conceded. "But that you're Dean, no."
"What if I tell you something that only Dean - shit - only I would know?" Dean offered. "Would that convince you?"
As cliché as that notion was, Sam had to admit that the idea was plausible. Before Sam could come up with any contradictory arguments (like it wouldn't be a plausible idea if his mind was being read telepathically), Dean began to rattle off childhood secrets like automatic weapon fire.
It all culminated with Dean saying, " - and you were afraid that I'd freak out if I knew you were gay. So you lied and said that you had a girlfriend named Jessica when it was dude named Jesse all along."
"Oh - my - God," Sam managed to get the words out one by one.
With a look reeking of now he gets it, Dean angrily gestured to be loosened from the restraining ropes. Sam approached and made to do so - then paused for a moment.
"What?" Dean asked.
Sam hesitated, then asked quietly, "Promise you won't hit me."
Rolling his eyes, Dean nodded and acquiesced. Sam couldn't see that his fingers were crossed though, since Dean's hands were held behind his back by the ropes. Minutes later, Sam was nursing a stinging slap to the back of his head whilst Dean was rubbing lotion onto his rope-burned wrists.
"What in the hell happened to you, Dean?" Sam questioned the person before him, who was still his older brother at heart.
With a scoff, Dean replied, "Isn't it obvious, Sam?"
"You know what I mean. I want the details," Sam demanded.
Dean ignored him for a moment and stood in front of the mirror, inspecting his new form for the first time in an in-depth manner. He had lost a little of his height, though thankfully not much. He now stood at five feet, nine inches. The feeling of the ponytail irritated him. Dean was always used to a short haircut. Clutching at the back of his hair, Dean found the culprit and tore it off.
The long blonde hair fell onto his shoulders and beyond. Immediately, Dean regretted having undone the ponytail. Moving his gaze downwards, Dean noticed that he had rather sizeable breasts. If it weren't for the weirdness of the entire situation, he might have even admired them. But his thoughts didn't linger there for long as he shifted his gaze back up to his face.
"Shit," was Dean's next comment. "Hey, Sammy?"
"Mhmm," murmured the younger Winchester, still nursing the back of his head.
"You always wanted to know what Mom looked like," Dean said. "Well, now you know. I look just like her."
Sam's jaw dropped for a few moments. Then he walked up to his newly-created sister, spun him around and had a good hard look. Their mother had died when Sam was six months old and so he couldn't remember what she had looked like. It was in a demonically induced fire that had consumed everything in their house - including all the photographs.
"Alright, enough. You can stop staring now," said Dean, pushing back his brother a few steps back.
"What in God's name did Mom see in Dad?" Sam muttered to himself. "She coulda done a lot better."
John Winchester didn't have a romantic bone in his body. While not really falling under the heading of cruel, he wasn't all that kind either. He didn't really have a sense of humor - good or otherwise. All Sam's memories of his father seemed to lay testament to John's seeming callousness. Chief amongst them were the ones concerning the fighting leading up to his departure to Stanford. From what Dean had told him, their mother was a virtual saint. Surely with her assets she could have scored a nicer guy than John Winchester?
Dean raised his eyebrows a little at that statement, but also admitted, "Don't be so rough on Dad. We got our courage and hard as nails shit from him. And we got the looks from mom. "
"Yeah," Sam giggled, "you more so than me."
Dean eyed his younger brother with a withering look before sitting on the bed.
"How did this happen, Dean? Did you make a wish at a wishing well or something? I told you that it wasn't just a legend and that they really do exist. And sometimes your wish gets misinterpreted and - " Sam was cut off from his rant prematurely.
"Why would I wish to be a woman, Sam?! Huh?" was Dean's angry reply.
"Maybe it was a subconscious wish," Sam carefully continued, "Maybe you're a repressed transsexua -"
"Don't you DARE finish that sentence," Dean warned, before adding, "I have a perfectly good idea how this happened to me."
Sam was of course all ears and eagerly urged his brother to explain himself. Dean couldn't seem to get more than ten words at most out of his mouth, before Sam would interrupt - usually in a preaching manner.
"Yeah, well, who told you to go out in the dead of night anyway? We both know what lurks out at night - and we're supposed to be smart enough not to venture out when we're not in good fighting form," Sam chided.
"You ain't ever been in anything closely resembling good fighting form," Dean snidely remarked. "And it don't stop you from tagging along."
That genuinely ruffled Sam's feathers. With wickedness in his eyes, he spat out, "God, you're such a bitch sometimes." That earned him another stinging blow to the head, this time to the side.
"You know, you could show me some of the sensitivity shit you're famous for," complained the elder Winchester, a little surprised and disappointed with the unsympathetic manner of his brother.
"I would," Sam stated, "but I know you'd have busted your gut laughing at me if I were in your position."
"Whatever, lemme finish," Dean said, amazed (and freaked out) at the whiny tone his new voice was capable of.
Several minutes later, Sam was roaring with laughter when he realized what had happened. Dean had to control himself. It wasn't that he didn't want to hurt Sam physically for laughing at his predicament, but all that slapping was beginning to hurt his hands. They were now a tad bit red. Who knew that girls' hands were so goddamned delicate? Dean thought to himself. He wondered if he could even throw a decent punch. He'd have to test the theory sometime - maybe on Sam if he kept on laughing for much longer.
"My guess," Sam ventured, "is that you offended a bitchy witch."
"I suspected as much too," said Dean. "All of this just because I didn't have sex with her right then and there. If I'da known this was coming, I'd have fucked her right there in the alley."
"Yeah," Sam struggled in the midst of fresh giggles, "you didn't use it, so you had to lose it. First law of nature."
"Would you cut it out with the kidding around, Sam?! This is serious!" Dean said, exasperated. "Look at me! Just look at what I've become!"
"Laughing in the face of grave issues was never a problem for you. Besides, it coulda been worse," Sam offered in consolation.
Finally some sympathy and understanding, Dean thought, not liking Sam's earlier, uncharacteristically heartless, comments and jokes.
"What? You mean she coulda killed me?" Dean shuddered lightly at the thought.
"Well, I was actually thinking that she could have turned you into a frog instead," said Sam, with a smirk. "And since you wouldn't transform into a rich prince for her trouble, no maiden would want to kiss you. You'd be stuck in that form forever!"
"Just get the hell outta here, Sam. Get out!" Dean instinctively grabbed a pillow and began pummeling Sam with it. Then he realized what he was doing. "Oh God, I really AM acting like a bitch," he sulked.
"Not to worry, Dean," Sam said as his face and voice tone took on a serious character "We'll get you through this. We came here to hunt. It looks like we've finally got ourselves some prey."
"Yeah," Dean replied, pulling himself together, "let's get something to eat and we can start hunting that bitch down."
"And something for you to wear too," Sam suggested. "You cannot go all over town wearing your old clothes. I'll have see if I can find some hunter friendly threads for you before we start. And quick too. This spell could be time sensitive."
"True," Dean said, noting the looseness of his clothes.
"Not to worry, Dean. I've got the good taste of a gay man. I'll getcha something with style," said Sam amusedly.
Dean had to admit, "Sam, sometimes it pays to have a bicurious gay brother."
"I am NOT wearing that, Sam!" Dean vehemently objected, eying the offending outfits with a disparaging eye.
"Dean, that was all I managed to get! I saw them hanging on a clothes line and they looked like a perfect fit. We need to start on this hunt as quickly as possible. We don't know what kind of timeframe we have," Sam tried to explain. "Why waste the time shopping around when the answer was staring me in the face?"
"A clothes line?" Dean looked at his brother incredulously. "You stole, Sam? YOU?"
"Hey," Sam replied, "like you once said, we're performing a public service. The least the public can do is assist us in our efforts from time to time. For their own benefit."
Dean looked at his brother in shock. Never in a million years had he thought he'd hear Sam say them like he believed them. Sam was always complaining about the credit card scams Dean perpetrated on a regular basis, bemoaning their need to steal. And now he seems to have accepted Dean's philosophy?
"What the hell - " Dean started.
"I was being practical. Get dressed," Sam simply stated.
"Hell no! Go out there and get me some pants," Dean countered.
"We are not wasting anymore time," said Sam, "or any money needlessly. Especially since when this is all over you won't ever need these clothes again."
"Money? How can you think about money at a time like this?" asked Dean. "Go out there, find a cheap store and get me some jeans. Search wherever the heck you have to."
Sam smirked. Most men just buy. It was women who shopped around.
"Dean, we're supposed to be witch hunting. Not bargain hunting. Just put on the damned clothes," said Sam with impatience coloring his words.
"Take this shit and fling it back onto the clothes line you grabbed it from, Sam," Dean insisted. "I told you that I wanted jeans. I'm emasculated enough as it is without having to wear skirts."
"Dean..." Sam weakly started.
"I mean," Dean continued his protest, "for fuck's sake! I had to SQUAT to have my morning piss! I have suffered enough."
Sam sat down and patiently attempted to clarify the situation to his sulking brother. He explained that they really didn't have the time to waste on mere clothes. What if the enchantment Dean was under had a limited window of opportunity for reversal? The time they spent heading out to a store and buying jeans could be better spent searching for an answer to his problem. He didn't want to be trapped in this form indefinitely, did he? It was better to wear girls' clothing for the short term than the run the risk of wearing them on a lifelong basis, right?
Besides, there was nothing wrong with the outfits and they were perfectly suitable for everyday wear. No one would know any better. Also, wasting money on clothes that were only going to be used temporarily (Sam and Dean hoped) was not wise spending. There was the small matter of having enough money to stay in the motel, maintaining their supply of ammunition, gas for the Impala and - oh yeah - EAT.
"I'll go without food, but I am not wearing a skirt," said Dean with his usual stubbornness.
"Dean, we have enough problems without you becoming anorexic. You are NOT skipping meals just to pass for acceptable in your head," was Sam's cool response.
"Find me a store. I don't care how time consuming, or expensive or cheapass it is. But buy me some decent pairs of jeans. At least then I can still be wearing some pants," said Dean, putting his foot down.
"You know, you remind me of a friend I had back in Stanford," Sam mused fondly in remembrance. "She neglected most everything just to afford fly clothes."
"Are you saying that I'm acting like a girl?" Dean asked. "Trying to hold onto the pants is acting like a girl?"
"Actually, in this case, I wish you'd act more like one," Sam grumbled as he was snapped out of his trip down memory lane, "because then you might see sense and not be so goddamned stubborn. You're insisting on having your own way without care or concern for consequences. Dean, we simply cannot afford to squander any time or money."
Dean's pouting continued. Sam finally decided that maybe some compromise was needed. If only to get Dean started on this hunt quickly.
"Look, wear it while we gather some intel," Sam offered, "and we'll see about grabbing you some jeans from a Laundromat or something."
"Well," Dean grudgingly admitted, "I'm no stranger to sacrifice. Now get out and lemme change."
Sam rolled his eyes but complied with his older brother's wishes.
Sam stood outside, casually leaning on the side of the Impala. The scratch on its once perfect paintjob did not escape his sharp eyes. Presently, Dean emerged from their room. He walked awkwardly owing to the semi-tightness of the knee-length skirt. Sam thanked Heaven that he managed to get the black one and not the pink, or then he'd never have gotten Dean to wear it, and they'd still be stuck in the motel room bickering. The top was a simple, white affair with short sleeves and a bare midriff. Sam just knew Dean wasn't happy about his abdomen showing.
But all in all, Dean looked okay enough to venture out, aside from the shoes that didn't match the rest of the get up, that is. Sam hoped that they weren't too loose for Dean's feet. He had seen them resting upon a dustbin, having been left for garbage pickup. They were perfectly good shoes. Sam wasn't sure why the owner felt they were dump worthy. As they seemed to be what Dean needed, Sam took them without feeling any of the guilt that he would have felt at stealing. Heels would have been perfect, but there was no way Sam could see himself either stealing or buying heels for Dean. Not due to any shame (well, MOSTLY not due to shame). It was just that Dean would not wear them. Temporary, Sam reminded himself, heels not needed. Not to mention buying them would mean squandering money unnecessarily.
"I feel ridiculous," Dean hissed as he approached Sam.
"Don't think like that. You look hot," Sam tried to say. "Okay that didn't come out right. I mean, not that I think you're hot - cuz you're my sister and -"
"Brother! I'm your brother!" Dean argued. "On the inside. It's what's on the inside that counts!"
"Yeah," Sam said, adding under his breath, "two ovaries, a uterus and a set of fallopian tubes."
"What did you say?" asked Dean.
"No matter how much you changed, you're still you," Sam quickly responded.
With a hard look, Dean shot back, "That's right. I can still beat the shit outta you. Don't you forget that. Now come on. Let's hit the town."
Dean got in the driver's seat, but to his surprise and annoyance, Sam didn't get in on the passenger's side. "Get the hell in, Sam," he complained. "We don't have any time to waste."
"You can't drive, Dean," Sam began, before being interrupted by Dean.
"What? So just because I'm a woman, I can't drive? Not all women are lousy drivers, Sam."
Sam resisted the urge to make a remark about Dean's parking of the Impala the night before.
"You're a woman now? I thought you were a man - on the inside?" Sam asked in mock confusion.
"Don't play with me, Sam," said Dean warningly. "You know what I meant."
"Really? Cuz I coulda sworn that you used to say the very opposite about female drivers. I wonder what is responsible for this sudden reversal," Sam countered, taunting Dean about his hypocrisy. "Anyhow, the reason you can't drive is not sexist by any stretch."
Dean impatiently demanded to know why then. Sam, excited at the prospect of driving again, was only too quick to respond. "You don't have a license. Your old, fake license has your old photograph on it. If we get stopped by a cop, you won't be able to use it. And considering your usual bad driving, it's pretty much a risk I'm not willing to take."
"I don't care," said Dean. "You are not driving my baby."
"After what you did to her last night, I think she feels it's best to put a little distance between the two of you," Sam replied with a smirk, quickly pointing towards the scratch on the side of the car. "Oh come on, Dean. If you get stopped and you don't have ID and shit and you need a ticket and they can't find an address and do a background check or -"
"Fuck it! Fine, just shut up and get in," Dean sighed in defeat.
"So, where to?" asked Sam.
"It's a place called Joe's," Dean answered. "That's where I met the bitch last night."
"We can ask around for a girl matching her description," Sam said. "She must have been up to something, cornering men and insisting on sex right then and there. Maybe some sort of sex ritual? Maybe a time-dependent one...specific moon phase, astrological configuration needed?"
"Uh...or maybe she saw me, liked my hunky, virile appearance and thought I could give her the lay of a lifetime," Dean offered by way of explaining the girl's behavior.
With a dubious look, Sam replied, "I think I'm going to go with the former. Joe's it is."
"Well, it's about damned time," Sam stated. They had been driving around town for close to half an hour looking for Joe's place. It amazed Sam that, even though Dean had visited the local watering hole just the night before, he couldn't seem to find it again easily. It must be something to do with the transformation, Sam thought. Even before Dean's metamorphosis manifested physically, his navigation and driving skills had begun to deteriorate. Whatever spell he was under seemed to have required time to reach its transformative effect. Sam wondered if Dean was even now slipping further and further under its sway. What would happen to his brother over time if they couldn't reverse it? Spells usually have consequences and side-effects attached. Was this one any different? It's certainly bizarre, Sam thought.
"It sure took long enough to find this place," Dean grumbled. "Come on, let's see if we can track that bitch down."
Sam nodded, and the two siblings got out of the car and began walking towards the pub's front door.
"Maybe you should stick close to me, Dean," Sam suggested. "There'll be a lotta drunk men in there. And you're an attractive gi - uh - person."
Dean scoffed and casually replied that he could take care of himself.
"But I really think - " Sam started to say, before Dean cut him off.
"Look, I don't need you to start treating me like I'm all soft and delicate," said Dean.
Sam could have sworn that he detected a hint of feminism in Dean's voice, but he kept it to himself.
"Okay, okay. But we're going to have to act like you're a girl in there. And whenever we're in public too, for that matter," Sam advised.
"Yeah, yeah, I got ya," Dean grudgingly admitted.
"Part of which," Sam ventured, "includes you walking the walk, and talking the talk."
"Meaning?" Dean asked with raised eyebrows.
"Well, for one thing, I have never seen too many girls walking with your kind of swagger," Sam stated. "Or cussing so badly and so often."
Dean took note and agreed to act as 'ladylike' as his remaining masculine ego would allow him to. When Dean felt that he was ready, he and Sam entered the establishment. It wasn't even noon yet, but the place was fairly well-frequented. Dean could even make out a few faces from the night before. Honestly, he wondered, do these people have nothing better to do than drink? Dean and Sam made their way to a couple of empty bar stools and took a seat.
"Well, take a look around, Dean," Sam whispered. "See anyone who resembles her?"
Dean scrutinized the place but couldn't say that he did. What he did notice were the downright obscene stares that many of the men in the place were regarding him with. It was making his stomach turn and skin crawl. Dean couldn't help but wonder if any women ever felt that way, back when he had the time on his hands to gawk at them in places like Joe's.
"What can I get ya, miss?" asked a bartender, intruding upon Sam and Dean's privacy. Not that Dean realized that the man was talking to him until Sam nudged him gently.
"Um...I'm not really here to drink," Dean began. "I'm looking for someone."
"Oh?" the bartender replied. "Maybe I can help you out. What's the description?"
Sam raised his eyebrows a little at that. Ordinarily, garnering information was a tad bit...troublesome. With a wickedly amusing thought, Sam supposed that Dean being a woman would come in useful for intel gathering on hunts. The way that bartender seemed to be only too willing to help the pretty blonde lady... Sam was willing to bet that men everywhere would be. And if they ever came across a potential informant who happened to be gay - Sam could handle him on his own. Hunting would be just a little easier.
"She's my...my sister," Dean explained to the bartender "She's had a falling out with my parents and she's just up and left. They're worried sick. I saw her last night coming into your place."
"Hmmm, well there was a girl matching your description in here last night. All black - skirt up past the knees, sleeveless top, boots..." the bartender mused.
"Yes, yes. Exactly what she was wearing when I saw her," Dean said excitedly.
"She was a slutty one alright - er - I mean," the man behind the counter stuttered nervously at having called Dean's missing 'sister' a slut.
"Oh, no need to apologize," Dean said. "She was always the slutty sister. Know where she went?"
The man recounted that she had been throwing herself over a guy the night before, but that he didn't seem too interested, which was confusing as hell - a hot girl like that only too eager to get in his pants and he kept brushing her off.
"He musta been gay or something," suggested the bartender in passing. That comment irritated Dean and made Sam smile.
"Just because a guy wasn't interested in her doesn't mean he was gay," Dean said a tad bit heatedly. "Throwing yourself like a cheap hooker desperate for a dollar tends to turn off men with any scrap of dignity."
"Riiighhttt..." the man continued, "Anyhow she left through the back door for a few minutes and came back. Oooh - wait, she seemed to have gotten comfy with one of my regular customers. He's in here almost every night. Maybe you can ask him. I didn't see anything after that."
"Here," Dean scribbled his cell phone number and handed it over to the bartender. "Could you please give this to him and ask him to call me? If you see him tonight, that is?"
"Sure thing," the man replied.
Dean thanked the bartender for his help and motioned for Sam to head towards the door. He didn't want to stay in that place any longer with those men leering at him. What was worse, he needed to pee and very badly. If they started back for the motel now, they could make it in time. Dean wasn't sure how strong the female bladder was and didn't want to take any chances.
"All right, you don't have to push me!" Sam complained.
"I need to pee," Dean whispered. "Bad!"
Sam rolled his eyes before replying, "Dean, the bathroom's right over there."
"I want to go back to the motel. I can hold it," Dean insisted. "I really would rather keeping my shameful activities confined to our own bathroom."
Honestly, Sam thought, all this melodrama just because Dean wants to take a leak.
"What if you can't hold it? What if I hit a bump in the road and you end up pissing all over the Impala?" asked Sam, with a hint of amusement at the thought. That was enough to motivate Dean. He wasn't going to run the risk of offending his baby again so soon.
"And besides," Sam added, "just think, Dean. You always wanted to go inside the girls' bathroom at school. Now you get your chance."
"It was to see the girls, Sam," said Dean. "Damn shame there ain't a lotta girls in this place right now."
"Maybe they're all in the bathroom," Sam suggested before bursting into laughter. "Oh, go on. I'll be waiting in the car. And keep your eyes to yourself, or they might think you're a lesbian."
"At least that'll be one step closer to what I once was," Dean mumbled, before heading off to the bathroom.
Dean emerged from the woman's restroom in awe. The first thought that came to him was, men are such animals. He quickly modified it to WE are such animals when he recognized the way in which he was thinking. With the call of nature answered, Dean walked towards the door, planning a visit to the local library to check news records to see if there had been a spate of missing persons, specifically of the young, male variety. The kind that seemed to entice The Bitch. Maybe if there were disappearances and there was a pattern to it, they could track the witch more easily. It was in the midst of making his mental list that Dean felt it.
"Alright. Who the fuck squeezed my ass?!" Dean demanded, as he spun around to glare at two semi-drunk men with wicked expressions on their faces.
"Whoo, she's got a dirty mouth on her," said one, in the midst of a leery grin.
"Just the way I like 'em," said the other lasciviously.
A couple of woman in the far corner of the bar looked in Dean's direction. Presently, one hollered out a little drunkenly, "Frank, what the heck has gotten into you?"
"You're just jealous no one would bother to lay a hand on your saggy old ass, Hannah," said Frank. "Just look at that," Frank said pointing to Dean's aforementioned posterior, "I couldn't help myself."
Dean frowned, superbly angered. This was just too much. Not only his violation. But poor Hannah's as well. Time to test his theory and see if his new fists could throw a decent punch...
"What the hell took you so long?" Sam asked. "You didn't stop to drink did you?"
"And how was I supposed to drink, huh? You're the one keeping his hands tight on the money," Dean grumbled.
Sam replied, "Who knows what effects this curse will have as time progresses?". He jokingly added, "I am not taking the chance of you catching a feminine urge like shopping, or the desire for a makeover and then squandering all our money on it."
Enough with the dumb jokes already. You can't do it like I can, Dean thought. Sam didn't usually joke around a lot. Dean reasoned that his sense of humor had finally rubbed off on him over the months. Just his luck that Sam would use it to jeer at him.
"Yeah, like THAT'll ever happen," Dean scoffed, although the very idea scared him to no end.
They drove along in silence for a few more minutes. Then Sam had to put out in the open what was running through his mind. He was always plagued by the need to talk things out that were bothering him, a habit that sometimes irritated Dean, who was more of a 'silent sufferer' sort. As funny as this situation was at the beginning, Sam was of the opinion that it was serious enough to consider calling their father for some advice.
"What shit are you smoking, Sam? I ain't calling him for this," Dean said as he looked at his brother incredulously.
"He's your father," Sam countered, "and all he'll want to do is help you."
Sam thought about calling John to find out if he had ever had to deal with a curse of this type before, or if he knew anything of the nature of this kind of transmutation magic. And there was another very good reason...
"We have to accept the possibility that we won't be able to find that witch," Sam carefully stated.
"Of course we'll find her," said Dean, unwilling to give Sam's fears any serious thought. "We just won't give up trying 'til we do. That's all."
"Just in case, we need a plan B," Sam stated. "Dad might know of a white witch or sorcerer who could help you."
Dean, although admitting to himself that Sam's idea had merit, was adamant that his father not be informed of his current plight.
"We can check his journal for some contacts," Dean suggested.
"But the news will eventually filter back to Dad anyway. They're HIS contacts. I think it'll be better if he learned about it from us. And besides, we know he keeps his best info to himself. I doubt he wrote down all the good stuff in that journal," said Sam.
"Having his father find out his son underwent a sex change is not something most boys relish," Dean said, eyeing Sam icily. "There are some things you just need to keep to yourself." Mumbling under his breath, Dean added, "I thought you of all people would understand that."
Sam stopped the car and regarded Dean with a blank expression and an even tone. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Why dontcha call dad and tell him that you're gay while you're at it? You might as well while we're on the topic of gender," Dean stated a little coolly.
"Because it - it's not something that should be said over the phone. When we find him - I'll tell him," Sam defended. "Your case is completely different. This isn't your fault."
Dean realized what must have been going through Sam's head and apologetically replied, "It's not your fault you're gay. I didn't mean it that way. I meant - we both know we have a sorta crazy father, Sammy. It's not that he'd blame me, but I know that he'll be freaked. I don't want him to look at me like I'm a freak, okay? Even if I'm a freak against my will."
Sam had to admit, "Well, he IS old school. And yeah, I get that gender issues would probably confuse the hell outta him."
Dean replied, "Exactly. Let's just try it our way first. And IF we can't make any headway...then we'll call him."
Sam nodded and continued driving.
Dean sat on the bed, laying an cold compress on his right hand. It was still smarting a little from the punches he had to throw earlier in the day. Sam was busy surfing the internet, checking the online archives of the local newspapers. To Dean's disappointment, there was no mention of any mysterious disappearances. There weren't any local rumors either. Checks at the library didn't reveal any local legends that concerned witches or transgendering spells in any way.
"Hmm," Sam mused.
"What HMMM? Did you find something?" Dean asked excitedly, jumping to attention.
"It could be nothing but... Well, I've been checking the classified ads and -" Sam started explaining.
"What the hell are you doing checking the ads?" Dean exasperated.
"Would you let me expl - " Sam managed to get out before being interrupted.
"You and them personals again. Sam, sometimes I swear - " replied Dean, on the start of a rant.
"No, no, no. I was just browsing and came across the 'spiritual' section. There's a load of alleged psychics and shit, but only ONE working witch in town. She claims to be able to solve all problems with a money back guarantee. Most times when I check other places' ads, they're loaded with witches and other occult practitioners."
"You think it might be her?" Dean questioned.
"Well, she was greedy for sex," Sam suggested. "Maybe she's greedy for money too. Might be worth checking out. This IS a small town, and seeing that ad just made a neat theory pop into my head."
"What?"
"Well, if she's been overusing her powers to make herself comfortable, she could have drained herself of magical energy," Sam suggested. "You see where I'm going with this?"
Dean had to admit that he didn't.
Sam sighed and decided to spell it out for his brother, the dumb blonde. "She might have been so desperate to have sex with you in order to recharge her magical energy. Sexual energy is one of the main forms of power that can be used for magical workings."
"Oh, right, right," Dean said as the idea started to make sense.
"You should know that, Dean. You've been hunting longer than I have," Sam stated. "I hope this curse isn't messing with your head as bad as it messed with your body. Like erasing memories you gathered in your life as a man, in the process of re-creating you or something. But you get what I was saying?"
"Uh huh. I do."
Dean agreed that it was logical that someone with supernatural powers would use them to make their life as comfortable as possible. Maybe this witch was so good, she put all the other wannabes out of business. And claimed that sector of the metaphysical market for herself. In any case, if this witch turned out to not be the one they were looking for, she might be able to give them an idea about any practicing covens in the area, or even other solitary witches in town, The Bitch could turn out to be one of them.
"Worth a shot. Even if it ain't her, she might be able to help." Dean reached for his cell phone and promptly began to dial the number on the screen. After the fifth ring, a female voice answered. Dean promptly hung up, a look of apprehension on his face.
"What the hell?!" Sam started at the sudden shift in Dean's demeanor.
"T-that voice!" Dean stuttered. "It's her!"
"Are you sure?" Sam asked carefully. "'Cause sometimes people's voices sound different over the phone."
"Yes I'm sure, Sam! One hundred percent sure!" Dean said, reaching for the pair of black pants that he'd forced Sam to buy on the drive back from town. It was time to get busy.
"Then I guess we better go pay her a visit," Sam gravely stated, reaching for the car keys...
To Be Continued...